Sam didn't think Dean could see them. But he can.

Not much of a plot to this one I'm afraid. It's a bit rambly. Should've been a nice short one-shot but as usual, I couldn't shut up. And there's a bit of language – after Ghostfacers I realised that Kripke knows that two guys living together on the road are gonna probably use language a bit stronger than we can see on the show :0)

So. Where am I coming from with this one? I'd just wondered if they ever talked about what happened in Indiana… and what Sam's initial reaction would be to Ruby showing up and the info he'd just heard about his Mom. Not to mention his recent resurrection. So guess it's almost a missing scene - but not quite!

Not really chapters, but likely to be a couple of parts. And hope you've all seen the film I'm referring to ha ha! I initially wanted to use this as part of something bigger but I didn't manage it. And it's all angst. Sorry.

Roll on September…!

Sarah

It was a stupid, stupid phrase. 'Elephant in the room'. He never understood why people let things get to that stage without discussing them. That was until he went to sleep in Cicero, alone, and woke up to find, yes, you guessed it. Somehow, in the middle of the night, it had skulked in, maybe it followed him home? Nonetheless, it was there. A huge elephant.

And that was fine. He could cope with it - hell, it wasn't the only uninvited guest that had turned up that room over the last couple of days. After what he'd just learned, he could kinda cope with the elephant. Because he had a plan. Sam fully intended to suck up the stress that this fcking stupid deal was causing them and leave the elephant exactly where it was. In the room. In Cicero. It should have been easy – don't think about it, then, when it's looking the other way, slip out of the door really really quickly and close it behind him really really fast… okay, so it was a rubbish plan.

And the bastard thing had still managed to follow him.

Sam heaved the trunk closed, brushing his hands against his jeans to rid them of the grime that had accumulated on the back of the Impala. The engine was already chugging, his brother sitting in the driver's seat, sunglasses on and radio blaring. Sam's heart was racing and a part of him didn't want to get in the passenger seat. He shot a glare into the backseat of the Impala. The damn elephant was in there. Filling the backseat. And, just his friggin luck, it'd been joined by another elephant. Maybe the big elephant's younger brother. Who was getting pissed that the big elephant was avoiding him… shaking his head slightly, he folded himself into the car.

Dean didn't say a word as he revved the V8 engine into motion. He started straight ahead, his face blank. Sam squinted in the sunlight, glancing at his brother, longing to ask him where they were going. Stuff like that was Dean's decision. Sam couldn't tell him what he wanted to do. How could he? It was his last year… and it was time for him to go chase another dying wish now he'd got Lisa Braeden out of his system. Hopefully. Sam frowned. He'd never known Dean return to a past… conquest.

Actually, he reminded himself, there was Cassie. And hadn't that turned out well. Although, there was something about Cassie that made Sam feel that if she wanted to find Dean, she would. No matter what alias he was using or how many times he was declared dead… he half smiled, a small puff of air escaping from his nostrils. He'd been shocked to see Dean close to something that could've been a relationship. And something about this case, something about Dean at the moment, reminded Sam of that week with Cassie. Surely not… did he love Lisa too?

"What?"

"Hmm?" Sam was torn from his daydreaming by his brother. They were just out of Cicero now and Sam wasn't sure exactly where they were heading.

"You're frowning."

"So?"

"You know, if the wind changes your face will stick like that. Although, that might've already happened by the looks of things."

"Well, why d'ya think that is?" Sam corrected his facial expression back into his well-practised pout. Dean puffed out his cheeks in exasperation.

You asked for that, Winchester… Dean rolled his eyes behind his shades. Don't even know why I started this conversation. This journey wasn't going to be fun.

One hour.

Two hours. Two hours and neither of them had said a fcking word. Which was fine by Dean, because the next thing out of his kid brother's mouth was likely to be aggressive, stupid and something that he really, really didn't want to discuss, least of all with him. Sam had been getting that awkward, pouty, pissy-teenage girl look about him for days. They were going to have to 'talk'. And he knew they had to. Knew it was inevitable. But right now, he was dealing. Stupid phrase. Dealing with my Deal… on my own. Just for a while. He didn't intend to shut Sam out, not entirely. Just need to… just need to get some stuff straight in my own head first. And yes, before Sam asked, having as much bedroom action as a man could physically handle did help him work things out.

Well, it did until last week anyway.

That's it. He's being a dick. Sam huffed as loud as he could as his watch ticked over the third hour of silence. Well… sort of silence. Apart from the music. But no talking. Not a word. Too much. Too quiet. He leaned over and turned the radio up, not just loud, but as loud as it would go, the AC/DC bassline ripping through the speakers. Dean frowned at him and turned the rasping sound back down, so that it was still loud but not at a danger of bursting the speakers and both mens' eardrums.

