warning: some mild language like that used on the show. I do not own nor pretend to own anything associated with Supernatural.

Smooth, Calm Exterior
Now, he had made a promise to his brother he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to keep. And it was killing him.

Dean had never seen his little brother like that, ever. He'd seen their dad like that once or twice, probably more than that, but Dean couldn't remember correctly, and he'd always taken care of him. Now Sam, he was supposed to be a different breed altogether, but the more he learned about his brother, the more he saw their dad. It still didn't stop that ping of guilt at leaving Sam to get himself into the drunken state that he had, nor did it stop the heart wrenching pain to have to promise what he did.

Why couldn't he have just kept his mouth shut? Why did he had to go and lay all that on Dean's shoulders? Hadn't John understood that Dean would crack? No, probably not. He was so worried about Sam all the time that he forgot that Dean wasn't a rock that should be stood on for long. Dean leaned on them more than they leaned on him. If he had taken the time to get to know Dean, really know him, he would have known.

Now he had made a promise to his brother he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to keep.

Dean ran a hand down his face and got up, pacing the room a few times before he fell back on his own bed. He was getting so damn tired of all the weight. Sam was so absorbed in his not fulfilling his destiny that he wouldn't even give Dean the time he needed to just digest and accept it all. The few months looking for Ava just didn't cut it; that was still work.

He turned his head to stare at his brother, passed out and sleeping off however many drinks he'd ingested. That was irresponsible, so unlike Sam. Irresponsibility was his job, not the well-bred college boy. Dean didn't like the role reversals one bit. If Sam was irresponsible, who was going to be there to stop Dean from going over the edge? From being a brutal murderer that he'd almost been so many times over the last year and more so over the last few months. Damn John Winchester and his deal to save him. He should have just left Dean to die, like he was supposed to. Now, Dean was all screwed up and he had no clue how to fix it; how to move on and keep Sam alive and well at the same time.

He couldn't kill Sam, never. He knew that, knew that if it ever came to killing Sam in order for the greater good to live, he'd have to kill himself after. Dean couldn't survive without Sam, then everyone would be gone.

That tense moment back in the hospital months ago flashed before him like some waking nightmare. Would he have been able to do it? To kill Sam? Dean didn't know. What he did know was that he was ready to die right then and there if Sam had to and that scared him. Had he really come to that point? The point that he didn't care about his own life?

Dean, frustrated with the train of thoughts his mind was going to, pushed himself up and turned his back to Sam. He should never have gone to Sam and got him wrapped up in all this, but would it have mattered? Dean had the sinking feeling that it didn't matter if he'd gone to Sam or not, they would have still arrived in the same sucky position.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He just had to keep going, stay alive and keep Sam alive and away from the yellow eyed son-of-a-bitch that wanted his brother. It just would have been easier with their dad in the lead. Dean had no clue which direction to go anymore. Should they keep hunting or should they hide? Should they confront it once and for all and if they did, would they win?

For a brief, fleeting moment, he wished he could just spill it all to Sam, but he couldn't. Sam had his own problems, that was the major issue. Dean had to keep it all to himself and keep up the smooth, calm exterior in order for Sam to keep it together and it was still slowly killing him.

Resigned to his unfortunate fate he gladly took on, he started cleaning the place up, trashing the empty liquor bottles in the tiny trash the room came with. Man, had he really empty all these bottles? He shook his head, Sam knew better.

He dumped the last handful into the can and turned to face his little brother, looking so young sleeping on the bed. Dean could only hope that he'd forget it all when he woke up, or he was screwed.

"It doesn't change what we talked about last night, Dean." There it was, like a horrible flu that just wouldn't go away.

"We talked about a lot of things last night." He lied. He didn't want to talk about it anymore.

Sam frowned at him, so very much like John. "You know what I mean."

Yeah, Dean knew what his brother meant. "You were wasted."

"But you weren't and you promised." Sam just wasn't going to let this drop. Why couldn't the guy get the hint that Dean couldn't bare to hear the same thing over and over again? It was like killing him with a knife, over and over again, to the heart.

Dean shot him a look and just climbed into the Impala. He knew he should say something, make it all stop. He was all too aware of what he'd promised, both to his dad and to his brother. Dean didn't need the reminder.

He opened his mouth to start the same conversation they'd had over and over again, but stopped. Sam wasn't going to let it drop, he was stubborn that way and had a memory like a freakin' elephant. Instead, he started the Impala, thankful for the constant, thrilling engine under his control, completely under his control. He shifted his prized car into gear and took off.

Dean always had to keep going. He always had to keep the smooth, calm exterior.