Disclaimer: I do not own any publicly recognisable characters. The rights belong to their respective owners. I just like to have fun with them. d: Therefore, no copyright infringement intended.

The rain pounded against the street in a steady onslaught, the sound of the drops amplified by the silence around him. His hair clung to his scalp, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He knew Dad would say this was just a waste of time, that his surveillance would change nothing, but Dean didn't care. He had to make sure Sammy was alright.

And he was. He was adjusting to 'normal' life fairly well: college, job, girlfriend…the life Dean had always wanted for his little brother. He'd known it would hurt like Hell if – when – Sam decided to leave them to do his own thing, but Dean was, in no lesser terms, lost without the sibling he'd essentially raised because of their father's determination, obsession with finding Mary Winchester's killer. The day Sam had left what remained of their dysfunctional family was still burned into Dean's mind. The memory still brought tears to his eyes, though he often tried to hide them in bottles of whiskey, in his resolve to hunt and kill the monsters his father had taught him to destroy, and behind his tough-guy Badass McGee façade. But when the weather permitted, like it was now, he allowed those unshed tears to work their way down his cheeks to mix with the rain.

Dean sighed and pushed away from the tree trunk, starting the trek to the beautiful 1967 Impala waiting for him two blocks away. It had been a pointless trip. Sam, along with the locals, had chosen to remain indoors in the warmth. No, wait. There he was, coming from the coffee shop. Dean's throat tightened at the sight of that familiar, long-legged gait. He remained beneath the canopy of leaves and watched his brother cross the street a few cars down. When Sam entered the library, the older Winchester smiled slightly and walked away. His brother was safe, at least for one more day.

Without you, his mind suddenly whispered menacingly, but, instead of engaging in the two-year-old argument with himself, Dean merely slid into the driver's seat of his Baby, started the engine, and drove off.

Back at the hotel, he made sure all of the regular – and irregular – barriers were in place before loping to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. The last thing Dad needed was a sick Hunter on his hands. Dean relaxed under the stream as the water washed the tenseness from his muscles, and that's when he realised Dad hadn't been in the main room when he'd entered. He almost thought it odd he had managed to not notice it but then quickly dismissed it. Dad barely said a word to him any more that didn't revolve around a case; this was worsened when he knew that his son had been watching the younger Hunter – the one who'd run from his duties. John never asked "Why?" He knew it was the only thing keeping Dean going any more.

There was a note on the bed when Dean stepped out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around his waist.

Got a lead. Be back soon.

-Dad

"Great. Thanks, Dad."

He dressed and settled down between the bedsheets. Any Which Way You Can was playing on the TV. After pulling the comforter up his chin, Dean grinned, rolled onto his side, and fell asleep.

"Dean, I don't want this life any more. I don't. I've actually got a chance to get what I really want. This life… I'm happier without it. Without you. You always just screw everything up. I don't need you to live. I do that on my own. I'm actually making something of myself. You? You're just a high school dropout, trained to be Daddy's perfect little soldier. So obedient. That's all you'll ever be. But not me. I'm smart enough to not stick around, day in and day out, waiting for orders from a man who's barely there for us, waiting for some other monster that shouldn't even exist to pop up somewhere just so we can drive hundreds or thousands of miles to kill it. I'm smarter than that. I deserve better. But you're stuck with it, because you don't know how to think for yourself. You're stuck being a damn pawn."

Dean jerked upright in bed, chest heaving and fists clenched. His eyes rapidly examined his surroundings, and he calmed himself. Just a bad dream. He sighed with relief. Those words were only a figment of his imagination. Sam, his Sammy, had never said them.