"You going out?" Sam asked as Dean emerged from the shower. Sam was fiending to get out of the motel room where he'd been trapped all day with a silent Dean. Even sitting at a table, sipping a soda, beat spending one more hour trapped with just the voices inside his own head.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, running low on cash. Gotta top up."

Sam knew this meant running the pool tables at the bar down the street. He sat up hopefully. "Can I come too? Be nice to get out of this room for an hour or two."

Dean turned away, making a big deal out of rummaging in his bag for clothes. "Not this time, Sam." He said shortly.

The younger boy tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, "Why not? I won't bother you. I'll just sit at a table and read or something."

Dean knew Sam wouldn't bother him when he was hustling pool. He'd just sit there quietly judging everyone Dean talked to, looked at, or flirted with. And tonight, the older boy just didn't have the energy to tiptoe.

"Because, Sam," He started, more roughly than he'd intended. "I need to concentrate, okay? We're seriously low on cash. I can't be babysitting your ass tonight."

Sam thought about this for a moment, and then came up with an alternative plan. "Maybe I could help?" he offered

Dean snorted, "Help how? You're freaking 14."

Now that Sam had generated the idea, he couldn't let it go. He hopped excitedly to his feet. "I don't know. Maybe I could be a plant or something. I could beat you in the first game, and then everyone would think you were lousy at pool, and they'd all wanna play you?"

Dean turned to face his brother, amusement in his eyes. "You? Beat me at pool?"

Sam tried to hide the hurt at his brother's sarcastic tone. He hated it when Dean got like this. "It would just be pretend, you know. I know I could never really play good enough to beat you."

"Damn straight you couldn't." Dean agreed, "And letting everyone see a freaking kid beat me wouldn't help anything anyway. They'd just all stand back and laugh."

"Oh." Sam said simply, sitting back down. He was hesitant to mention his plan B, but desperation and the thought of spending another six hours alone spurred him on.

"Maybe … maybe you could teach me to play anyway?" He asked, eyes pleading. "It'd be fun to learn? Could come in handy down the road, right?"

At that, Dean exploded. "I just told you I don't have the time right now to babysit you, Sam. Dammit, I'm not your freaking mother!"

And that was all it took to suck all the light out of Sam's world. No, Dean wasn't Sam's mother. The younger boy had never really had that particular pleasure. Sam blinked back tears for the third time that day, but to his disgust, a small, surprised whimper escaped before he could smother it. He whirled around in embarrassment and hurt and fled to the only place where an angsty Winchester could ever suffer in private - the bathroom. He closed the door gently behind him, and snicked the lock into place.

And left Dean standing in the middle of the room, breathing heavily and feeling like a dick.

Again.

The older boy sunk down on the nearest bed and ran an exasperated hand through his hair. This being stuck together at the hip thing was new, and it was driving Dean insane. Sam had never minded being on his own before. In fact, it was usually Dean who had to coax Sam to come out with him when he made his nightly forays to the local establishments. Dean knew he shouldn't have said what he did about Mom. That had been low, even for him. But dammit, he just needed room to breathe. Why couldn't Sam understand that?

He sighed and stood up. "I'll be back later, Sam." He called, heading for the door. "Salt up behind me."

###

As soon as he heard the front door close, Sam emerged from hiding. He moved to fix the salt line, and then he fell back onto the bed where he'd spent the better part of this miserable day. He glanced at the clock. It was only a little after 6 pm. He knew Dean wouldn't be back until the bars closed at 2:00. That left eight hours alone to entertain himself.

Eight freaking hours. And he'd already been entertaining himself for the better part of the day, anyway, Sam was thinking when his phone beeped.

Thinking it was Dean texting him to apologize, Sam checked his messages. To his surprise, it was Jeremy.

Jeremy: "Hey Sam. Dad's taking me for pizza. Wanna come?"

Sam's eyes lit up, but he knew he had no way to get to the comic place. He texted back.

Sam: "Got no wheels."

Jeremy: "Dad says we can come pick you up. Where are you?"

Sam: "Convenience Inn?"

Jeremy: "Oh cool. That's just right up the road. You ready now?"

Sam: "Yeah, sure. I got no money though."

Jeremy: "It's cool. Dad's treating. See you in 15."

Sam: "Okay. Thanks."

Sam hurried to the bathroom and splashed water on his face, hoping it wouldn't be evident that he'd just been crying. He ran a comb through his hair and changed his shirt and was ready when Jeremy and Mr. Rudy pulled up in a burgundy-colored Monte Carlo. He slipped outside and locked the door.

And when Jeremy hopped out and slid into the back seat, Sam followed right behind him.