A/N This story is written at a slow pace. It will span several years and is a character study, focused on the relationship between the brothers and, occasionally, their father. Taking place AU if they had made decisions that they all talk about wanting in canon. It is not hunt/supernatural heavy, so don't expect a lot of that.
Also, I'm sure I will be writing some mature/objectionable content. I don't write Wincest, but assume everything else is fair game. This is the only warning I will give.
/
There was country music playing on the jukebox, which was no big surprise because Sam had ventured to look at the selections once and knew that an entire catalog of country music artists were the only selections on offer. That was fine with him since he never really cared what was playing in the background while he was reading. He had learned the art of tuning out music and any other distracting noises a long time ago from riding hostage in the back seat of the Impala his entire life, and having Dean the human tornado as a brother.
As long as he had a book in front of him, he could lose himself in the story and shut out his surroundings.
That particular talent had gotten him into trouble with his father on more than one occasion because Sam was suppose to always be aware of his immediate environment and, sure, he could be plucked out of whatever literary world he was currently immersed in out of reflex, if the situation called for it, but he would rather not be bothered on the whole.
Not that any of that really mattered at the moment.
Firmly parked at his corner table, surrounded on two sides by thick wooden walls, and heavily guarded by the eagle eyes of his bar tending brother less than thirty feet in front of him, Sam didn't need to worry about his safety.
Not because of his own relatively mature age of one day shy of seventeen, or his over six feet of height which was just about to overtake his big brother's stature, and rapidly staging a coup over their father's as well, or his buck seventy five of lean muscle. It wasn't even because of the fact that he was deadly proficient with just about any weapon made, or that he knew how to incapacitate someone a dozen different ways just using his bare hands.
No.
It was because he had a deadlier and overprotective brother would cheerfully and creatively slaughter anyone that dared come near him in even the tiniest of aggressive manners. Who needed self defense skills when you had Dean Winchester as your personal bodyguard?
They were currently finishing week number three in southern Oklahoma, brought here originally by a hunt for a Spring-heeled Jack that Dad and Dean had disposed of within the first week. The plan had been to leave again soon after, but then their father had been mysteriously contacted by a psychic friend out of the blue and, without explanation, John had taken off like a rocket in the middle of the night for Salt Lake City, leaving the boys behind.
That was perfectly okay with Sam. His present high school was the eleventh one he had been enrolled in since September. Not as many as some years, and less than others, but the school year was drawing to a close in a few weeks, and he didn't relish the idea of pulling up stakes again and getting dropped into another cauldron of cliques and classrooms before the end of the term.
Their home of the moment was the Hi-View Motel. An old but relatively well maintained strip of rooms off the highway, with an attached bar and grill and even an outdoor pool that had seen better days but was still serviceable for the hot sunny weather of the approaching Oklahoma summer.
The owner, Randy Somers, was a widower who had built the motel and bar in the early sixties with his late wife Daphne at a time when roadside travel was a little fancier than it was these days. A nice older gentleman, lonely since the death of his wife, he kept the place out of nostalgia and not real financial need, so the prices were good and the linens were always clean. The lingering pride of better days kept Randy busy with repairs of aging fixtures, and the housekeeping was thorough because Randy was fond of telling anyone that would listen that Daphne was watching over the place, and she would come back and haunt him if he let it fall into ruin.
Hearing that, Sam was hoping that she actually wasn't, because he didn't look forward to having to salt and burn the bones of the beloved wife of the nice guy that was renting to them.
Randy had taken a shine to the Winchester brothers almost immediately. Maybe because his own two sons lived far away, too busy with their own lives to pay much attention to their father who refused to relocate closer to them. Not actually live with one of them, mind you, Randy had confided to Sam one day over a pitcher of real lemonade. They wanted him close but in a nursing home, to assuage whatever guilt they may have felt for being absent sons to the father that had always provided well for them.
The Hi-View had been the first of the Somers family investments, including some profitable oil interests that kept them more than comfortable. So there was money backing up the motel and grill, evident in the quality of food that was served, lovingly prepared by a round middle aged woman who called herself Chef Emily, and the meticulous care that was taken with the entire establishment.
Randy and Dean had bonded over the love of classic cars, and Dean, now actually being legal at the age of twenty-one and naturally charismatic, had immediately been offered a job tending the lively bar that still got a lot of traffic from the interstate, even though the motel itself was usually only half full at any given time.
With his generous employee discount, Dean fed Sam a good dinner in the grill every night, which was a nice change from their usual fast food take out or warmed up canned goods, and he also got a discount on the weekly room rent, so it was better than their average set up.
Dean's base pay as a bartender wasn't exactly a pro ball career, but the tips were crazy good because Sam's big brother had ladies lining up to vie for his attention. As a plus, Randy, with fond memories of his own youth before finding the love of his life, indulgently looked the other way when Dean or the other bartender JP sneaked the occasional love struck lady into an empty unit for a little fun.
So this is where Sam found himself every evening from the start of Dean's shift at five until the kitchen closed at ten, when he would be summarily booted back to their room before the rougher clientele made their nightly appearance for pool, darts and booze. Dean would tend bar until two, making it back to the room any time between three and five a.m. depending on his extracurricular activities, but always up and ready to drive Sam to school in the morning.
As Sam was sitting with a copy of The Silmarillion open in front of him, Cassidy, the twenty-two year old smoking hot blonde waitress, put a platter of grilled chicken, french fries and broccoli in front of him, refilling his lemonade glass from the pitcher she carried in her other hand.
Sam liked Cassidy. A lot, actually.
She was beautiful, friendly and chatty, routinely lavishing Sam with lots of flirty fun attention. Sam enjoyed it, but he was smart enough to know that her friendliness towards him stemmed from her not quite so secret desire to be the next girl that Dean took to an empty unit, and not any real interest in an awkward kid brother.
He did feel bad for her for harboring a crush that he knew would not be returned, sorely tempted to tell her that his brother would never mess around with a co-worker, but he kept his mouth shut. Dean had to work here, and it wasn't Sam's place to cause a problem where they both had it pretty good.
She gave him a pretty smile as she walked away, and his young hormonal eyes followed her pert behind sashaying back to the bar where her obvious attraction for his big brother was on display for everyone to see. Dean knew, of course, but he liked her as well, as a friend, and Sam acknowledged that his brother was trying very hard to be nice to her without encouraging anything further.
It was still early evening, the tables mostly empty, so Dean left the bar in JP's hands and strolled over to check on Sam, sliding into the vacant seat across from him at the table.
