A/N: (SHOCKED) Wow! A huge thanks to everyone who reviewed, your encouragement means so much! All comments concerning British-isms were hugely appreciated, thanks everyone, keep it up! And an extra special thanks to Karategal for her essay on travel in the US and LC Brotherton for her background info! Thanks guys!
IMPORTANT(again): I do not write ANY Dean/OC or Mary-sues (shudders) Cassie was from the episode 'Route 666' for those who managed to miss it. I'm NOT a Dean/Cassie shipper (though I have nothing against her)…BUT she wont be around for long…(evil smirk)
Disclaimer: (grumbles) Well, last time I looked, I didn't own it. (looks again) And, what do you know! I still don't. (sulks)
Recap Summary: All his life, Dean's never let his guard down when it comes to Sammy. Not once. But he's only human; and it only takes one mistake to bring their world crashing down around them. Brotherly love fic
Well, on to chapter two…
2.
Fraternal Anxieties
Dean grimaced, tugging his conventional shirt over his head as he emerged from the bathroom, usually carefully styled hair in disarray. Sam looked up from where he was seated on the bed, raising his eyebrow at Dean's disgruntled expression.
"What's up with you?"
He asked, and Dean planted one hand on his hip and jerked his thumb accusingly over his shoulder at the innocently oblivious room behind him.
"Haven't these people heard of the joy brought by a single clean towel…I'd give my right buttock just for one small, fluffy, sweet smelling lump of flannel! If you ask me-"
Dean continued to grumble animatedly to himself, but Sam wasn't listening. His eyes had treacherously slid once again over to the window and the world outside, which was now considerably darker than when Dean had entered the bathroom. A flash of lightning, and Sam flinched, and swallowed, eyes narrowing as he scanned the bleakness beyond the patterned window pane.
"Oi, Sammy! I'm sensing a certain lack of appreciation for my witty humour here."
One elephant, two elephant, three elephant, four-
"Sam! You with me, kiddo?"
And a peal of thunder. There. The storm was only four miles away now, maybe even less. A hand suddenly appeared in front of vision, and Sam blinked, and slowly raised his head to find an un-amused Dean looking at him quizzically.
"Hm? Oh. Yeah. Sorry. What'd you say?"
Dean gave him a once-over, then shook his head.
"Nevermind. You sure you're alright with this? Cos if you'd rather I-"
Sam shook his head vigorously, cutting his brother off mid-sentence.
"No! Dean, we've already discussed this. You're going, I'm staying, you'll come back in the morning. End of story."
There was an uncomfortable silence, and Sam's chest felt abruptly heavy as the full meaning of this situation began to sink in. Dean was leaving. Which he wasn't going to be here, wasn't going to be with Sam. He would be one place, Sam another, with miles of open space in between…
Dean shrugged and turned to the nearest mirror, running a hand through his hair to restore it to its usual ordered chaos. Sam mentally slapped himself as his thoughts continued to wander, then sighed. As though mirroring his feelings, the rain outside increased it's velocity even further, pounding down with heavy 'thwacks' onto the roof and the ground outside. Sam shivered.
"What was the forecast for tonight?"
Dean looked up, spared the window a withering glare, then turned to Sam.
"Weather's being a bitch, apparently. Heavy showers, thunder, lightning, the works. Not that I trust some whiny bloke in an anorak over the radio, but still. It's not gonna be pretty."
Sam nodded absently, shaking himself out of his momentary stupor and turning once more to the laptop beside him. Seeing that his search for 'missing persons, Missouri' had not come up with anything remotely significant, he glanced up at his brother, and blinked in surprise.
"Um…ok. Dude, you're not wearing that, are you?"
Dean was dressed in his trademark jeans, t-shirt, and his consecrated leather jacket. Perfectly acceptable in everyday life, of course, but not exactly…dressed-to-impress material, in Sam's opinion anyway.
Dean raised an eyebrow, looked down at himself, and narrowed his eyes at his skeptical little brother.
"Yeah. Why? Fashion Guru Sammy doesn't approve?"
