Chapter 1

Imagine the finale of season eight: Imagine, Metatron had not betrayed Castiel and the other angels, imagine everything had worked out like they the brothers and Cas had planned it – Sam would have closed the gates of hell and the angels would have closed the gates of heaven. Almost everything supernatural would have been banned from the earth's surface, leaving it the way we normal humans see it. Sounds peaceful, doesn't it? Well, just because there are none of Crowley's slaves left, it does not mean that life gets easier or that there are less demons in the human minds. Well, I'll stop the spoilers now, have fun with the story.

It had all happened because of that stupid fight. Dean couldn't even remember what they were fighting about, only that it occurred three days after their father's funeral and that it ended with Sam packing his things and moving to Stanford.

They had always been the perfect team, no matter what they did, but when it came to grieving, they couldn't be more different. Sam had annoyed Dean with his way of always directing every conversation that they would end up talking about John again and Dean had probably hurt Sam much more than he could imagine when he started to drink again and slurred about how he was the only one who was allowed to grieve since Sam and John had never really gotten along well anyway.

After that third day, they had been screaming at each other, saying things they both regretted the second they left their tongues; things they couldn't ever take back. Dean had been a little drunk which only lit the fire even more and after a while, Sam had gone completely quiet. Twenty-seven years of knowing his brother had taught Dean that this was the moment he had screwed up to a point of no return. Sam would argue, he would scream and even get physical, but when you pushed him beyond that point of anger, he became silent and adamant and nothing you said or did could heal the wounds you had torn until he allowed it.

They tried keeping contact over the phone, they really did. But, no matter what they said or did, they would always end up in an awkward and extremely painful silence. The words that had fallen between them hang in the air like the big red elephant in the room that no one dares to mention when everybody sees it anyway. After some time, the elephant stopped Sam from calling. He would still pick up, when Dean did, but he wasn't the first to ring anymore. Dean tried, he tried so hard, but after more months had passed, he grew tired. So, eventually, he stopped. Sam and their dad became the two numbers he had on speed dial that didn't appear in his "last caller"-list anymore.

He tried to get by, with all the power he had left, and after some time it got easier. He found a job and started to have a life again, he even loosened on the alcohol. Still, it hurt him more than he would ever admit that Sam's last text had been a "Happy birthday! I hope you have an amazing day!" – that had been in January. It was almost December now.

Considering all this, no one could really blame Dean for standing in the doorframe and starring at the person in front of him for at least thirty seconds before he was able to move. It was a cold Saturday evening, the falling sun was fighting the big foggy clouds, frost covered the cars and streetlamps and gave the whole scene a little unrealistic, dreamy touch. Dean had been to a friend's birthday party the other night, so he was hungover and grumpy and so much not in the mood for talking or interacting with any other human being besides the pizza delivery guy. All of this suddenly changed when he opened that door.

Sam had lost weight since he last saw him, in a healthy way, but still a lot. His hair was longer and Dean could see the shadow of a beard hiding on his chin. He was as tall as ever, standing there and playing with his hands, trying but constantly failing to look Dean in the eye.

"Hey", Sam said softly and something inside Dean broke and melted into a puddle of feelings he didn't even know he was capable of having. God, how he had missed this voice.

"Hey", he answered, crossing his arms and clearing his throat. There he stood, wearing some old hoodie and sweatpants, probably looking completely run down, while Sam was wearing a polo shirt and jeans and looked better than he had in all these last years.

Sam sighed and run a hand through his hair. How could he suddenly have so much hair? Where did it come from?

"I… I am sorry. Am I disturbing you?"

The sudden fear of losing him again shot through Dean´s veins and he shook his head. "No, no, you don't. Please, come in!"

He awkwardly stepped aside and Sam awkwardly entered the flat. His younger brother smelled the remains of alcohol on him and for a split second Dean saw disappointment flicker in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as he blinked.

"Nice flat", Sam said and turned around to take a proper look at it. Dean shrugged. He didn't care about "nice"; all he cared about was having a home, a save place where he was secure from the rain and alone and could freak out as much as he wanted.

"How did you find me, anyway?", he asked and carefully tucked away the empty beer bottles that were standing beside the door.

Sam turned again to look at him and smiled. "You did a good job at hiding, but in the end, I found you in a phone book."

"You could have called." The words were out before Dean could think about them and he could have slapped himself.

Sam's smile faded and his eyes grew a little sad and tired. "Would you have picked up? Let alone told me where you were?"

Good point. Dean let the silence answer for him and awkwardly shuffled his feet.