"Everything okay, Sammy?" he asked. "Enough rabbit food for you?"
"It'd be better with a beer," Sam responded hopefully, eyes dancing. "I have ID."
"Oh, I know," Dean snorted and raised an eyebrow, giving him an indulgent glare. "I made it for you. You're still not getting one."
Sam smirked and shrugged, not having really expected a different answer, and took a bite of his chicken. "Worth a shot, right?"
Dean grinned for a second, but then a frown creased his eyebrows as he pulled out his phone.
"Dad called today," he said hesitantly. "He's following up some lead that Fred gave him out to Cali, so he might not be back for a while."
Logically, Sam knew that this information was supposed to upset him, because tomorrow was his birthday and you were supposed to want your father to be with you on your birthday. Sadly, their father had missed several birthdays and other holidays over the years, and a result of that was the uncomfortable truth that his absence wasn't felt as keenly as it once had been by his youngest son.
On one level Sam was even secretly pleased, only because it might mean that they could stay where they were a while longer, hopefully until the end of the school year, but he knew he couldn't say these things to his brother. Dean wanted their father with them as much as possible, and he didn't take kindly to Sam suggesting otherwise.
"That's okay," he replied, shrugging again. "As long as he eventually makes it back in one piece."
If Dean was surprised by his reaction, he didn't show it, and since Sam wasn't pitching a fit and making pointed remarks about absentee fathers, the older brother was going to take the win where he could get it. Sometimes it was just better to keep John and Sam apart, and that thought broke Dean's heart a little.
"I think Cassidy is going to make another play for you," Sam said, changing the subject to something less controversial.
Dean let out of heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. It's getting awkward. She's a nice girl, but..."
"I know," Sam said, pushing his shoulders back and wagging his finger, a perfect impression of their father. "You don't shit where you eat, Son!"
Dean smiled, but was quietly a little taken aback. The older Sam grew, the more he looked and sounded, and sometimes acted, like their father, which was not always a good thing. He had long surmised that their many similarities were a contributing factor in their near constant war with each other, like two identical magnets forever repelling.
In the few minutes that Dean sat with him, Sam had hoovered through almost the entire dinner platter, and the older brother recognized the telltale signs of another growth spurt on the way. Sammy was already at eye level with him as it was, so as far as Dean was concerned it was just going to suck out loud when his little brother started to tower over him.
Cassidy, having kept a close eye on the brothers, noticed the empty plate as well, taking advantage of Dean's presence at the table to shoot over and offer Sam dessert, which he declined, and refill his lemonade, which he accepted. She threw Dean her prettiest smile, "accidentally" brushing his hand with hers as she took Sam's plate away. The boys watched her head back to the kitchen, hips swaying in her short skirt, and once again Dean regretted his no co-worker policy.
His break over, Dean threw a five on the table for Cassidy's tip and stood up to leave.
"I have plans for tonight," he informed Sam, wagging his eyebrows and grinning. "So don't wait up."
Sam rolled his eyes, because he expected no less, before Dean's face became the serious big brother face.
"Really, Sammy," he said, a little more firmly. "It's school night, so don't wait up. Hit the rack by midnight, Cinderfella."
"Okay, Mom," Sam sighed irritably, annoyed by his brother's bossiness. It's not like Sam stayed up all night anyway. Dean didn't need to tell him to go to bed like a good little boy, and yet he still felt the need to do so every night.
With the table to himself again, he buried himself back into his book, losing himself in a world of fantasy that took the edge off of the harsh reality that his family actually lived in. So engrossed was he that time slipped away completely without his knowledge, and it wasn't until he heard a sharp whistle that his subconscious recognized as his brother's way of getting his attention that he poked his head back up for air.
Dean was behind the bar, a full throng of customers jostling for service. The surrounding tables were packed, the air dense with cigarette smoke and the music livelier than earlier. His brother shot him an annoyed glare, pointing to his watch and then to the door. Surprised, Sam sat up straighter in the hard backed chair and glanced at his own watch that told him that it was a quarter past ten.
Slightly disoriented by the missing hours, he grabbed his book and his phone and headed towards the door. As he passed the bar, Dean pointed to his watch again and then mouthed midnight at him, and Sam scowled at the unnecessary reminder, flipping off his pushy sibling as he headed out. It never ceased to annoy him that his brother, who had always had his own set of rules growing up, could be such a jerk about telling Sam what to do.
Their room was only a few doors down from the grill, so it barely took him a minute to reach it, unlocking the door, and then immediately locking it behind him from habit. The same habit had him redoing the salt line that was required when their father was away. It rankled Sam sometimes, to have these things so deeply ingrained in him that he did them without even thinking about it.
Not for the first time, he lamented the fact that their lives were so jacked by their unorthodox upbringing. No wonder he always got labeled as a freak at his ever changing schools.
Scowling, he thew his book on the small kitchenette table next to the textbooks and notes that lay sprawled across the whole surface. He didn't have any more homework to do because, as usual, Dean had made him finish it before heading over to the grill. Sam was routinely irked that his less than studious brother had always mandated that Sam complete his homework directly after school.
Not that Sam wouldn't have done it anyways, because he enjoyed the work usually, and it beat the crap out of researching for his dad in any case. It was just because Dean never really took any interest in his own education, even though Sam knew that his brother was more than capable of making good grades if he made the slightest of efforts.
Dean was smart, probably smarter than Sam was himself, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that about himself or his big brother. But Dean had embraced the hunting life a long time ago, and he had never shown any interest in pursuing anything beyond that, actually getting hostile on the few occasions that Sam had tried to suggest otherwise.
So, yeah. Sam had to study because big brother said so, and when Dad wasn't around he had to obey Dean, but he had never really been sure why his brother took such pains with Sam's schooling when it had been made more than clear on several occasions that Sam was expected to follow in the family business.
On top of the school work, both boys had a rigorous schedule of PT and weapons training regardless of where they were. It was with these that Sam regularly gave his brother attitude, grabbing at any excuse to avoid the activities that he despised, regardless of the orders their father left them with during his frequent absences.
To be fair, it wasn't often that Dean would rat Sam out on his less than willing participation when Dad returned and demanded the usual report. Sam was actually pretty grateful for the fact that his big brother kept his confidence most of the time, only alerting Dad when it was impossible for him to not find something out by other means.
Shamefully, Sam knew that he often took advantage of the fact that his brother, while expected to carry out their father's orders, was not permitted to punish Sam for disobeying them. He routinely gave Dean a ton of grief when his brother was just trying to carry out their father's wishes, and still Dean covered his ass when Dad got home unless Sam had done something that might have endangered himself. Sam and his father fought nearly constantly anyway, and any lessening of tension was appreciated by all three members of their small family.
