Trees flew by the windows of the car Sam had swiped from the motel parking lot.

He'd been sitting in the motel room, waiting for his brother to return, when he'd heard the familiar sound of the Impala's engine roaring to life. He'd run to the window in time to see the car pulling out of the parking lot.

He'd gathered up the two duffle bags from his brother's room, along with his own backpack, and had set about hotwiring a car to chase Dean down.

That was half an hour ago. Since then, Dean had sped up, hitting highways and backroads. He'd stopped for gas once, making Sam duck down in the car to avoid being seen.

Now they were on a winding dirt road, surrounded by trees, Sam lagging farther and farther behind his brother as they went along.

He had no idea where Dean was going, just knew that he had to follow him. Dean hadn't been acting right that morning, was understandably upset. But to up and run away? To leave with nothing but the clothes on his back? Something was wrong.

He'd lost sight of his brother on the road a few minutes before, but wasn't too worried. He could still see the tire tracks in the gravel clearly, could easily make out the path that Dean had taken.

The road ended in a circular drive, where Sam could see the Impala parked through the trees. He killed the engine and ducked down, watching as Dean got out of the car and crossed to what looked like a pile of logs.

Squinting, Sam could see that it wasn't actually a pile, but a house. A small cabin. Shutters hung sideways off the windows, the overhang had half collapsed onto the porch, and there were holes in the roof.

Sam waited to see if his brother would come back out, but after ten minutes, he realized that wasn't happening. Worried, he slid out of the car and walked up to the house, his shoes crunching along the gravel.

The house had been nice, once. The kind of thing that most kids made out of Lincoln logs. Not very big, but not too small, either. A nice home, probably, when it had been new and functional.

He climbed up the creaky steps, treading lightly so as not to fall through the wood, and opened the door.

The inside looked worse than the outside. Broken furniture littered the floor, along with dead spiders, mice, and a few birds that had fallen through the holes in the ceiling. Dust covered every inch of the place, except for a path of boot prints going through the middle of the room and towards a door that was hanging off its hinges.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, peering into the gloomy darkness. He followed the footprints and leaned through the doorway, looking for his brother.

Dean was sitting in the middle of the dirty floor, his back leaning against a moth-eaten bedspread. He was staring down at his hands, his face slack, eyes dead. Bright wrapping paper and a small box sat beside him.

Sam followed his brother's gaze to the piece of pale yellow fabric in his hands. "Dean?"

-.-

The bib was gender neutral. Yellow. Soft between his fingers. His thick, masculine fingers.

Dean had never thought he'd hate his hands so much.

He'd heard the door open, heard Sam call his name. He just didn't care anymore. About any of it.

This was his house. His home. Once a nice place, fixed up by Heaven itself, now decrepit and dusty. The present he'd hidden under the floorboards in the bedroom seemed to be the only clean thing in the place.

He flattened the bib out as Sam walked in. He didn't look up, didn't acknowledge his brother's presence. Just stared down at the bib in his hands, the small blue lettering reading "Daddy's Little Angel." Pink wings outlined the words on the fabric.

"It was gonna be a birthday gift," Dean muttered, still looking down at the piece of cloth. "For Cas. Let him know. I mean, he probably already knew, but… I wanted to surprise him." Sam didn't say anything. "He doesn't really have a birthday. Told him to just pick a date." He met his brother's eyes. "September 18th. He chose September 18th."

Sam walked over to the bed and slid down beside him, holding out a hand for the bib. Dean handed it over. What use did he have for it anyway?

"I was gonna name him Aaron," he said. "Or her. Spell it with an E, or something."

Sammy nodded, his fingers brushing over the fabric. "Why Aaron? Or, Erin?"

Dean grinned, but it felt hollow. Empty. Broken. "It's stupid. There was this movie… I caught it on TV a couple of years back. It was about this kid named Aaron. Weird stuff was happening to him, and he found out he was a nephilim."

"The kid of an angel?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. He could, like, hear animals and crap. I dunno. It wasn't all that good, just something to watch, but it stuck, you know? Thought it was fitting, anyway."

"Sounds awesome," Sam said. His voice was soft, meant to be comforting, but Dean could see through it. Knew his brother well enough to know when Sam was scared, thought that something was wrong. When Sam thought he was wrong.

"We lived here," he said, trying to redirect the conversation. "It was nicer. Cas fixed it up, or something. I'd give you the tour, but it's not much to look at right now."

"So it wasn't real?"

Dean blinked. "What do you mean?"

"The house. It was an illusion."

"Why d'you think that?"

Sam shrugged. "He disappears, and so does everything you had? Little suspicious right?"

He thought about it, his mind sticking on the things Sam had said, the things Sam had done, everything that had led them there. It made sense, he supposed, in his brother's mind. "The house is a metaphor," he said slowly.

"Is it?" Sam seemed genuinely confused, but Dean wasn't buying it. The kid knew what he was talking about, trying to plant ideas in his head, trying to shake him to his core.

"I'm not stupid, Sammy. You think it's a metaphor for the whole damn thing. For love and for happiness and for whatever the fuck else you took away." Sam was cringing as the older man's voice rose, but Dean didn't care. He deserved to get scared. "You think the whole thing was fake, and you won't even tell me why."

"He's an angel."

"Yeah?"

"They don't have feelings."

"You talked to him lately, Sam? Because he feels. He feels a hell of a lot."

Sam sighed. "He was using you."

"For what? The war's over, in case you hadn't noticed."

The kid at least had the decency to cringe at the bite behind the words. "I don't know," he muttered. "For kicks and giggles, maybe? To have a reason to hang out here a little longer? To keep an eye on me?"

"Then why'd he turn up after you left, huh?"

"I don't know. But he couldn't have really-"

"What, Sam? Loved me? Because no one can, right? Not like you. Staying and caring are two completely different things, aren't they?"

"You don't understand."

"Then enlighten me, please," Dean growled, ripping the bib from his brother' slack fingers.

"I heard you guys talking-"

"All couples fight."

"Before I left," Sam clarified. "He said he wiped it out of your mind. It was the night after we ended it. I was in the bathroom, and you were trying to sleep off the celebration, when I heard you talking. To him."

Dean furrowed his brow. He could remember going to the bar that night, trying to drink away the weight of failure that had settled on his shoulders. He'd passed out in the passenger seat of the car, and woken up the next morning.

Without a hangover.

Yeah, he'd thought that was odd at the time, but…

"You think he did something to me?"

"He asked you what you wanted," Sam said. "You asked for a house. Because you thought I'd always wanted one."

"You did. When you were a kid-"

"I'm not a kid anymore, Dean. And that's not the point. He asked you what you wanted, and you said you wanted him to stay."

"I did?"

"Yeah."

Dean shook his head, his eyes roving over the dirty floor. "I don't remember that."

"He mind-wiped you. And I'm guessing he also took what you said way out of context."

"He wouldn't…"

"It was your reward, Dean"

"You're wrong."

"I'm just telling you what I heard and what I saw, ok? He knocked you out and said that he was going to try and get you what you wanted."

He shook his head again. "No. You Don't understand-"

"Remember what his boss did to us? It's possible."

"He wouldn't."

"They're heartless. Emotionless. Dean, love is lost on-"

"Get out."

Sam blinked. "What?"

The bib curled in his hands, twisting as he clenched his fists. "Get out of my house."

"It's not-"

"Now."

To Dean's surprise, his little brother actually listened to him.