"What the fck, Sam?" Dean's voice rumbled over the loud music.

"Just… I'm not…" He folded his arms across his chest defiantly. He was mad. He couldn't quite get his head round why. Well, not specifically anyway. It was all too much. All of it, all together. Friggin' elephants. They had to talk about this. Dean was going to hell in eleven months and six days and he wasn't telling him what was going on. And okay, maybe he'd not been entirely truthful with Dean. But he wasn't going to burden him with the other… stuff. Including what he'd just found out about Mom's friends. Or the blonde demon girl that was following them. Following him, anyway. Jeez. He shuddered slightly, realising suddenly that their backseat passenger wasn't alone. More friggin' elephants.

The thought of the blonde girl, what she'd been telling him, telling him she's interested in him was enough to… to… shit, to force the elephants to split apart, to multiply, just like they did in that awful scene in Dumbo. Growing larger, maybe being slammed between a massive pair of cymbals and watching it split into about a million smaller neon elephants, all marching… Man, I hate that film. Who in their right mind puts a scene like that in a kid's film? He drummed his fingers against the window heavily, unconsciously tapping the tune… Pink Elephants on Parade… Look Out! Look out…

"You're not what?" Dean shouted back over the music, a little closer to his own anger threshold than he'd like to be. He'd seen it a thousand times; his brother huffing, puffing and repeatedly blowing that stupid long hair out of his face being the foreplay to some kind of stupid Sammy temper-tantrum, last seen when Dad showed up. He growled deeply under his breath, knowing that Sam being stuck in the car in this kind of mood was a bad idea. He swung the car over by the roadside, the shocked gravel crunching under the wheels of the Impala. He shot his brother a glare as he killed the engine, slamming the door behind him as hard as possible and leaning back against the car. He heard a second slam as his Sam's body language mirrored his movements.

I'm not talking first… Sam glowered quietly at his brother.

His brother glared back. With that 'look'. The one that said 'enough'. The one that said 'talk, little bro, and talk now, cos this is getting really old'.

Not yet, thought Sam. I can buy myself another couple of minutes. He concentrated on his chest, rising and falling, not panicking. Not yet.

"Come on, Sam." Dean's voice was quiet.

"I've gotta take a piss."

Jeez… Dean rolled his eyes as his brother turned his back to him and walked a nominal ten feet to lean against a huge piece of sandstone. How could he be sooo fcking awkward? Dean leaned back on the Impala again and shielded his eyes from the sun, his sunglasses discarded as he'd stepped out of the car. In fact, awkward didn't touch it. Fcking asshole was more accurate. But he could give him a minute. Just one more.

Sam closed his eyes as he unzipped his jeans, knowing he had to get his head in gear. He had to talk to Dean. But… he'd felt like this before. Normally with Dad. When he knew that he was being an asshole, knew that he was just going to make matters worse but he just couldn't help it. He was mad. He was upset. And he was stressed… he had so much to do. So many things to work out, so much to fix… he had to make it right.

And… and above all, he was… he didn't want to admit it. But he was frightened. I mean, sure, he thought, I've been frightened before. But never… never for Dean. Having Dean there always made it okay, well, if not okay, better. Even if they were both frightened, his brother was always there to watch out for him. And now it was all up to him to make sure that would carry on… to save his brother. What if he couldn't do it? There was so much new stuff, so much that he didn't know what to do with, so much that he needed his Dad and his brother to help him with but he obviously couldn't tell Dad and he really really couldn't tell Dean because he wouldn't listen because he didn't want to but that's cos he just couldn't and so he was gonna have to do it all on his own and, and… breathe, Sam.!

His own voice of reason cut into his ramblings and forced him to draw in a deliberate breath, a little too close to hyperventilation to get away with it without Dean noticing. He managed to relax a little, as, after all, he really did have to pee. His breathing evened out a little as he relieved himself, suddenly realizing that getting out of the car was probably the best thing for both of them at the moment. He was gonna have to face his brother at some point. He knew without turning round that his brother was was leaning backwards on the car, glaring at him out the corner of his eye with that 'look'. He kept his gaze fixed into the distance. His shoulders hurt from the tension, his chest heaving with some weirdo mix of panic and anger. And to top it all off, he just couldn't get that that blonde bitch's voice out of his head. What the hell did she know about his family anyway… his head was swimming. The elephants were marching. Walking around the bed, on their head… He didn't know what to do. So many things, racing round in his confused mind. But he did know one thing. He knew he couldn't tell Dean.