Dad didn't care about excellence in Sam's school work either, concerned only that he did well enough to make sure that he stayed below the radar of overzealous teachers, counselors and CPS. Which is how Dean had managed to drop out and get his GED instead of his diploma.
The almost four weeks the brothers had attended Truman High had been uncomfortable and life altering for both Sam and his brother. It was right after their month there that Dean had informed their father that he was leaving high school altogether, tired of the hassle of it all, and Sam was still pissed to this day that Dad had allowed it. Realistically he knew that their father couldn't stop him, since Dean was already eighteen and legally old enough to do as he pleased, but Dad could have made more of an effort to stop him in Sam's opinion.
Their father was relentless on issuing orders about every aspect of their lives, and Dean always obeyed them with a 'sir, yes, sir', so if John had told his eldest to get his ass into the next school, Dean would have done so immediately and probably graduated. The fact that their father let it go was one of the things that had made Sam the most angry with him out of all of their fights so far, because his brother could have been anything he wanted to be if given a little freedom and encouragement.
Which is probably why he himself wound up giving more than passing thought to Mr. Wyatt's remark about the four or five decisions that everyone should make for themselves. Watching their father casually dismiss the future of his intelligent brother, Sam was determined that doing something else with his life besides hunting was going to be one of those decisions he would make.
He was hungry again, like he seemed to be all the time lately, so he searched the fairly well stocked cabinet where Dean kept their snacks, grabbing a bag of jerky and then a bottle of water from the fridge. His eyes were tired from reading the small print of his paperback book, so he decided to flop down on his impeccably made bed with the sharp military corners that his father insisted on, and watch some crap cable.
John Winchester liked order, because disorganization could cost lives, and while both his boys could occasionally be messy with their various motel rooms in their father's absence, they usually tried to keep things tidy. You never knew when Dad was coming home and there would be hell to pay if things weren't shipshape. A messier than usual room, coupled with Sam's smart mouth talking back to their father, had once earned both boys a session of making and unmaking their beds fifty times while Dad stood at attention overseeing them. Something neither of them ever wanted to repeat.
Lazily, he flipped through the channels, looking for anything remotely interesting while he munched on the jerky, finally pausing on the History channel where a documentary on Julius Cesar was playing. Sam liked history. It was the one thing that made the research he did for his father's hunt even barely tolerable, and the study of ancient civilizations was better still. He liked the structure and the basis of the justice system and, not for the first time, he contemplated a career in law. His own family broke so many laws on a regular basis that he though that, maybe, he could balance the scales by defending some.
The noise from the grill was getting louder, so Sam finally had to turn the volume up to drown it out. He didn't care for the bar scene, unlike his father and brother who both seemed to fit right in with it. There had to be more to life than cheap laughs, cheaper women and cirrhosis, in his opinion. He wanted a real house to come home to every day, and the same girl to come home to. Not the endless parade of faceless barflies that kept his brother entertained as they wandered from town to town.
When the clock was creeping towards midnight, he switched off the TV and headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth and change for bed. The noise from the grill was now at full volume, and as he pulled back the covers from his bed he was once again grateful for the Walkman and headphones that Dean had given him a few months ago. At least he could drown out the noise with music of his own choosing and try to get some sleep.
Slipping under the blanket, he flopped over on his stomach to get comfortable, wrapping his arms around his pillow, his hands within reach of the butterfly knife that he kept underneath. Tired, he closed his eyes and began to drift off, happy to let sleep pull him under. A few minutes later, he was almost completely conked out when he felt his blankets being yanked off of him and someone smacking him hard on the ass.
Whipping around, knife in his right hand and swinging, Sam blinked his eyes open, ready to fight whoever it was that had broken into their room. As the rush of adrenaline pulsed through his veins, he caught the mischievous grin on his brother's face as Dean jumped back out of the range of Sam's knife, with approval in his eyes.
"Nice reflexes, Sammy!" Dean commented, laughing as he flopped down on the end of Sam's bed.
Sam sat up against the headboard, still getting his bearings back as he fully woke up, mumbling an impressive string of profanity because his brother could be such a jerk sometimes.
"What the hell, Dean," he snapped, closing the knife and returning it to its usual place. "I could have hurt you, idiot."
"In your dreams, geek boy," Dean replied, still laughing as he got up and headed over to the closet and pulled out his duffel. He threw it on his own bed and opened the drawer next to the sink, pulling out a tiny colorful box before sitting down on his bed and rummaging through his bag.
Sam rubbed his eyes irritably, resisting the urge to punch his brother for smacking him like that and waking him up after being such a dick about telling him to be in bed.
"What are you doing here, anyway," he asked, annoyed and tired. "Don't you have two more hours on your shift?"
Dean turned around, mischief dancing in his eyes, as he held out a little chocolate swiss roll with a single candle already burning in the middle.
"Did you think I forgot?" he asked, feigning a hurt expression. "It's not every day that your little brother turns seventeen, Sammy."
Sam tried hard to maintain his affronted glare, but felt it slipping as soon as he saw the cake. The Little Debbie Swiss Roll had become a fixture for birthdays for the Winchester brothers who rarely ever had a real birthday cake to celebrate with. Money had always been tight when they were little, and even now, with Dean more than helping with expenses that made their financial situation significantly more comfortable where a real cake could be purchased, they still held on to the traditional of the little chocolate treat.
"Make a wish, kiddo," Dean said, passing the roll over to Sam who immediately reached for it. "And make it count."
Sam grinned at him, a full smile that showed all the dimples. He hesitated for the briefest of seconds before blowing out the lone candle, plucking it out and breaking the cake in half to share with his brother.
With a mouth full of chocolate, Sam tucked his legs underneath him and leaned back against the wall the bed abutted.
"You could have just woken me up, you know," he muttered grumpily, even as his dimples were still peeking out. He sighed happily, sucking some of the cream filling from the middle. "You didn't have to smack me like that, you freak."
Dean snorted as he licked chocolate from his thumb. "Hey, everyone gets a birthday spanking," he replied, cocking an eyebrow threateningly at his little brother. "One smack down, sixteen more to go."
Now Sam did glare at him, pointing a finger still smeared with chocolate that made the gesture a little less menacing.
"Try it and I'll break your hand, jerk."
Dean laughed softly at the look of fury of his little brother's face that was so fierce that it looped back around to cute. Sam may be seventeen now, but he still looked ten years old sometimes.