Sam bit his lip, and tilted his head to the side, hand on his chin, then tilted the other way, looking Dean up and down. He wrinkled his nose.
"You must have worn that jacket for about three years without washing it! What was the point in having a shower if your clothes still smell of sulphur and sweat?"
Dean smirked and raised his forefinger in the air sagely.
"Pheromones, Sammy. Pure pheromones. It's part of this thing known as 'sex appeal'. You may have read about it in one of those geek Bible's; and let me tell ya, soapy and flowery ain't got anything to do with it."
Sam folded his arms across his chest, his lips twitching upwards as Dean puffed out his chest and stuck his nose in the air, looking condescendingly down at Sam.
"You do know pheromones are generally associated with dogs?"
Sam stated dryly, snickering as Dean blinked, then deflated and glared. This only served to make Sam snigger louder, however, and all Dean could do was huff indignantly and tap his foot impatiently.
"And what would you suggest I go in then, eh, soap boy? A tux and cufflinks?"
Sam shook his head, smiling wider at the thought of Dean in a tuxedo, and slid neatly off the bed, scouring the room for his brother's bag.
"Not quite. Hang on…"
Spotting it lurking under Dean's bed, Sam knelt down on the floor and dragged it out, fumbling with the zip and frowning thoughtfully as he reached inside. Dean's eyes widened, and he dived half across the bed, reaching over to snatch his brother's reaching hand away.
"Oh, no no no! What the hell! That's the equivalent of my top drawer, Sammy! You're breaking the taboo here, man!"
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's shocked, indignant expression and slapped Dean's arm out of the way, resuming his rifling through the bag; pulling out item after item, discarding some, placing others beside him on the floor.
"Shut the whining, it's only…what the-! Are these…"
Sam's eyes widened as he withdrew a pale pastel blue set of boxers. No, a baby blue set of boxers. A baby blue set of boxers with goggle-eyed, smiling, lurid yellow ducks on them. Dean yanked them out of his brother's hands, exclaiming:
"OI! Hands off my lucky boxers!"
Sam opened his mouth, closed it, then managed to splutter out through a suppressed fit if laughter:
"You have…lucky boxers?"
Dean glared imperiously, cheeks coloring, and hastily stuffed the offending boxers under his pillow.
"You don't survive this long against ghosties with a just lick and a prayer, y'know."
Sam blinked, staring from his brother's defensive stance, to the pillow, and back again.
"Dean…they've got yellow ducks on them!"
Dean stared at him neutrally, as though Sam was the one suffering from mental deficiency; after all, anyone who doesn't understand the embarrassing significance of small, cheerful yellow ducks cannot be in their right mind…
"And your point is?"
Sam choked, disbelieving.
"…but-they're yellow ducks!"
Dean remained unfazed. Sam growled, frustrated, and threw his hands up in the air.
"Oh, forget it. There's got to be something suitable in here…"
He muttered to himself, returning to the arduous task of updating his brother's fashion sense to beyond the 1970's. For the first time, a flicker of fear flitted across Dean's face as he leant over his brother's bent head.
"I've got a terrible feeling your idea of 'suitable' is wildly different from mine…"
Sam muttered something, before freezing, drawing something carefully out of the bag, and exclaiming:
"Aha!"
He shot upright just as Dean leant over to see what the commotion was about, and they cracked heads loudly. Dean cursed, rubbing his forehead darkly, while Sam reeled from the impact, blinking.
"…ow…"
Sam groaned, slightly woozy.
"…aha?…that doesn't sound good."
Dean grumbled brokenly, watching apprehensively as Sam retrieved the fallen item and held it up proudly before his horrified brother.
"Jesus Christ, Sammy! What are you trying to do, convert me to bloody abstinence?"
Sam raised an eyebrow, giving his brother a withering look.
"It's only a tie!"
And a rather nice one, at that, or so Sam thought. A deep forest green with navy fibers woven in so it appeared to be green and blue hued as the light caught it. However, Dean stared at it as though it were the devil incarnate himself.
