"Go back to the other page."
"Which other page?"
"The other one."
"Sam, there are like fifty pages here, you are going to have to be a little more specific."
My little brother released an exasperated sigh before clarifying.
"The one with the names of the original builders on it."
"I thought we already agreed the problem wasn't with the first owners, seeing as how people didn't start disappearing until last year." I said as I sifted through all the papers spread across the table.
Sam's fingers were still too stiff to be of any use, so he stood behind me with his hands shoved in his pockets, dictating my every move.
It was annoying as hell, but necessary.
"I just want to see how long they owned it before the next people moved in."
"Okay, ummm, looks like they lived in it for about fourteen years." I declared once I finally found the damn page.
"Does it say why they sold?" Sam asked, looming over top of me as I sat at the library table. I had told the kid to just take a seat, but he preferred to stand behind me so he could see everything.
Like a hawk.
"Apparently, the owner's wife, a Stephanie Jennings, passed away, so her husband sold the place."
"How'd she die?"
"Well that would be in the obituaries." I muttered, searching through all the documents.
"Cancer." I announced upon finding the proper page.
Sam hummed in thought.
"I doubt she'd be haunting the place."
My brother grunted in agreement behind me, and I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.
"What about the most recent owners." He suggested.
I began the search for the required text.
"You know it'd be easier to find stuff if you actually organized the research." Sam commented.
"Well not everyone is OCD." I replied distractedly.
"I'm not OCD, I'm just organized."
"You're obsessive."
"No, I-
"Here it is. The last people to own it were James and Ellie Barnes and that was...twelve years ago. And before you ask, no, they didn't die mysteriously, they didn't die in the house at all actually. They just moved and couldn't find a buyer, so they sold it to the bank and the place remained empty."
"They didn't report any unusual activity? Noises, flashing lights? Anything like that?" Sam inquired, his chin nearly touching my head as he bent over me.
"That would be in the police reports." I grunted, sifting through the strewn documents for the millionth time.
"Dean, if you were just more-
"If you say the word organized one more time, I will cram this page down your throat." I threatened, finally finding the proper report.
Sam chuckled behind me, before moving to drop down on the chair next to mine.
"No strange activity came from the house until a few years ago." I stated, placing the paper down in front of my little brother.
He instinctively went to reach for it, but stalled, remembering his fingers were too stiff and shoved the useless limbs back into his pocket. I made no comment, the frustration on my brother's face was apparent and I had no desire to make it any worse.
"Alright, so the problem isn't the owners." Sam uttered, more to himself than me.
"Doesn't look like it." I agreed.
The young man looked up from the report he had been studying and cast his eyes over the other pages littered about.
"What are you looking for?" I asked, knowing I would have to be the one to find it and pull it out.
"I'm not certain." Sam huffed. "You sure the witness didn't say anything about strange sounds or-
"I'm telling you, man, I called her. All she said was that her two friends went into the house and never came back out. They haven't been seen since. That's all she knows." I explained patiently, like I had multiple times already.
Sam was annoyed that he hadn't been the one to make the call. After all, he was the one who often did the whole witness-coddling-interview thing, but this time we hadn't been able to go see the young woman because she was out of town. Therefor a phone call was necessary. Sam hadn't been able been unable to properly grasp the cell and had disgustedly refused my offer to hold it up to his ear. So, I had conducted the interview, much to my little brother's disappointment.
"What are you thinking?"
"I don't know okay?! This isn't how I do research. I need to have everything in front of me and be able to flip through pages and re-read things!" My brother's voice rose in irritation.
I glanced around the library to be sure we weren't attracting too much attention, but other than the librarian, there really wasn't anyone else in sight. Most people probably didn't think the building had power after the ice-storm last night.
"Look, man, I get that your-
"No, Dean, you don't. You don't get it. Research has always been the one thing I was good at! Even when we were kids. But now I can't even do that much, thanks to my screwed-up hands!" Sam snapped, his voice hushed but tone sharp as he glared in my direction.
I knew the anger in his eyes was not aimed at me, but rather the situation, so I took no offense.
"I can't hunt, I can't interview witnesses, and now I can't even research. What the hell am I good for?"
"Sam, it'll pass. The stiffness always passes, and the second it does you can interview, hunt, and geek-out all over this crap." I declared, sweeping my hand over the covered table-top.
"Yeah, I know. I just feel so useless." My brother confessed softly, dropping his gaze to the ground, his hair falling before his face.
I paused, thinking of a way to correct Sam without sounding like a total girl.
How do you go about manly telling someone that just by breathing they made your life better?
That they couldn't possibly be useless because they were the reason you got out of bed every damn day?
How do you tell someone that even if they weren't a brilliant researcher or a skilled hunter, that they would still matter more to you than anyone else on the planet?
"Hey, you remember right after your frostbite? When your hands were all wrapped up for a couple of weeks?" I questioned, ducking down to try and get into my brother's lowered line of sight.
Sam glanced up at me from underneath all those bangs, a look of interest painted across his face.
"Yeah, what about it?" He asked.
"You remember how I had to help you with everything? How you couldn't really do much?"
"Yes, Dean, I remember." Sam spat out bitterly, his gaze returning to the floor.
"You remember what I told you?" I continued.
A questioning expression met mine as my little brother looked back up.
"Not really, that was like ten years ago."
"Eight." I corrected thoughtlessly.
I got a small dimply smirk for that, not sure why, but my heart warmed just a little at the sight.
"So, what'd you say that was so important?" Sam encouraged, knocking his knee against mine after a moment of silence.
"Well if you don't remember, clearly it wasn't that significant." I remarked casually, regretting the playful barb at the fall of my brother's face.