"Easy, tiger," he soothed, holding up a hand in defeat. He rummaged through his bag again and pulled out a small wrapped package that he tossed to the kid who caught it easily.
"Happy Birthday, little brother," he seriously, wishing Sam had more of a celebration in store for him that the small gestures he could make.
Sam grinned again before tearing off the paper, drawing in a sharp breath when he uncovered the pricey scientific calculator he had been coveting for a while.
"Dean," he whispered, awestruck by the gift. "We can't afford this."
"Pffft," Dean huffed, shrugging with an affronted scowl on his face. "Don't tell me what I can afford, Sammy. We're doing just fine. You wanted it, and you deserve it. That's all you need to know."
Sam held the package for another quick second and then dropped it on the bed, standing up and grabbing his brother around the neck for a quick hug. Dean rolled his eyes, but he wrapped his arms around the kid and hugged him back because, seriously, Sammy could be such an emo little bitch sometimes.
"Alright, alright," he muttered, patting Sam's back gently before slowly pushing the kid away, the embrace becoming uncomfortable for him.
Sam smiled, knowing how much his brother outwardly protested against chick flick moments, when really he was all about them. Dean could fool just about everyone else, including their father sometimes, but he couldn't fool his kid brother. He returned to his own bed and immediately began picking open the plastic packaging around the calculator.
"What are you doing here so early, anyways," he asked, jerking his chin over to the clock radio on the nightstand that showed that it was only a little past twelve thirty.
Dean flopped down on his bed and kicked off his boots as he stretched out and yawned.
"I'm done for the night," he answered matter-of-fact, taking off his watch and flinging it onto the nightstand.
Sam paused in his calculator extraction to throw his brother a scowl. "Why?"
Dean snorted and sat back up to remove his socks and outer shirt. "Why? Because it's my pain in the ass little brother's birthday as of midnight. I thought I might actually spend it with him."
"Oh," Sam replied quietly, the thought surprisingly more pleasing than he would have admitted openly.
"Oh," Dean parroted back, his mouth twisting up in a little smirk. He watched Sam struggle needlessly for a minute with the package before shaking his head and offering his own knife.
"I would have been here earlier," he began explaining, as his kid brother finally succeeded in freeing his gift, "but I wasn't sure JP could handle things on his own. I was hoping to catch you before you fell asleep, actually."
Sam nodded absently as he began to pour over the folded white sheets of instructions and Dean stood up and sauntered over to the fridge and grabbed a beer.
"So what did you wish for?" he asked as he took a swig and wiped his mouth with his hand.
"If I tell you, it won't come true," Sam answered petulantly, never raising his head from his paperwork, but a snarky dimpled smile peeking out.
"Yeah, ok, Pinocchio," Dean laughed as he downed the rest of the bottle. "Tomorrow you'll wake up and be a real live boy, don't worry."
He ignored Sam flipping him off again and headed into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He could use a shower to get the pervasive stench of cigarette smoke out of his skin, but he was just too tired right now. With the running around to shop for the calculator, he hadn't been able to get his usual nap in before the start of his shift. Making his way back out to the main room, he stripped to his boxers and then slipped on a clean T-shirt before pulling back his blanket and top sheet and crawling into bed.
"That can wait until morning, Sammy," he said with a little firmness in his voice. "Go brush your teeth and get back into bed and I'll let you play hooky tomorrow."
"I already brushed my teeth," Sam replied absently, as he scrolled through the functions. "And why would I play hooky?"
"And you just ate chocolate," his brother reminded him pointedly, too tired to spar with Sam. "I'm not going to pay for some dentist's new Mercedes because you need fillings. Go brush again."
Sam rolled his eyes and huffed, but he put down the calculator and slid off of his bed, obediently heading into the bathroom to give his teeth a second pass.
"You're bossy, do you know that?" he snapped at his brother when he exited the bathroom and got back into his own bed.
"Yeah, I'm awesome," Dean replied easily, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes already closed. "I thought you might want to go to that museum you keep bugging me about, and maybe see a matinee of Gladiator. I have tomorrow off."
"Seriously?" Sam asked, eyes wide with shock. You usually couldn't get his brother near a museum unless something needed to be killed in it.
"Yes, seriously," Dean affirmed, rolling over and dragging his blanket up to his neck. "Now shut up and go to sleep before I change my mind."
Not wanting to risk it, Sam decided he should just shut up and go to sleep.
/
They both slept in late the next morning, each taking a long lazy shower that they usually didn't have enough time or hot water for, which was a nice benefit to waiting past check out time for most nightly guests. To Sam's surprise, Dean passed on the standard drive thru that provided them their breakfast on the way to Sam's school most mornings, choosing to pull into the parking lot of a nice diner instead where Sam was able to order an enormous portion of his favorite pancakes and a bowl of fresh fruit salad that didn't come served in a bag and handed through a window.
After breakfast, Sam was allowed to leisurely stroll through the museum he had been going on and on about since they had arrived in the area. Dean kept his mouth shut, refraining from making any wise cracks that would spoil his little brother's geek time as he followed the kid from exhibit to exhibit. Sam was bubbling and enthusiastic as a puppy, and Dean swore that he could practically see a tail wagging, afterwards insisting that his brother pick out a few souvenirs from the gift shop.
Lunch consisted of nachos, a large bucket of popcorn with extra butter, peanut M&Ms and Gummy Bears that they hoovered through while Russell Crowe slashed and bashed his way across the screen. The hours of solid action had Dean jonesing to punch something, but he settled for making some mental notes to add to their training regimen. Once the movie was over, Sam pressed his birthday luck and cajoled his brother into letting him drive.
The Impala had only been Dean's car since his twenty-first birthday in January, so it was a tough sell to hand the keys over to his little brother. But those damned puppy dog eyes were lethal, and logically he knew that the kid was a fairly skilled driver, trained under the same tutelage as Dean had been himself, so he clenched his teeth and passed them over, promising a world of hurt for the tiniest of scratches.
They spent the rest of the afternoon cruising around to nowhere in particular, Sam perfectly capable at the wheel, which didn't mean that his brother wasn't white knuckling it in the passenger seat since he started the engine. By the time that they had driven by an Indian restaurant that Sam begged to try for dinner, Dean would have promised the kid anything, up to and including eating curry whatever, to get him to pull over, so Sam carefully signaled and easily swung into the parking lot.
The Maharajah Palace was cheesy enough looking, in Dean's opinion, painted gaudy colors and sporting a small onion shaped dome on the top, but Baby was parked and the keys were back in his pocket, so he shut his mouth and followed Sam inside. Through the door they were assaulted with a wave of spices in the air, not altogether unpleasant, with the strains of a weird sounding guitar and a woman with a high warbling voice playing in the background.