"Only a tie! That thing is a physical embodiment of prejudiced societal parameters and the social constraints they entail!"
Silence. Sam blinked once. Twice. Frowned.
"Um…have you been reading the dictionary or something?"
Dean shot him a glare.
"Just what are you implying? Just cos I didn't do further education doesn't mean I can't bullshit posh talk, y'know."
Sam smiled, exasperated but amused, the darkness of the room somehow lifted. He could never feel angry or frustrated for long, not with Dean. With Dad, he could fume for days over an argument. With his brother, he usually forgot within minutes.
"Dean, you never cease to amaze me. Here, if you won't do the tie, at least change to a clean white vest, maybe with an open shirt on top? And pants without holes or grass stains. I refuse to be associated with a trend abomination. Please?"
Dean scowled at Sam's determined and hopeful expression, indecisive. Sam changed tack, carefully allowing his face to fall in disappointment, lowering his gaze sadly. Dean squirmed, cleared his throat, and Sam smiled internally. It never failed.
Dean sighed, and slumped in defeat.
"Will you leave me the hell alone if I do?"
Sam beamed, and leapt up, gathering together the appropriate clothes into a neat pile and presenting it like food on a platter before his bristling brother.
"Probably."
He said, cheerfully. Dean gritted his teeth, fully aware that he had once again fallen foul of Sammy's 'You just kicked a helpless puppy!' look.
"Alright, hand them over. Ugh. I'm gonna look like such a prude…"
Dean continued to mutter to himself as he changed into the designated outfit, and Sam turned back to the computer, smiling fondly. He remembered when Dad used to buy their clothes, when they were young. Dean had never, ever approved of anything Dad suggested; it was one of the few things he stood his ground on. Sam's smile widened at the memories, and he glanced at his watch. 9:27.
His smile faltered. Only a few more minutes, then Dean would be gone. The heavy weight settled somewhere in his chest dropped further, and he felt suddenly cold.
"Verdict, Sammy?"
Sam jerked out of his reverie, to find Dean standing in the middle of the room, glancing over his own shoulder with a disgruntled look on his face. Sam looked his brother over, nodding approvingly. Dean still looked very much like himself, just cleaner, neater. Almost like Dad.
"Nice. I could almost admit to being related to you now."
Dean rolled his eyes, tugging his shirt more comfortably around his shoulders.
"Bitch. You got the time?"
"Uh…yeah. It's almost nine thirty. When are you due there?"
Dean shrugged.
"There wasn't anything specific. Ten-ish, she said. I'll be back at…um…"
Dean gave his brother an unreadable look, and Sam hastily cut in before Dean could think twice about leaving. He couldn't hold Dean back. Not again.
"Don't worry, man. Come back anytime tomorrow, I'm cool. Really."
"Maybe I-"
"Don't start again."
Dean's eyes bored intensely into Sam's trying to gauge his true feelings. Sam kept his features perfectly still, but felt decidedly unsettled inside. Anytime tomorrow? That meant Dean could be gone for practically an entire day. Twenty four hours.
Dean looked away, appearing uneasy.
"All right, all right. I'll have my cell phone on me, like always, so if anything happens, anything, you call and I'll come right back."
He said, seriously, gazing steadily at his brother. Sam nodded.
"I'll keep that in mind."
He said, as casually as he could.
"Right. I gotta couple of minutes, then I'm off. Okay…so…"
Dean clambered down onto his knees, grabbed the bag he had brought from the trunk of the car, and began searching through it, occasionally pausing to take things out and place them beside him on the floor. Sam craned his neck, trying to see over his brother's broad shoulder, and frowned in confusion.
"Dean…what're you doing?"
Dean didn't bother to look up, but said sarcastically:
"Dancing the freakin' cha cha cha. I'm taking precautions, dumbass."
Sam moved over to him, picking up a discarded empty bottle and a half-full salt shaker as he knelt beside Dean.
"Rock salt? That'll be a pain to clean up tomorrow, why the sudden worry? We don't even know what we're dealing with yet, or even if we are dealing with anything."
