There's a big difference between sixteen and twenty-one, and Dean could feel every single moment of it.

"Sam," he barked, because he didn't trust his voice come out level or without a growl. "Just drop it, okay? You wanna go out, I'm going with you. End of story."

"But that's not fair," Sam moaned. The kid was almost in tears and probably just as mad about that as he was about Dean insisting on staying within arm's reach, he figured. Puberty sucked. Dean was glad to be far away from those uncontrollable hormones- not that he ever had too much of a problem, given that he worked his hormones off with the cheerleaders instead of going moody and moony-eyed like Sam. Still. He sympathized. Not enough to give in, though.

"I know it's not fair, baby brother," Dean sighed, and crossed his arms as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. "But that's the rule. Take it or leave it."

Sam scowled. "I'm not a baby."

"I know you're not, Sam, but you're not an adult yet either, so until then you gotta listen to me."

"No," Sam said in that drawn-out whiny voice he'd perfected over the last few years. "You always call me baby brother now. You used to just say little brother, now it's always baby, baby, baby…."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know you're not a baby, Sam," he gritted out. "It's just that for some reason now that I am a grownup I look at you moping and whining at me and think about the sweet little baby boy you used to be, when you'd smile and be happy and only cry if I didn't go everywhere with you."

"I'm not crying!" Sam shouted, his eyes screwed up and blotchy and definitely more than a little wet.

"Sam," Dean groaned. "Just. No, okay? I'm not in the mood for this, and you're ten seconds away from throwing a tantrum like a toddler. Maybe tomorrow, alright? You're not going anywhere tonight unless it's with me and. Just sit down and cool off. I'm going to make dinner."

Sam glared furiously at him, hands tightening into fists. "You're such a jerk,"he snarled, the word holding none of the usual playful affection. "You're mean and hypocritical and you're a jerk and I hate you!"

"Yeah, well, I'm not liking you too much right now myself, princess," Dean snapped. He spun on his heel and strode to the door, figuring he'd cool off himself under the hood of the car and trying to erase the image of tears finally spilling down Sam's cheeks.

Dean spent an hour rubbing in polish so hard a tiny corner in his mind worried about taking off paint, then started cleaning the interior. When it got to the point that he found himself cleaning out the air vents with a little paintbrush he hadn't even known he had, he decided enough time had gone by, closed up the car, and headed inside.

"Sam?" he yelled. Their bedroom door was shut, as he'd expected. "Sammy, you hungry? I'm gonna start dinner."

There was nothing but silence from the other room.

"Sa-am," Dean called. "Come on, dude. You don't hurry, I'm not gonna put in anything green."

Sam usually responded to that, even if it was just an insult, but this time he got nothing. Dean sighed and went to their door, rapping softly on it with his knuckles.

"Sam. Come on, man. I know you're feeling pretty pissed at me, okay? We both lost our tempers and we both said shit we don't mean. Right? I shouldn't've called you a baby boy or a princess. You know I don't mean it like that, huh? Sammy?"

There was still no noise from the room- not even rustling covers, like Sam twisting fretfully around on the bed the way he'd done since he really was a baby boy and rolled around in his blankets whenever he was upset. Dean frowned.

"Sammy?"

He pushed open the door. The room was empty. Dean clenched his teeth.

"Oh, you are so dead when I get through with you, baby boy."

Dean tended to come off as a cocky, impulsive kinda guy, but he knew how to sit down and plan in the midst of a fire fight. Or in this case, in the midst of his little brother being a world-class bitch and running off into the night.

Now. Where would Sam run off to?

Dean really didn't think he'd head to the party he'd been whining about. He'd only wanted to go when he got home because he was still so excited over being asked somewhere just days after coming to town, but Dean knew Sam- house parties hosted by the popular kids, where he wouldn't really know anybody and would probably spend the night being a wallflower trying to avoid illicit cigarettes and getting laughed at, were definitely not Sam's thing. If he'd stayed clear-headed instead of throwing a tantrum, he would have come to the same conclusion. He'd certainly come to it before he got halfway to the house.

Libraries were closed. Coffee shops were open, and probably wouldn't mind a high school kid sitting around for a few hours with a book and a single drink. But that was also the most obvious choice, and Sam was smart enough not to make it.

There were plenty of choices on his mental list, really, but again, Dean knew Sam. He'd been upset, steaming, and just starting to cry (and no, Dean wasn't going to let himself think about that or he'd have to relinquish any big brother credits he had). He wouldn't want to be around people, and he'd have a lot of energy to work off. He'd walk to the park a couple miles away.

Dean got up, threw his jacket over his shoulders, picked up the car keys and strode to the door.

His cell phone lying on the table rang once, then stopped. Dean paused with his hand on the doorknob.

The phone rang again. He dropped the keys, leapt across the room and snatched it up. "Dad?"

"Dean?"

"Sammy?"

"Dean," Sam said again. His voice was tiny and thick.

Dean clutched the phone tightly. "Sam? Where are you? Are you okay? What's wrong? What code are we at?"

"Um…green," Sam stuttered. "Dean, please?"

"Yeah, okay, buddy, just calm down," Dean muttered, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could scoop up the keys and grab one of his hoodies out of his duffle. Green. Green was okay. Plain green, on the scale he'd come up with for Sam when green, yellow and red wasn't enough so they'd gone for all the colors on the rainbow instead, meant lost but not hurt or in danger. He could deal with that. "Where are you, Sammy? You were going to the park, right?"