A pretty young lady in a brightly colored dress with a long black braid down her back handed them menus which Dean just shoved back at Sam, telling him to order whatever he wanted for the both of them, while he took out his phone and checked messages. Sam carefully perused and was well prepared when she returned, grinning from ear to ear as he placed their order.
His big brother didn't really care what they wound up eating, he was just enjoying the smile on the kid's face, one that didn't make too many appearances these days. All too often, when Sam wasn't carping on and on about their frequent moves, he was either brooding or had his nose stuck in a book, and there were blocks of days in a row where Dean really missed just having fun hanging out with his kid brother. With their lives as they were, he wasn't ashamed to admit that Sam was his best friend. The only friend Dean had ever needed really.
Since he left school, work was a necessity for him, because their dad already had his hands full with his search for their mother's killer and all of the other hunts he took on to spare other families from the devastation of their own, and Dean was happy to pitch in. His various jobs, sometimes actually legal ones, provided food and shelter for himself and his brother, as well as the little things that Sam needed, and occasionally just wanted, like money for school trips, special books and social outings.
Dean was making out okay at the Hi-View, with the only drawback being his hours that kept him apart from his brother in the evenings when Sam was home from school. With their father's mandated training schedule, and the time they spent helping him research on the weekends, it didn't leave a lot of frivolous brother time.
It's not that Dean wasn't proud of Sam's impressive grades, earned under pretty stressful situations with their constant travel.
He was damn proud of the kid.
But secretly, he was ready for his brother to graduate already, so they could all travel together all the time, keeping the family business of hunting things and saving people, without the near constant worry about not being there to watch his father's back.
Dean was only one person, after all, with loyalties torn between the two most important people in his life. John Winchester was one of the best hunters in the game. Everyone knew that. But he was still just a man, and men make mistakes no matter how good they are. Truthfully, Dean wasn't sure how he would survive if his father was hunting alone one day and something got him before he got it because Dean was in a motel somewhere with his thumbs up his ass while Sammy was going to high school.
They had left Sam alone on several occasions, but never really for very long periods of time, or longer than a few hours drive from where they were hunting. The kid was strong, well trained and he was definitely old enough to watch out for himself. But there was a clear and present fear in their father's eyes as to the safety of his youngest son, one that he had never really displayed regarding his eldest, and that was fine, as far as Dean was concerned, because it had always been his job to watch out for Sammy, and it was a responsibility he took very seriously.
The pretty waitress brought over two steaming cups of something that looked like milky coffee and Dean almost sent it back because he drank his coffee black like a man should. Only princesses like his little brother drank creamy, swirly, fancy pants coffee drinks, thank you very much. But Sam was giving him that look, so he sighed in resignation and picked the cup up, sniffing suspiciously at it, and immediately having his nostrils assaulted with a heavy waft of spice that tickled his nose hairs.
"Will you just try it already," Sam huffed, as he took a sip from his own cup. "It's Spice Tea. You'll like it."
Dean leaned away from the cup, a look of revulsion on his face. "Tea? Do I look British to you?"
And there were the puppy eyes again, and if Sam didn't stop it immediately, Dean was going to start making him wear sunglasses full time because it was unfair for him to have that kind of advantage over his older, bigger, smarter and better looking brother.
To make his little brother happy, Dean took a tentative sip, feeling the unfamiliar flavors on his taste buds and finding himself surprised that they weren't unpleasant. A bigger swallow a moment later, and he had to admit that the tea was okay. Of course he would never admit to drinking it to anyone. Ever. But he would enjoy it right now because he was already paying for it, and they were raised to not waste their food.
Yep. That was it.
The song changed, and now it was a man with a high warbling voice with heavy percussion providing the background as the waitress placed a large appetizer plate of...something or another...in front of them. Dean scanned the plate and saw what looked like large flat tortilla chips with seeds, some triangular deep fried things, chunks of reddish meaty chunks, long strips of something-something and meatball-ish things, with cups of God knows what kind of dipping sauce type stuff in them.
He restrained the urge to pull out his flask of holy water and sprinkle the entire plate with it, just to be on the safe side, but the hopeful expression on Sam's face, and the need to look brave in front of the kid won out. He took his fork and stabbed the nearest thing and popped it in his mouth.
And you know what? It didn't suck.
Their junk food lunch had kicked up an appetite, and they had just about inhaled the entire plateful when Sam's phone started to ring. Dean frowned at the intrusion because their dad hated it when they tried to take calls during meals, and both brothers at one point or another had their phones taken from them for failing to put them on silent during the rare occasion that the family ate out together.
Sam pulled the phone out of his pocket and his eyes got that tight look in them when he was either annoyed or worried, which kicked up Dean's stress level a notch.
"It's Dad," Sam informed him, his forehead puckered as he hit the talk button.
"Hi, Dad," he said cautiously, worry winning out because their Dad never called Sam when Dean could be available.
"Hey, Sammy. Happy Birthday, Son."
Oh, right.
Sam ignored his brother's questioning look, and sat up a little straighter in his chair simply from muscle memory.
"Thanks, Dad. Is everything okay? Are you okay?" he asked, a little worried.
"Yeah, kiddo. Everything is fine."
Dad sounded tired, like he usually did after a hunt, and Sam could have sworn that he sounded a little sad too, but his father usually didn't do sad too often if it wasn't related to their mother, so maybe he was just imagining it.
"What about you boys? Doing anything fun?"
Sam nodded at Dean, silently letting him know that their father was fine, watching the relief wash over his brother's slightly pale face.
"Um, yes, sir. We're just having dinner. Dean took me to a museum and then to the movies," he rambled on, immediately snapping his mouth shut as he realized that he had just told John that he hadn't been in school today. Cursing himself, he bit back a yelp when Dean gave him a vicious kick under the table.
His brother was glaring at him now and he scrunched his face apologetically, sorry that his mouth might cause trouble for the both of them. Fortunately Dad didn't seem to notice.
"That's good, kiddo. Listen, Sammy. I'm sorry I'm not there. I wanted to be. Maybe next week. We'll do something special when I get back, okay?"
And Sam sighed, because he had been given this speech before, so he was used to it. Dad would keep his word, and they would do something together as a family when they were reunited. Probably dinner, and maybe a "fun" outing that would involve getting familiar with whatever weapon his father gave him as a birthday gift. But he wished that his father wasn't absent quite so much, especially on special days like this.