Dean abruptly stood, and began systematically placing all their usual security measures up. Rock salt beside the doors and windows, cat's eye shells, holy water placed in easily reached places all around the room. Eventually, Dean paused, turned, and gave Sam a piercing look.
"I'm not taking chances. Not with you."
Sam bristled indignantly.
"I can take care of myself!"
Dean sighed quietly, and moved to sit down in front of Sam on the opposite bed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a long breath before speaking; suddenly looking older and more tired than Sam had ever seen him. Worn.
"Yeah, I know. Doesn't mean you're invulnerable, Sammy. Just let me do this, okay? Or I'll be biting my nails all night long, and that ain't healthy."
He said, quietly, almost pleadingly, except Dean didn't plead. Not to anyone. Sam eyed his brother's slumped shoulders, feeling the acidic sting of guilt swell in the pit of his stomach, making him feel a little ill.
"If it's important to you."
He shrugged as coolly as he could, trying to avoid Dean's gaze. He wished he knew what Dean was thinking; he was always so defensive, so…introverted. And it was probably partly his own fault, Sam's fault. If he wasn't always so selfish, such a burden-
You are important to me.
Sam blinked, and frowned, shaking his head. Maybe he was more tired than he had thought. Meanwhile, he realized with a jolt, Dean was speaking aloud.
"Don't get too full of yourself. I just don't wanna end up cleaning the mess off my jacket if you get mauled or something during the night. That thing's vintage, man."
Sam smiled a little.
"Like its owner."
"You say something?"
"Nuh uh. Please continue your neurotic scurryings."
Dean whacked him gently on the shoulder.
"Smartass."
Sam grinned, watching Dean re-check all of his 'precautions'. He didn't think he'd ever seen Dean so cautious; especially when they weren't even sure what they were dealing with. It was annoying, but somehow, touching too. Sam grimaced, and almost groaned. If Dean could have heard that…well, safe to say there would be no need for precautions anymore.
"All done now, Nancy Drew?"
Sam joked. Dean, halfway through hanging a dream-catcher by the window, tied the last knot in the string before turning to regard his brother with a furrowed brow.
"This isn't funny, Sam. I'm serious. Don't get sloppy, and for God's sake, don't try to prove anything, alright?"
Sam, taken aback, turned to face Dean.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
He said, half accusing, half cautious. Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably, snatching his wallet up from the coffee table and glancing around for the room key.
"Nothing, only…uh…oh, forget it, man. Just…be careful. And promise to call if anything happens. Anything. Alright? Hunter's honor?"
Sam snorted, and folded his arms in protest.
"Dean, this is…"
Dean gave him a look which would make the devil himself hide under the bed sheets and check his closet, but Sam, used to Dean's moods, only sighed, grabbed their Father's journal and placed one hand on it and the other over his heart.
"Oh, fine. Hunter's honor, I won't do anything stupid. Not that I would anyway. It's not like I'm a little kid anymore."
No, but you're still my little brother. And that's all that counts.
Sam winced as a sharp pain flared in his head, and he rubbed at his eyes. When he opened them, he found Dean standing in front of him, hand outstretched.
"Secret shake on it!"
Sam gave him an exasperated look.
"Dean, don't be silly."
"Sammy!"
Sam sighed, extended his own opposing hand and placing it back to back with Dean's, and linked his forefinger and little finger to Dean's own, curling the other two fingers inwards like a fist. They had invented the shake when they were very small, and Dean had said it was supposed to symbolize that they'd always watch each other's back, hence the hands being placed thus. Why Dean had suddenly decided to revive it after so many years, Sam didn't know.
"Fine, fine. Secret shake."
They shook firmly, up then down, before Dean withdrew his hand rather quickly. There was a pause, then Dean wiped his hand on his pants, grimacing.
"Ew, Sam cooties…"
Sam made a frustrated sound.
"You're the one who wanted – ugh, I give up! Fine, be weird. See if I care."