"Better?"

Dean's deep voice was carried away from Sam slightly in the wind, but it was still the only sound on the empty road. He turned slightly to his kid brother, his question met with a scowl. Which, he conceded, was probably fair enough, it was a stupid question and I did just treat him like he's about five. But, hey, that's how old the stupid bastard is acting. Why the fck can he not just do as he's told and let me deal with this. Deal with… everything. Just for a little while.

"Y'know, Sam, I thought you'd have grown out of having to be let out the car to let off steam…"

Sam sucked in a deep breath through his nose, his bottom lip quivering slightly and his hands shaking irritatingly as his fastened his belt. Anger and tears were pretty close together for Sam, but as he breathed back out, a small laugh escaped. He was right. He used to do this when he was a kid. After a day on the road usually; Sam would get really out of sorts and Dad would find somewhere safe to pull over. Somewhere that they could spend just half an hour kicking back, running around, letting off some steam. Dean would need it too, he'd love the short breaks in the driving, but he'd never, ever dare to play up enough to make Dad stop. Sam smiled, remembering knowing when his big brother was getting antsy and on occasion putting on a kiddie strop to get Dad to pull over for Dean's sake. He wondered if Dean ever realised.

Suddenly pulled from his daydream, he realised his brother had moved and was rummaging through the trunk of the Impala. He reluctantly turned to see what he was doing, not quite ready to break the silence, but intrigued none the less.

"Ooof!" Something hit him hard and fast in the pit of his stomach, and he looked down at his hands, shocked. He couldn't believe it. He was holding a football. Half flat, seams splitting and the leather scuffed to hell, but once upon a time, it had been a football. He looked up at his brother who was taking off his jacket and grinning. He couldn't help but give him a shy, closed mouth smile back.

"Ten minutes, dude."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. In the middle of everything, in the middle of it all, Dean wanted to down tools and play? Jeez, Dean, I'm in the middle of some kind of Disney-induced breakdown, I'm sure I am, and you wanna play football. Half of him wanted to shove the football wideways up his brother's ass, the other half of him wanted to grab him round the neck and hug him. Ten minutes, dude. Just what Dad used to say. How long had this thing been languishing in the bottom of the trunk? Sam was sure he hadn't seen it since… since before he left for school anyway. Dean had already turned on his heels and was running away from the Impala into the roadside scrubland, crouching and clapping his hands when he was a good twenty yards away from Sam.

Sam pulled back his shoulder and launched the football at his big brother, a part of him seeing Dean with his freckles a little more prominent, hair a little longer and still a good head and shoulders taller than him. Sighing, he shrugged his shoulders out of his jacket and ran to face his brother, his hands in the air.

Dean watched painfully as his brother jogged over to stand opposite him. He didn't really want to be standing here tossing a football… he wanted to be drowning somewhere at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey. And he was sure Sam did too. But what the hell good did that ever do? He called to his brother again and slung the football towards his brother, laughing as he collected it up and his hair fell over his face. Soccer had always been more Sam's thing. And Sam still wasn't speaking to him. Damn stupid kid… I'm sick of this. He caught Sam's silent pass back to him with a deep breath, pushing the memories of the last couple of days out of the way. He could've stayed. Stayed in that lovely big house in Lisa's lovely big bed… he could've been playing like this with Ben.

They both could.

He gazed up into the orange sky. The sun was just setting, and he span the football up in the air, catching it again himself, just waiting for his brother to say something to him. Won't take a minute… he chucked the ball upwards again, not acknowledging his sibling's presence.

"What the hell, Dean?"

His brother's quiet, slightly irritated voice carried over the empty landscape. Dean caught the ball again and flashed his brother a wicked grin. "You want it? Come get it." He returned to throwing the ball to himself, almost able to hear Sam's huff from twenty five yards away.

Moron. My. Brother. Is. A. Fcking. Stupid. Moron. He'd had a moment out of the way, just a few seconds remembering how they used to play and suddenly he felt the anger again, lurking somewhere, just under the surface. He closed his eyes slowly, breathing in deeply, begging it to go away, begging the elephants not to come back. But he couldn't stop it. That God-awful multi-coloured elephant beast, made of just elephant heads, storming aggressively towards him. Elephants on parade. Chase them away! Shit, man, that is scary. Walt Disney for kids, my ass. He frowned, not quite remembering when he'd watched the scene, not even sure whether he was remembering it properly…in fact, yes, dammit, the stupid fcking clowns had caused it. They knocked the bottle into the water. Knew it – clowns. Bastards. Was their fault Dumbo got drunk…