"Mm-hmm." Sam's voice sounded a little whimpery, so Dean jogged out to the car without even checking the salt lines and started her up faster than she liked. "But I don't know- I turned somewhere, or something, I tried to find it again but it's dark and I don't know which way I'm facing and I know Dad says we're always supposed to know the directions and it's so easy but I don't know-"

"Hey hey hey, shhh, it's okay, little brother, I'm already on my way, alright?" Dean soothed, driving one-handed so he could keep the phone up and peering out of the windows. "Where are you, Sam? Can you tell me what you're seeing around you?"

"I- I don't know, I haven't been here yet," Sam hiccupped.

"I know you haven't, Sammy, but I probably have, right? I've driven all over this place already," Dean said evenly, hoping Sam would pick up on his slow and gentle voice and calm down a little. "What's around you, Sammy? You calling from a pay phone out front of somewhere or are you inside?"

"Payphone," Sam sniffled, "outside…um…the New Great Wall Chinese Restaurant. And- and there's a yarn shop across the street. And the building next door is turquoise but I can't read the sign, and- and- Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean to say I hate you!"

"I know, Sammy, I know you didn't, it's okay," Dean said, and wrenched the wheel to make a quick left turn through a red light. "I know exactly where you are, kiddo, just hang on a minute, okay? I'm gonna be right there real soon."

"Dean-"

Click.

Dean swore. Sam had probably had to find the quarters he'd used on the street sides, so it was doubtful he'd be able to call back. It wouldn't really matter, though, if he could just go a little faster.

In a highly illegally short time Dean whipped the car around the last corner separating him from his lost baby brother. Sam stood huddled under a street light halfway down the block, arms crossed over his chest and eyes looking teary even from so far away. Dean screeched to a stop in front of him in the middle of the road and jumped out. Sam was already running towards him.

"Dean, I'm sorry-"

"Hey, shhh, calm down, Sam," he murmured, grabbing the kid by the shoulders and hauling him into his arms. Sam, already stressed out from the fight and hungry from missing dinner and tired from walking and scared from getting lost, flung his arms around Dean's chest and burst into tears.

"Aww, Sammy," Dean sighed, and wrapped his arms tighter around his boy's back, running one hand up Sam's back to card through his hair and press his head into his shoulder. "Come on, Sam. It's okay. Must've been kinda scary, huh? But I found you, didn't I? Always gonna find you, no matter what happens, Sam. You're okay. That's it, you're okay."

Sam's heaving sobs slowly tapered down into silent tears. Dean kept petting his hair and murmuring nonsense until another car passed down the street. Dean had left the Impala in the single right lane with the door wide open, and the other driver had to swerve violently.

"Get out of the damn road, idiot!" the man yelled, leaning out of his window.

"Oh, go fuck yourself!" Dean shouted automatically as the car roared off.

Sam snorted wetly. Dean leaned back a little to peer down at his red and blotchy face.

"You alright?"

Sam shrugged and wiped his shirt sleeve across his nose. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Gross, dude. Come on."

He kept an arm around Sam's shoulders and led him back to the idling car. Sam made to climb into the open door and slide through, but Dean kept his grip and stopped him. He reached in and grabbed his hoodie, and carefully pulled it over Sam's head. Dean smoothed Sam's hair back when his head popped out through the neck hole.

"There we go. Better? It's pretty cold out here, huh? You didn't even grab a jacket."

Sam's lip quivered again. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean it, I didn't want to run away, I just wanted to go for a walk…."

"I know," Dean said. "And we'll be having a talk on that tomorrow. Well." He cast his eyes up, thinking. "Not so much a talk as a me-tanning-your-ass-for-disobeying-direct-orders-a nd-putting-yourself-in-danger, then a remedial course on telling directions by whatever stars or stuff you've got handy."

"De-ean," Sam whined, flapping his hands irritably in the too-long sweatshirt sleeves.

"Sorry, baby brother, but them's the rules," Dean said airily. He gently pushed Sam into the car, climbed in after him, and set off for the home of the moment. At the first stop light, he glanced over at Sam. The poor kid sat scrunched up against his door, curled up small in the hoodie and looking thoroughly miserable. Dean sighed, reached out an arm, and hooked Sam's shoulders to slide him over and press the boy up tight against his side. "I swear," he muttered. "I'm gonna put a collar on you, you know that? If found, call Dean Winchester for retrieval."

"De-ean!" Sam whined again, trying to push his brother's arm away. Dean just laughed and squeezed the kid tighter.


Wow! Got a guest comment (so this is the only way I can respond) about "threatened abuse" in this chapter. The "you are so dead" line in the beginning, I think, can't be it, because it's something pretty much every sibling says to the other when they're angry while obviously not actually meaning it (they say things like that or "I'm gonna kill him" to each other all the time on the show), so I'm assuming they meant Dean's "tanning your ass" line at the end? I can see how someone might be offended by that, but I sooooo didn't mean to imply child abuse. Not at all. I'm not even going to bother mentioning how obviously against real-life child abuse I, along with presumably everyone here, am. In fic terms, sure, I've got some going from John in the previous chapter of this fic and in my Guardian Angel Dean fic, but in Supernatural-world, I absolutely cannot fathom Dean ever being abusive towards any child, let alone Sam. I put that line in there and I'm going to leave it there because 1, it sounds to me like something macho-man Dean would say after a cuddly chick flick moment, and 2, John strikes me as the kind of guy- because of his background and his generation- to go for the standard "socially acceptable" (back then) physical punishments with his children, like spanking or standing in a corner for a time out. Following that, I'd imagine the threat of a spanking is something Dean would have heard a lot growing up, so he in turn uses it on Sam. I don't think he'd ever actually follow through with it, though...but even if he did, he wouldn't be setting out to hurt Sam, and in THIS SPECIFIC CASE with THESE TWO SPECIFIC PEOPLE, I wouldn't consider it child abuse.

Ugh, long a/n. Sorry. But now I've explained myself and I hope no-one else is offended!