"Sure, Dad," he replied, as respectfully as he could, because he knew from experience that kicking up a fuss over the phone wasn't productive for anything other than picking a fight.
"Okay, Son. I'll see you soon. You mind your brother while I'm gone."
"Yes, sir," he promised for the millionth time. His matching command to Dean's Watch out for Sammy.
"Let me talk to your brother for a minute."
Sam handed his phone over to Dean's anxious hand, picking up his fork and poking around at the food on his plate that seemed a little less pleasing than it had a minute ago. He idly listened to Dean's side of the conversation which never really amounted to more than "Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags full, sir."
Dean had such blind devotion to their father and sometimes Sam just couldn't understand why his big brother would never question a word the man said. Their father wasn't perfect. Not by a long shot. But his brother faithfully carried out every order Dad gave with unwavering obedience, even when Sam was pretty sure that underneath it all, Dean disagreed with what he was being told to do.
A few tables over, a small family were enjoying their dinner. Sam watched them enraptured. Probably a little on the creepy side to be perfectly honest. Father, mother, two teenage boys and a little girl. They were laughing, the parents listening to their kids teasing each other about the spiciness of their meals. Sam watched jealously as the little family interacted with each other, so easily and natural, and a pang of hurt engulfed him as he found himself missing his father and yearning for the mother he couldn't remember to casually push the hair off his forehead the way the mother at the other table had just done with her younger son.
Dean handed back his phone just as their entrees arrived. Several silver dishes filled with steaming meats and vegetables in sauces and fluffy rice, along with a basket of hot wedges of pita like bread. As the little feast was spread out in front of them, Sam twisted his lips in grim realization that his appetite had waned, although there would be plenty to take home for dinner tomorrow, so that was a plus.
"Sammy? You with me?" he heard Dean ask, his voice laced with concerned as he frowned at Sam.
Sam nodded and mentally shook off his momentary sorrow. Dean had given him such a great day, and he felt a wave of shame pass over him for his ungrateful thoughts on his lack of family a few minutes ago. His brother deserved better than to have him only halfway present while they ate.
To please Dean, he made an effort to dig in, enjoying the myriad of flavors that was a far cry from their normal fare. Sam liked to try new things, explore different cultures and expose himself to exciting and less life endangering experiences than he was usually given the opportunity to. And as he thought about it, that wasn't really fair either.
Dad was pretty good about checking out local attractions while they crisscrossed back and forth around the country. Sam was lucky he supposed, because he got to see a lot that most kids he met at his various school could only dream about. Just last year, Dad took them to see the Aztec temples in Mexico City after they hunted a chupacabra. But it was as if the trips were spoiled by the purpose of them.
It was hard to enjoy seeing the world's largest ball of twine (not that large, really) when the night before you were stitching up your brother, under your father's intense scrutiny, while Dean was practically bleeding out at the motel from a run in with a pissed off spirit.
For Dean's sake, he tried to keep his enthusiasm up during the rest of their meal, but he should have known better, because he couldn't fool his brother any more than his brother could fool him. Back in the car, Dean relieved because he was back behind the wheel, his brother called him out on his earlier bout of melancholy.
"Alright, spill, bitch. What's got your panties in a twist?"
Sam sighed, not wanting to bring the mood down anymore than he already had, but his brother was like a dog with a bone when he thought that Sam was hiding something, and the inquisition wouldn't end until the younger brother had spilled his guts to his big brother's satisfaction.
"Dad said he might be back next week," he answered, his voice flat and final.
Dean snorted, and he threw his little brother a carefree smile. "Yeah, he told me that too. That's great, isn't it? He's been gone too long as it is."
"Deeean," Sam practically whined, annoyed that he didn't seem to get it. "If he comes back that early, then I'll probably have to leave school. It's so close to the end of the year and I don't want to move again so soon."
He threw his brother a baleful look, noticing the frown that spread across Dean's face. He could tell that his brother was conflicted. Dean would want their Dad back safe and sound and as soon as possible, but he was also aware of what another move would do to Sam's school record if he couldn't account for end of term exams anywhere. Sam also knew that Dean liked this particular job and this particular town.
"I'll talk to him," Dean promised, only half convincingly, because John Winchester didn't take suggestions from his kids.
They drove for a few more minutes, Sam's face pressed against the window as the miles ticked by, his breath fogging up the glass.
"Do you still want to know what I wished for this year?" he asked absently, avoiding his brother's searching gaze.
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean replied quietly, turning back to watch the road. "Yeah, I do."
"I wanted to be normal," he admitted. "Even if it's just for a little while," he added, rubbing his forehead where the moisture from the window was pressing against his bangs.
"It won't come true anyway, so I don't need to worry about superstitions," Sam added a little ruefully.
"Normal is boring, Sam," his brother stated, matter-of-fact. "I'm not normal, and look how the ladies love me," he added, putting the fake charm in his voice that Sam knew masked his sorrow.
"You had normal for four years," Sam reminded him, specifically turning away to avoid seeing the pain that the reminder of Dean's childhood always brought on. It wasn't his intention to bring up painful memories, but sometimes he wondered if Dean truly understood that Sam had never experienced even a shred of a regular life.
He clamped his eyes shut, expecting the usual lashing out that Dean threw at him whenever they talked about the past. Mom was practically a taboo subject most of the time, and Sam had to beg for bits and pieces about their family life before because the subject was usually too overwhelming for both his father and brother to discuss. He was used to their ire when he dared mention it.
"I know, Sammy," Dean muttered quietly, surprising Sam with his less than hostile response.
They drove in silence for a few more minutes, with Sam covertly studying his brother's face as he drove. Dean was an introverted thinker, the polar opposite of both John and Sam who were more 'shout first and ask questions later' type of conversationalists. He hated to see Dean look so uncomfortable after the nice day he had tried so hard to give.
"I am pretty lucky though," Sam stated firmly, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. "I have the most awesome big brother who gave me a really great birthday."
Dean threw him a quick look, and Sam gave him his most sincere smile, practically willing Dean to see the truth of his words. The grim introspective frown slowly slid off of Dean's face, replaced with a genuine smile and a spark of mischief twinkling in his eyes.
"You're damn right, you do," he agreed enthusiastically, sparing them both from further uncomfortable chatter by cranking up the radio and blaring AC/DC as they made their way back to the motel.
/
There was no quarter given in the War of the Winchesters.
Dean would swear on a stack of bibles that Sam's back went up the minute their father crossed over the town border a week after Sam's birthday. It was like the kid could practically sense Dad approaching, even though he had given no specific date of arrival at Hi-View.