Dean smirked infuriatingly, and Sam turned back to his laptop, muttering darkly to himself. Dean completed one final round of the room, moving a single holy water bottle to the bedside table in easy reach of Sam.
"Ok, um…right, salt, cat's eye shells, um…holy water, yeah…various symbols, hm…maybe I should add a-"
This was taking paranoia a bridge too far for Sam.
"DEAN! For the love of all things sacred-"
"-and non-ghoulie-ghostie."
Dean said wisely, interrupting. Sam faltered, gave Dean and odd look, and continued.
"Uh…yeah, that too. What was I saying? Oh yeah. Please, Dean, just go. I'll be fine."
Dean hesitated, as Sam pushed the rising pang of – what, panic? Guilt? Regret? Fear? This was pathetic. Stupid. Ridiculous! Dean had to go; Dean was going to go, and Sam wasn't going to let his own selfish nature get in the way of that. His brother deserved this.
"You're sure?"
Dean asked, keeping his tone flat. Sam nodded.
"Yeah."
Silence.
"Alright then."
Dean fumbled in his pocket for the Impala's keys, avoiding Sam's gaze, and headed for the door. He paused at the end of Sam's bed, and Sam looked up from where he had been staring at the blank screen. Sam felt oddly cold.
"So, uh…like I said, take care of yourself. Ok?"
Sam nodded, mustering a smile.
"Yeah. You too."
Dean turned, then hesitated, and gave Sam an unreadable look. He bit his lip, and shifted his weight; Sam looked at him quizzically.
"I'll be back. Real soon tomorrow. Maybe even tonight if it goes pear-shaped, y'know?"
He said, sounding almost apologetic. Sam nodded, automatically swallowing at the lump in his throat. The room seemed suddenly to be growing far darker, the world outside seeming more oppressive than ever.
"Yeah."
Dean uncharacteristically clapped a gentle hand down on Sam's shoulder, gripping it briefly.
"Be safe, Sammy."
Sam blinked, and the door slammed, followed shortly with the jingle of keys and the soft, muffled thuds of retreating feet getting farther and farther away. Seconds passed. The soft ticks of the bedside clock, previously gone unnoticed, suddenly seemed aggravatingly loud. Flickering lights and shadows spiraled across the floor, and Sam subconsciously drew his feet up off the floor and onto the bed.
The familiar sound of the Impala engine sputtering to life sounded, and Sam looked up from where he had been studying the floorboards, automatically searching the bleak blackness outside for those two headlights. Then he started, realizing what he was doing, and turned his head abruptly away from the window.
Two blaring lights briefly illuminated the room, and Sam glanced around just in time to see the Impala turn the corner of the motel and pass out of sight. For a moment, he continued to stare at the point where it had disappeared.
"Dean…"
He muttered, before growling frustratedly at himself and violently pulling the laptop over to him. He winced as the sound of the keyboard as he typed seemed to rebound noisily around the room, and paused, raising his head.
The room seemed so much bigger, and darker, the shadows seeming to grow as he looked at them, pressing in, enveloping, choking. Sam pushed his hair out of his eyes, and rubbed at his temple, feeling a dull ache coming on. God, please. Not tonight. No more nightmares.
Especially without Dean here to chase the nighttime demons away.
He shivered, and folded further in on himself, a heavy cold seeming to settle over him, making his spine tingle. And as he sat, tired and weary in an empty motel room with rain pouring in grieving torrents beyond a frosted window, for the first time in his life…Samuel Winchester felt utterly alone.
A/N: (feels sad) Aw, I actually feel sorry for Sammy! And Dean. He gets such a rough deal in the series, but I suppose it's for a good cause…Next chapter: Dean is faced with a terrible choice, and Sam faces his inner demons. Figuratively and literally.
YES, I remembered to say 'pants' not 'trousers'! (Feels proud) And it is a cell phone, right? . Damn it, this is hard…(sigh) again, if you spotted any errors, please review and let me know! Comments on the story would be appreciated, too!
Thanks for reading! Please review!