Sam's memory suddenly found him parked cross-legged on a grubby carpet, gazing upward at a TV, flickering slightly because the tuning was a little off. He remembered being mesmerised; the music, the slightly weird scenery of the circus. The aggressive, brightly coloured clowns. He'd never seen anything like it before. So surreal. His brother was sitting behind him in a similar pose but curled onto a tattered sofa, his eight year old frame towering over Sam, but watching too. Sam looked up towards his brother for some reassurance; he wasn't sure how much he liked this film. It was dark. And it was scary. And then, the terrible scene of Dumbo's mother being dragged away. He remembered thinking how confusing it was; they had a Daddy, and no Mommy, but Dumbo had a Mommy, and they were taking her away. He wasn't too scared though; well, not yet. Because Dumbo saw his Mommy again, Timothy made sure of that. Even though she was locked up. And she still managed to rock him. He remembered frowning at that, about to ask Dean why, not quite sure exactly why she was still locked up… hey, he was only four. But, he turned around, and Dean was gone. He'd been sitting just behind him. Huh, he thought, turning back to the television screen.

And then the weird elephants showed up. Huge, bright coloured, evil elephants on the screen, huge things that doubled in size, split into two, three, man, millions of little elephants, stepping over each other, walking upside down around the bed… he shouted for Dean. He didn't come. Sam scrambled backwards, his heart rising in his chest as the massive elephant-head demon strode towards him, hitting the bottom of the sofa with a thud. Dean again… no sign. I hate it. Where is he… where's Dean? Sam remembered the panic as the elephants grew again… that was it. He had to do it. There was only one more thing he could do. He screamed for his Daddy.

He remembered the big arms gathering him up, Dad's deep voice whispering 'okay, Sammy, it's okay. What's happening?' He remembered gesturing towards the television and Daddy telling him that it was okay, it's not real, it's just on the tv and we can turn it off if he didn't like it. He almost felt his Dad's big, rough thumbs brushing the tears away from his face as he asked him where his brother was. Dad told him to sit still, just for a minute, whilst he went to find Dean. Sam's breath hitched; he didn't want to be here on his own. But he could be brave, just like Dad asked, just for a minute. He rocked him gently, and told him to turn and look, that they were gone, and the sun had come out. Dad was right; the elephants faded into fluffy pink clouds and the screen was bright again. And just for a minute, even though he was only four, Sam remembered feeling just a little bit silly. Of course it couldn't hurt him. It was just TV. And when it was morning, the elephants were just harmless, fluffy clouds. Dad lifted him off his knee and set him down on the sofa next to him, asking where his brother was. Sam didn't know. Wait there, kiddo.

He did. He always did as he was told. He didn't want to make Dad mad. And Dad was right. It was only a minute. Dad came out of the bedroom, his hand on Dean's shoulder, Dean's shoulders heaving up and down with tears themselves. Dad walked back to the tv and turned it off, declaring angrily 'I don't think we'll watch that again, shall we boys?'. Dad was mad with the TV, but not with them. He knew that; he remembered both himself and his brother being gathered up into his Dad's chest into the fiercest hug he could ever remember. Man… Dad seemed so big in his memories.

Jeez. I miss him. He'd…. Sam took a deep sigh. Dad would know what to do. Although Dad had done something just as fcking stupid himself. And, after the last time, he wouldn't like to bet that he'd even have bothered getting in touch. What voicemail would he have left this time? Hey, Dad, if you get this message, call me. Got some news, I died, Dean sold his soul. But don't worry… we're fine. We're always fine. He snorted a little at the ridiculous thought. Memories like the Dumbo one, jeez, he knew Dad loved them. He'd done his best. But sometimes… sometimes he'd got it just so wrong that it was untrue.He turned his mind back to the present, his idiot brother still standing in front of him, still holding the football.

I don't even know why I'm doing this. Sam glared at Dean as he arrogantly chucked the football up, down, up, down, spinning around… he threw it once again, touched the floor with both hands before he standing up to catch the ball on its descent. I'm not even going to… I can't be bothered with… He felt the rage bubbling inside him, anger like he hadn't felt in a long time. Everything spinning – Dean, his Deal, Dad… sitting on Dad's knee, telling him it was okay… it's not okay… nothing can ever be okay… what the fck did Dad know… Dad didn't have a clue… didn't… didn't come when Dean was dying… didn't… didn't come when Jess died… Dean hurling the football higher into the air and shouting again, calling stupid taunts over to him… Sam's heart hammered harder with each arrogant toss of the ball, the blood pumping in his ears and his breath quickening. To hell with it. I'm having that football.