One minute Sam was sitting at the kitchenette quietly doing his calculus homework, made significantly more easy thanks to his nifty new toy, and then the next he was crabby and spoiling for a fight for absolutely no reason. Honestly, at this point, Dean wasn't even surprised when their Dad strolled through the door using the spare key he had taken with him at his departure weeks earlier.
Almost immediately they were at each other's throats over literally everything. Dean no longer bothered to keep track of the disputes, they were all so petty. Dad couldn't tell Sam what the time of day was without his pain in the ass little brother questioning the veracity of the answer. Even when their father gave Sam the ornately carved Suan Ywe Gou blade he had procured from Caleb on the trip back for Sam's birthday gift, the kid couldn't even find the graciousness to be appreciative of Dad's offer to spend an evening with him showing Sam how to use it with the most effect.
It was getting to the point that Dean couldn't be comfortable heading to the grill for his evening shift without feeling the need to sprint back to the unit a few times a night to check and make sure that they hadn't killed each other yet.
Randy had generously offered a complimentary room for John's use so that he wouldn't have to squeeze in on a rollaway in the already small quarters, and Dean suspected that his boss was bending over backwards because he had a suspicion that the family would be pulling out sooner than he had been hoping and was trying to make them all as comfortable as possible for as long as possible. So tensions were lower than they could have been because at least there were walls to separate John and Sam for a few hours a day.
Still, on more than one occasion, Dean had checked in on them only to find them mid battle, the hollow core motel doors practically vibrating from the volume of their shouting. He had expected trouble on this particular evening because Dad had dragged Sam back to their rooms right after dinner in the grill, having found the next hunt and needing help taking notes from a few lore books that Bobby had loaned him.
As he hurried down the sidewalk, his hands full with plates of apple cobbler than both his father and brother favored, he could hear the raised voices four doors away and he swore under his breath while picking up his pace. By the time he opened the door to the unit he shared with Sam, balancing the plates on one hand so he could turn the key and push the door open with the other, his father and brother were going toe to toe in the middle of the room, appearing to be completely unaware of his arrival.
"Samuel, I'm not going to tell you again," Dad growled, his eyes glaring menacingly. "People's lives are at stake, so you sit your ass down and do the job!"
"Screw the job," Sam yelled, his face flushed and his breathing hitched. "I didn't choose to spend my life doing this shit!"
Oh God, Dean thought, rolling his eyes heavenwards in frustration. Here we go
He shoved the plates of cobbler on top of the dresser next to the door and went to insert himself between the two other Winchesters before this scene got too ugly. Usually their father would allow him to calm Sam down before the kid's mouth got him in deeper, but Dad apparently wasn't in a charitable mood at the moment. Which made Dean wonder how long this verbal tug of war had been waging already.
John put a hand on Dean's chest and firmly pushed him back, keeping his eldest from wedging in between himself and his younger son. He held Sam's infuriated glare without blinking, leaning further forward into the kid's space, minutely pleased when the boy had the sense to back up an inch.
"You want a choice, young man?" he demanded, his voice deceptively calm. "I'll give you a choice."
Putting himself directly in Sam's face, a warning finger poked firmly in the kid's chest, he narrowed his eyes.
"Either get yourself in the chair and get to work, or I will put you in the chair myself," he warned, his deep voice rumbling and dangerous. "But I'm telling you right now, if I have to put you in it? My belt's coming off first. Your choice."
Sam's scowl was pure fury as he grit his teeth to keep himself from saying anything further, and Dean could see his little brother's chest heaving deeply, his shoulders radiating tension. Sam's stubbornness had pushed their father too far on several occasions, because the kid who was usually so smart couldn't seem to remember to keep his mouth shut when it came to fighting with their dad.
If Dad was already belt level mad, they clearly had been sparring for longer than Dean had suspected. He didn't have any trouble believing that John would keep his word if Sam didn't obey because their father always followed through on a threat. Why Sam couldn't remember that, Dean didn't know.
"Sammy," he called out softly, trying to lower the hostility in the room. "C'mon, man. Just do what Dad says already."
Sam glared at Dean out of the corner of his eye because he refused to turn away from his father for even a second. His mouth puckered as a wave of betrayal hit him, wanting Dean to be on his side for a change, but Sam knew that it was just as likely that Dean would spit in their father's face as disagree with him.
"Listen to your brother, Samuel," his father advised, removing the finger from Sam's chest. "He's giving you good advice."
For a brief moment, Sam contemplated telling his father what he could do with the lore books and taking the consequences, but realistically he knew it wouldn't be worth it. Sam was already a big kid and getting larger and stronger by the day, but he still accepted that his father was perfectly capable of physically sitting Sam down in the chair if he decided to, so he shamefully found himself backing down.
One way or another Sam always wound up doing exactly what his father told him to do, so what good did it do him to have to spend hours taking notes while sitting on a sore ass? He'd had to do it before, because this wasn't Sam's first rebellion over research, and it just sucked.
Sam shut his eyes in frustration, taking a second to will his emotions to calm down before sliding into the chair next to the heavy, ragged cloth books. Only one more year, he told himself as he silently stewed. In one more year he could get out from under his father's thumb and start living his own life.
"Everything in the first five chapters, Sam," he heard his father instruct. "You understand, young man?"
Sam curled his hands into fists under the table, practically cutting into the skin of his palms as he struggled to maintain his composure.
"Yes, sir," he bit out as respectfully as he could, just wanting his dad out of the room and leaving him alone already.
"And you can run an extra five miles tomorrow for that smart mouth of yours," his father said sternly as he stormed out to head back to his own room, slamming the door as he left.
Dean rubbed his face, shaking his head as a pounding pain developed near his temples. These little pissing contests between his father and brother were exhausting.
"You could have backed me up for once," he heard Sam mutter petulantly from his place at the table.
"Yeah, and you could have just done what you were told for once, too," Dean shot back, tired of the nonsense. "I save your ass all the time. Why do you have to always be like that, Sammy?"
Sam scowled, even as he opened the book to the appropriate page and grabbed a pen.
"He doesn't have the right to just order me around like that, Dean," he protested, the grip on the pen so tight Dean worried it might snap.
"Uh, yeah he does, genius. Like it or not, you're still a kid and he's still your father," Dean reminded his brother. "Dad does what he does for a reason. Don't forget that."
"This is bullshit," Sam snapped, shoving his notebook aside. "No other guy in my school is spending the evening taking notes on witchcraft lore."
