Dean angrily grabbed the potholder and shoved the large pot of boiling pasta onto the back burner. This is what he got for trying to do something nice for Sam. Sure, he'd felt guilty for making the kid walk home alone, but the alternative would have been to have Wade swing by and pick him up when he dropped Dean off, and Wade was a good three sheets to the wind by the time Dean had gotten into the car with him.

No way was Dean letting Sam climb into the backseat with a drunk at the wheel.

But Sam, being Sam, couldn't wait to start whining to Dad. Dean could just picture the ride home in the Impala. He bet Sam had started in before Dad even had him in the car. Dean did this … Dean didn't do that … Dean skipped school … Dean didn't walk me home … Dean swore and dumped the pasta out in the sink.

He was pissed. Why should he slave over a hot stove, using up the last of their little bit of propane, for the ungrateful brat? Let him eat his damned spaghetti out of the dirty sink. Dean didn't care. He'd called Darin to come get him and they'd go out for pizza. He dug out his phone, feeling Sam's eyes on him.

Good.

"Hey man, it's me. Yeah, why don't you swing by and get me. Yeah. We'll hit the pizza place. My treat. Cool man. See you in ten." Dean disconnected the call and shot Sam a bitch face, not caring that the kid looked like he'd just lost his only friend.

"You leavin'?" Sam asked in a quiet voice. "Is Dad coming back?"

"Yes and no." Dean said shortly, unwilling to cut the kid any slack, though he could feel that Sam had something he wanted to say.

"Dean? I didn't …" Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

"Sure you did. It was the first thing Dad asked me. 'Why'd you let your brother walk home alone, Dean? Why weren't you at school today, Dean?' Dean slammed the plates back into the cupboard. "Pretty sure he was plannin' to ask me if I'd remembered to change your damned diaper next." He glared at his brother hatefully. "Why didn't you come straight home, Sam? If you'd been here when you were supposed to be, Dad wouldn't have been any the wiser."

Sam swallowed back the tears that were rapidly trying to force their way out. "I w-waited for you. I thought you'd be worried if I w-wasn't there." he hiccuped.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sure, start bawlin' now. That's real mature, Sam."

Dean pushed past his brother rudely, shoving him back into the door jam. He reached for his winter coat and his wallet. He grabbed hold of the door knob, seeing Darin's headlights pull up outside.

"Dean … don't go. Please?" Sam pleaded, his voice shaking.

But that just made Dean angrier. He glared back at his brother, shooting daggers. "Just shut it, Sam. I tried to do something nice for you, okay? And all I got was a knife in my back. I don't care if you eat or not. I'm going out with the guys and maybe I'll be back tonight and maybe I won't. So if Dad calls, you'll have plenty to tell him, right?" Dean looked back once, and then wished he hadn't. Sam stood there shivering in his wet jeans, a single tear breaking free and rolling down his face. The kid swiped it away with an angry gesture, and stood silent, refusing to apologize.

And Dean snorted. "Right Sam." He said, shaking his head. "Don't wait up." And he slipped outside, pulling the door shut behind him.

He grinned at Darin as he hopped into the front seat, "Man, I'm glad you got a car." He said. "If I'd had to spend one more second with my brat of a kid brother, I might have shot the little bitch."

###

Sam stood silent as the headlights drifted back down the driveway. He waited until they disappeared from view before moving to the door and flicking the lock. He switched off the porch light and stood enveloped in darkness. Moving back into the kitchen, he found the flashlight that they always kept by the door and shined it into the sink and onto the whole pot of spaghetti. He was almost tempted, but Dean had washed their few dishes last and hadn't bothered to rinse the suds out of the sink. The noodles lay enveloped in a filmy layer of soap foam. As he stood there, his stomach growled menacingly, alerting him to the fact that he hadn't eaten anything since the morning. His lunch account at school was overdrawn which meant all he qualified for was a peanut butter sandwich, and he hated peanut butter.

Sam sighed and began scooping the slimy noodles out of the sink and into the garbage bag. He rinsed the sink out and washed the pot and the single utensil Dean had used. He moved to the cupboard then and checked out his options. There was a single jar of spaghetti sauce and a bag with a few potatoes left in it. He grabbed the sauce and the last of the loaf of bread and made himself three spaghetti sauce sandwiches. He set the rest of the jar of sauce down into the cooler. At least it was cold enough inside the kitchen to keep the ice inside the cooler from melting, and Sam thanked Mother Nature for that small blessing. Tomorrow was Saturday, and with Dad gone and no school, Sam figured Dean wouldn't bother coming back. He'd have to make the jar of sauce last if he wanted something more than potatoes to eat this weekend.

Sam moved back to the fire, stripping off his now frozen jeans and boxers and pulling on a warm pair of sweats. He sat down, wrapped himself up in the blanket from the sofa and ate his cold sandwiches, his warm, happy feeling from earlier dissipating in the chill, November air.

And if he cried as he ate his meal alone in the dark, well, who was ever going to know?