"Come on Samantha, come take the ball off your big brother!" Dean taunted, his eye on the football as he flung it as high as he could and expertly caught it behind his back. Spinning it as he threw it one more time, he still hadn't heard a word from his little brother. Come on… you can't not talk to me forever… he caught the football against his stomach once again and glanced to where his brother had been standing. Shit. Sam wasn't standing there anymore. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something. Something huge, something snarling and fast as lighting racing towards him. Shit. Got to run.

Dean turned on his heels as quickly as he could, but the growling behind him grew louder and something hit him like a hurricane, forcing him to the ground in a sandy cloud and pinning him to the dust by his legs. Spluttering and gasping, Dean swore as he realised he'd relinquished the football as what felt like a ten-ton weight bore down on him, scuffing his knees into the dirt. Trying to roll over, he heard his brother breathing heavily over the top of him, sure that he heard him growling as he pressed his shoulders into the dirt. Little bitch, he thought, I'll teach him to tackle me like that. Getting his breath back and spitting sand from between his teeth, he rolled over, shoving Sam to the ground and leaning over him, the dust cloud getting bigger. Ready to laugh, he pinned his younger brother to the ground as he had done in numerous play-fights over the years. He looked into Sam's hazel eyes, ready to make a smart comment, ready to give him a bit of a slap around his sulky cheeks and pull him to his feet, when he stopped. His brother's hazel eyes were not laughing. They were dark and glistening with unshed tears. Crap.

Dean loosened his grip, knowing that the 'talk' that he'd been putting off at all costs was inevitable. Expecting Sam to sit up, he straightened up slightly, waiting for… ooof! Sam's leg was suddenly brought up behind Dean's straightening legs, dropping him to the ground like he'd been shot. That's it. I'm gonna fcking kill him. Dean scrambled to his feet and flew back at Sam, both men scratching around in the undergrowth, chests heaving and swearing under their breath. Dean felt himself slammed to the ground once again – damn, he'd seen Sam's aggression, he'd seen the rages before (well, mainly directed at Dad), but never seen him lose it like this. Suddenly, Sam stopped, grabbing the front of Dean's shirt and breathing heavily, a couple of tell-tale tear tracks on his cheeks and his eyes narrowed. Dean's eyes unwittingly flicked to Sam's right hand, paused up by his face and balled into a fist. Ready to puch his lights out. And shaking. Dean drew in a nervous breath.

"Jeez, little brother, if I'd known you wanted it that badly, you can keep the friggin football." He grinned nervously, watching as the shake in Sam's fist grew more severe, and he feared for a moment that Sam was going to bury his head in his chest and sob. Can't deal with that right now… I'd rather he clocked me one.

Holy crap. Sam breathed in deeply and quickly, staring at his dusty brother held in one fist and his other fist gathered, ready to smack the smile off Dean's irritating face. His stomach plummeted and he thought for a second he was going to throw up. I can't believe I was going to do that. Can't believe I did that. I was going to punch him. I was going to hit my brother. He dropped Dean's shirt and swallowed down the lump that was rising in his throat. He opened his mouth, ready to apologise, to try and explain why, how he felt… but he couldn't. He didn't know the words. So much… so much stuff was going round his brain… each problem a stupid, psychedelic elephant that he couldn't get rid of.

Dean coughed a little, heaving himself stiffly back to his feet. Sam couldn't stop the quiver in his chin as he saw his brother scramble out of the dirt and his green eyes met his. Instead of the flash of anger that Sam expected to see, he felt a tear fall run to the end of his nose and drip into the sand. Dean wasn't angry. He was… was he scared? Sam let his face drop towards the ground, just to stop himself looking into Dean's fearful green eyes. Surely he wasn't scared of him? Maybe… maybe he was just scared. Suppose he'd gone through a lot of shit in the last month or so. The guy had… he'd sold his soul. Surely he had to be pretty scared to start with to even think about doing that. Scared. Ten points for understatement of the freakin' year, Sam… he felt his brother grasp his large shoulders and dust his arms down towards his torn elbows.

"Come on. Ten minutes is up." Dean lowered his arms, turned around and started back to the Impala. Sam stood breathless behind him, watching as Dean shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets, the slump of his shoulders obvious as he trudged back to the car.

"And bring my football!"

Well, that seems as good a place to stop as any! I wanted to put this into something a bit bigger but I couldn't quite fit it into anything, so I thought I'd liberate it. Apologies if it seems a bit random - I'll warn you - once the boys start talking it's gonna get a bit more random!

Thanks for reading,

Sarah