Dean shuddered involuntarily because he hated witches, and wasn't really keen on heading to the next gig. They were just nasty. He sighed, because now that Sam's anger was receding, he could see his little brother's shoulders sagging in defeat and sadness.
"Yeah, that's true," Dean agreed. He grabbed the plates of cobbler from the dresser and laid them in front of the kid as a peace offering.
"But they don't have awesome big brothers that offer room service with their favorite dessert either. You can even eat Dad's if it makes you feel better to deprive the old man of a treat," he winked conspiratorially.
His brooding little brother glared side eyed at the plates before deciding that, since he had already punked out in the fight with his father, his disposition could be bought if the price was right. Right now the price of his tolerance returning was two servings of Chef Emily's homemade cobbler.
Dean smirked, grabbing one plate and dumping its contents on top of the other. His father would probably be more in the mood for a shot of whisky than dessert anyway.
"Don't get that crap on Bobby's books or he'll kill you," he advised Sam, who knew it was true. "I'll be back in a few hours. Behave yourself."
Sam took in a deep breath and chose to say nothing inflammatory, scooping up a big forkful of the cobbler as he began to scan the first pages. Taking that as his cue to leave, Dean slipped out of the door, not surprised to see his father leaning in the open doorway of his own room, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans.
"He working?" Dad asked, jutting his chin towards the door to the boys' room.
"Yes, sir," Dean replied easily, dropping down onto the chair propped up against the wall under the room's window. He needed to get back to the bar soon, but it was Monday night and fairly slow, so he knew he had some time.
His father joined him in the adjacent seat and leaned back, closing his eyes as he rubbed them.
"Your brother is more than I have the strength for most days," he said tiredly. "I know it's payback. My stepfather always said it was a miracle he didn't kill me before I joined the Marines."
Dean laughed quietly, having heard many stories about the step grandfather who had died before he was born. It was because of him that John joined the Corps after spending his early teens hearing war stories of his stepfather's days in the service.
The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes while Dean worked up the nerve to approach his father about a sensitive topic.
"What is it?" his father asked suddenly, and Dean smiled because he should have known that his dad would sense he had something on his mind.
Nervously, Dean rubbed the back of his neck. Another one of his tells that his father spotted instantly and resulting in him nudging his son's knee with his own to get his attention.
"C'mon, dude. Spill already."
Dean sat up straighter, pivoting to his side to squarely address his father.
"What are the chances that Sammy and I can stay here until he's done at school for the year? It's only a few more weeks," he rushed on, not wanting to lose momentum or his father's indulgence. "I'm making decent money. It would be nice to have a little cushion when we move on."
John frowned, his mind warring over the practical validation of his son's argument and his own inner panic at leaving his boys on their own too long. He had already been gone for a few weeks, longer than he cared to, and he had been anxious to have them within sight again. The life necessitated that he occasionally be parted from them, for their own safety, but he didn't like it one bit.
"Please?" he heard Dean say quietly.
He turned towards his son and looked deep into Dean's bright green eyes, seeing the naked pleading in them. His eldest never begged for anything for himself, and John knew his kid too well to think that this wasn't all about Sam's oft repeated demand for stability. He pondered refusing just out of sheer stubbornness because his younger son was too spoiled by far sometimes. His little tantrum earlier being proof of that.
But Dean was right. They had a good set up here, and it would be foolish to pull them away just for spite and John's own bruised ego that his little boy pitching a fit again. John could do the next gig easily enough on his own after all these years of hunting solo. And if it made Dean's life slightly easier to wrangle a brother that wasn't chomping at the bit twenty four seven, then John owed it to his eldest to at least do that.
"Yeah, okay," he finally agreed, a niggling spasm of guilt pinching his gut when he heard his son release the breath he hadn't realized the kid had been holding in.
"But your brother isn't getting a pass," John warned his eldest. "Until you leave to come join me, he's on lock down except for chores and training."
"Yes, sir," Dean agreed quickly, eager to consent to anything that his father required if it allowed Sam to stay in his current school.
"Not one extra day, Dean," John stated firmly, getting his point across. "As soon as Sam's last class is done, you pack up and head out."
"Yes, sir," Dean nodded. He glanced quickly at his watch and realized that he really needed to get back before JP helped himself to all the tips. He stood, grabbing the dirty extra plate that he had taken from his room, and turned to leave.
"Thanks, Dad," he said softly, before sprinting back down the sidewalk and into the grill.
By the time Dean's shift was over, later than usual because he stayed behind to mop up for JP to pay him back for covering earlier, Sam was already in bed, his mop of brown hair buried in the pillows. On the table Dean could see page after page of his brother's neat handwriting ready for their father's perusal in the morning.
He quietly slipped into the bathroom, closing the door as silently as he could and turning the shower on. The cigarette smoke was especially heavy tonight since his best tipper had lit the next one with the one she was just finishing all night. He was happy to flirt and take her money, but he smelled like an ashtray.
He let the water pound down on his weary body longer than normal. For an old place, the Hi-View had pretty decent water pressure, and he was happy to indulge in it as long as possible. Who knew what the next place would be like.
Emerging in a cloud of steam, wearing only his amulet and a towel wrapped around his slim waist, he moved around the main room quietly, pulling pajama pants and a clean shirt from the closet where he had finally hung his clothes. By the time he had dressed for bed, he knew from the sound of his brother's breathing that the kid was awake and playing possum.
"It's late, Sammy," he whispered as he slipped under the covers. "You've got school in a few hours."
"Doesn't matter," Sam answered, his words muted by the pillow over his mouth.
Dean smirked in the darkness over the kid's full on sulk. Such a little drama queen.
"Ah, yeah it does, genius," he scolded mildly. "I talked Dad into letting us stay until your classes are finished for the year. Don't make me look bad by flunking out now."
Gratifyingly, Sam shot up in bed, and even in the semi-darkness of the room, he could see the kid wide-eyed and mouth gaping open.
"Seriously?" Sam shouted, before being shushed by his brother. "Seriously?" he asked again, much quieter this time.
"Yeah, seriously," Dean answered, his voice tinged with indulgent affection. "Now get your ass to sleep because I'm wiped out and I gotta drive you in a few hours."
Sam obediently slid back down and dragged his blankets up to his neck. In the other bed, Dean shifted, getting comfortable, the tension of the past few days easing off and his mind shutting down. He slowly drifted, the buzzing in his head from an evening of stress, yelling and too loud country music starting to recede. From Sam's bed he heard a quiet whisper.
"Thank you, big brother."
And that was all Dean needed to slip off into peaceful slumber.
