Summary: After Shadow, Dean thinks about what he would do if he wasn't hunting demons.

"But there's got to be something you want for yourself."

"Yeah, I don't want you to leave the second this thing's over." Sam and Dean

"I don't know." Dean said suddenly, making Sam look at him. The younger boy was half-way through cleaning the dried blood off his face. He had already attempted to clean Dean up before the older boy shrugged him off.

"What?" Neither had talked for over twenty minutes, both reverting within themselves. Heck, they needed to. It wasn't every day you find your dad after looking for him for over eight months. It wasn't every day he split.

Dean sighed and pushed his hair back, forgetting about the cuts and bruises just below it. He managed to let out nothing but a hiss, though the injuries hurt to no end. This was exactly the type of conversation Dean went out of his way to avoid, and here he was starting it up, like a….teenage girl, or something. "I don't know what I'd do it if I wasn't doing this. Hunting demons, I mean."

Sam seemed to be very intent on a large gouge on the inside of his arm; he didn't look up at Dean, didn't attempt to meet his eye. And Dean was thankful for that. "Don't you have any…hobbies?"

"Kid, this business doesn't leave time for much anything else. What am I gonna do, sit around at night painting and shit?" This was said part sarcastically, part degradingly. God, he wished he wasn't on the move all the time, that he could settle in a place for more than a few nights. Heck, a month would be alright with him.

"You could…read. Or…." Sam's voice trailed off as he officially ran out of hobbies that did not require a large amount of non-portable items. "I don't know, Dean, what did you do when we were kids? For fun, I mean?"

Dean thought about this. Their childhood had been turbulent, to say the least. They'd moved three or four times every school year and usually ended up staying with Pastor Jim or other friends during Summer holidays. With all the moving, you made sure not to get attached to much of anything, though Dean did remember Sam joining several clubs, and the kid had always been book-ish, likable.

"I don't know, Sammy. With all the moving and dad being gone, it wasn't like I could exactly go out for the basketball team or anything." God, why had he even brought the subject up? It just made him out to be what he must have looked like in high school --- a loser with no purpose.

It wasn't like he hadn't been popular. In almost every school he went to he made friends without even trying, unwanted friends for the most part, since he knew he'd be leaving them in a month or two. But with Sam at home and their dad away, he'd been pushed into the highly uncalled-for position of surrogate father on top of being the over protective big brother.

"You made me go out for basketball." Sam was indignant and Dean had to smile. They had been living in a small town in New Jersey, of all places, and Dean had convinced Sam to go out for the highly unsuccessful Junior-High basketball team.

"I hated it." Sam whined, acting as the child he had been twelve years ago when first pushed onto the team.

Dean punched him playfully. "No, you didn't. Plus you needed something to bulk you up a little, you pussy." Dean had gone to all of Sam's games that year, and every one had been on a Friday night. Their father hadn't seen one.

Sam remembered that, too. "You watched all my games."

"Just to see you fall, kiddo. I still remember that one time to put the ball in the other team's basket…I think that was the only shot you made all season."

"No, I mean, you were at every one of them, and home every night when I got home…"

"Because you were all of nine, man."

"And you were all of thirteen." As if it had just dawned on him. "Playing dad didn't leave much time for picking up hobbies, huh?"

"Or picking up chicks." Dean admitted, grudgingly. "You held me back, Sammy. Only one or two girls a week."

"Must have been rough for you." Sam actually stuck his tongue out at Dean, and the older boy had to laugh, though stopped when it hurt too much. He really ought to let Sam drive so he could get a hold of that First Aid kit. "But you still must have been into something."

"Some of us actually like hunting, Sammy, twisted as it sounds." And Dean did, he really did. Hunting was exhilarating and anxious and fearful and fun, like being drunk or high (although if asked, he'd never been the latter). But could he see himself doing this when he was his father's age, to have no wife or kids or place to call home other than the Impala? If Sam's promise to leave was true, he'd have no Sam either.

Sam's hand touched his and a cool cloth dug into a long gouge on his upper arm. "'M sorry, Dean."

"What for?" Sam had nothing to apologize for. He had a life. That was what Dean had always wanted for him, more than he'd ever hoped to give his baby brother.

"For making you take care of me."

"Somebody had to, and after the zoo wouldn't take you back after the second or third time I brought you there…."

"You think you're real funny, don't you?" Dirt, dried blood, and other assorted debris was wiped out of the gash and blood flowed freely for a second before a bandage was applied.

Through clenched teeth, Dean managed to reply, "Only because I am, little bro. You're just to juvenile to realize it."

Sam moved to Dean's head, hands gentle even as his words came across teasingly, "I found a profession for you after you give all this demon hunting a rest."

"Yeah? What?" Dean's hand swatted Sam away of its own accord as the younger man pressed hard against the wound, drawing tears to Dean's eyes.

"A stand-up comedian."

Dean took the washcloth from Sam and threw it at the boy, who was smiling, "Oh, now look who thinks their funny."

"I'll come to all your shows." Sam promised quietly and Dean had to look at him. Maybe Sam understood. Maybe…

Yeah, maybe. It's fairly obvious we like Dean, and we're pretty biased. It's hard not to take advantage of his awesome character...

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