"So… would you like to have something to drink?" he asked, hoping he could do something else than standing here and looking at his younger brother whom he didn't really know anymore.

"Yes, water would be great, thank you" Sam said and Dean sighed. Water. Awesome. There was no way he could drink anything alcoholic when his dear brother stuck to water. He was too afraid to ask about a beer, not wanting to break into another fight or disappoint Sam even more, so he just wandered off into the kitchen.

The real reason Sam hadn't called was probably because he had lost his number, he thought to himself. After a year or so, Sam had changed his number and out of old habit, Dean had learned it by heart. He knew that he couldn't expect Sam to do the same, but somehow it still hurt.

When he came back into the living room, Sam was still standing where Dean had left him, he was looking at old photographs on the wall, a smile crossing his face every now and then when he remembered a picture.

Dean cleared his throat and Sam jumped a little, then turned around. He looked guilty. "Sorry, I didn't…"

"Stop apologizing", Dean said and pointed towards the table. "Let's sit down."

They sat down and stared at their glasses for a while, silence falling between them, the same silence they had tried to avoid on the phone for so long.

Finally, Sam looked up. "Dean, listen, I…"

Dean shook his head. No apologies. Please don't make me go there. "No, I don't want to hear it. It was so long ago, we were both not in our right minds… just stop talking about it."

It was so wrong. Here he was, telling Sam to shut up because he wanted to say sorry, when it was Dean who should have been apologizing in the first place.

Sam sighed deeply and nodded. "Alright. So… how are you doing?"

The conversation got easier from there. Dean didn't have much to tell, he was working as a mechanic, finally able to do what he had always loved to. Since Sam had closed the gates of hell, there wasn't much one could hunt anymore. Some poltergeists, a few witches who somehow saved a little bit of their power, a vengeful spirit every now and then – jobs he had done since he was eleven years old. Whenever he heard something pop up, he checked it out, but it was never more than salting and burning some bones. He wasn't dating anyone, didn't really have a particular hobby and his life was probably the most boring it had ever been, but somehow, he was okay with it.

Sam on the other hand had finished law school. He had had a girlfriend, Patricia, but something had happened so they had broken up. He had learned Spanish and was trying to learn German, Patricia and he had been swimming a lot so it kind of became his thing and he was part of some sort of extracurricular activity group for kids. Right now, he was taking a break before he started to study for the bar exam and since he had wanted to meet Dean for so long, he had figured now would be a great time.

Dean eyed him with suspicion when Sam asked if he knew a cheap hostel where he could sleep and although he knew it meant that he wouldn't be able to sleep at all, he offered Sam his couch.

The flicker of hesitation hurt Dean more than he would have imagined after everything that had happened, but he shook it off when Sam agreed and busied himself with finding a blanket and a pillow, so his brother would be comfortable.

The night was awful. He had never been particularly good at sleeping but it seemed as if the last years had really made him forget how to do it at all. The mere thought of Sam, his brother, sleeping on his couch, made his heart race and his breath go faster. He had dreamed about this for months after Sam had left, but after their conversation had been dead for so long, he had started to accept that his brother wasn't coming back. He had a life now, down in Stanford, a wonderful life with a wonderful girl and wonderful aspects for his future – he didn't need his older brother anymore.

And now Sam was sleeping on his couch, curled up into a small ball like he was trying to protect himself from the big world out there. The lines around his eyes and the stern look on his face didn't fade now that he was asleep, they stayed and made him look older than he really was. His hands were clenched to fists, they looked like he was in pain and for a second, Dean felt the old worry rise inside of him. Worry for Sam, for his little brother whom he was ought to protect with his life.

Dean sighed and sat down in a chair next to the couch. He didn't envy Sam, he was proud that he was such a smart kid and that he had made it that far, but there were times like tonight where Dean wished it would have been the other way around. Dean wished for Sam to be the older brother, always trying to take care of Dean, always putting his needs aside to be there for his younger brother. He wished he had had the chance to go and have a life on his own instead of desperately trying to hold the family together.

Sam stirred in his sleep and Dean slowly got up. He didn't want Sam to find him like this, he didn't want to show him just how broken he was and maybe had always been.

Hey 😊
My name is Peri, I'm new to this forum and a little nervous to finally post this story. I'm from Germany, meaning that English is not my first language, so, please: tell me about any mistakes you find – I'm happy to learn.
I hope you liked the first chapter of the story. I'll try to post a chapter every week, but I can't promise that I will always be able to keep up that schedule. We'll see.

Well, I have no idea how to end this – I hope you have an amazing day 😊