"I don't remember everything, dude, but that doesn't mean that it didn't matter or that-
"I was joking. You were young and still on pain meds, I'd be surprised if you could remember anything I said." I reflected with a grin.
The young man shook his head, but maintained an expectant stare.
As I recalled the words I had spoken, I thought back to the situation that made them necessary.
By the time we arrived in Florida, I was exhausted. I had driven non-stop the entire way from Michigan, twenty-one hours of travel divided only by short stops to fill up the tank and coax soup into my little brother. Sam needed warmth and I was desperate to provide that for him. Even wrapped in my sweater and his new winter coat and the blanket I jacked from the motel, his body still shook with cold on occasion.
I pulled up beside the first nice hotel I came across upon entering the warmer state. Sam would need some time to heal-up and he should be able to do that in comfort. I glanced over to my right and smiled fondly at the young teen sleeping slumped against the door.
"Be right back, Sammy." I promised as I quietly climbed from the vehicle and went to get us a room.
I cursed the cool night air as I made my way inside, it didn't affect me much, but I knew that it would feel down right freezing to the hypothermic kid in the car. Florida may not be as frigid as Michigan, but it was still the middle of January.
Hotels, nice ones, were very different from the motels we normally frequented. They didn't smell of smoke and sex, they had elevators and room service, indoor pools and free towels; they were luxury by comparison. I got us a room on the bottom floor, it had a kitchenette, large bathroom, two queen beds, and there was a window that looked out on the parking lot so that I could keep an eye on my baby.
I grabbed both our bags from the trunk and placed them inside the room before going to get Sam. I cautiously opened the door, sliding my hand in its place to prevent the lanky body from toppling out onto the tarmac. The shift jarred my little brother and two bleary, hazel eyes stared over at me.
"Dean?" He rasped softly.
"Yeah, kiddo. I'm right here. I'm just going to get you inside."
Sam nodded, compliantly leaning against my chest as I scooped him up. The fact that the kid made no effort to get to his feet and travel the distance on his own was an attest to how truly exhausted he was.
I hefted the boy up into my arms, getting a firm hold on him, being sure not to dislodge the blanket wrapped around his thin frame. The second I pulled him fully from the Impala, Sam scrunched up and nuzzled closer into me, somehow still able to feel the cool air under all those layers.
I held him protectively against my chest as I walked into the hotel. The receptionist gave us a curious look, but smiled once she saw the shaggy head resting on my collarbone. Sam looked so much younger than his fourteen years, swaddled in a large blanket and carried bridal-style in my arms.
Looking down at the young teen. I couldn't see much, his long brown hair curtaining his face, but I was able to catch of glimpse of his discoloured nose; it was pale with shades of green at the tip and the skin was dry and peeling. Sam's hands were far worse off, but the frostbite on his nose was still third degree and it looked painful. A flow of guilt surged through me at the sight of the injury, but I swallowed it down, because that was not what my little brother needed right now.
I entered the room and placed Sam gently on the bed furthest from the door, smiling down once his eyes cracked open and he stared up at me.
"Hey buddy." I greeted, not entirely sure how lucid he was.
"Hi." He croaked tiredly, a shadow of a smile crossing his face.
"How you feeling?" I questioned, plopping next to him on the bed.
"Good." Sam lied, two dimples coming through in an effort to reassure me.
"Sam." I admonished not unkindly, waiting for the truth.
"I'm tired and cold, and a little hungry." He admitted.
"I'll bet, you slept through lunch. I am going to order some soup, what kind do you want?" I asked, grabbing the room-service menu and looking at our options.
"Soup again?" Sam asked, his nose scrunched up. "I had that for breakfast and dinner last night, and that's all they'd let me eat at the hospital.
"That's because it warms you up and it's easy on your stomach. We can try some more interesting food tomorrow, but for now we are sticking with soup."
"Why?" Sam whined petulantly.
"Because the doc said to stick with liquids for a couple days." I stated simply, having no interest in elaborating on the reason for that decision.
Malnourishment.
Sam's lack of food intake over the last week messed with his body and the doctor informed me that he couldn't go from eating nothing for days to return to his regular eating habits, we would have to take it easy.
So, that was what we would do.
"They've got chicken noodle, broccoli cheese, and mixed vegetable." I left out the tomato, because neither of us needed that reminder.
"Chicken noodle, I guess." Sam sulked as he wormed around the bed, struggling to sit up.
"Here, let me help." I offered, gripping his two bony shoulders and pulling him into a seated position.
"I could have done it." My brother grouched.
I made no comment, understanding how a fourteen-year-old with a massive independent streak would be frustrated at requiring help to perform such a simple task.
"Chicken noodle it is."
I stood up and grabbed the phone, punching in the room service number and ordering soup and an orange juice.
"Aren't you having anything?" The teen questioned once I ended the call.
"Nah, I picked up a sandwich an hour ago when we stopped for gas. I tried to see if you wanted anything, but you wouldn't keep your eyes open long enough." I joked.
"I think my meds make me tired." Sam explained, yawning half way through his sentence as if to prove his point.
"You think?" I chuckled.
"Shut up." He grumbled as he untangled himself from the blanket.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?"
"Dean, I can't eat if I'm wrapped up like a burrito." He reasoned, pushing the comforter down to his legs.
"You just said you were cold."
"I am, but according to the doctor you keep quoting, I'm going to be cold for the next few weeks no matter how many layers I have on." Sam argued.
I rolled my eyes at the stubborn little brat, my irritated reply halted by the sound of a knock at the door.
I accepted the food and made my way back to my little brother, who was now working on ridding of his winter coat. Without a word, I set the steaming bowl and glass of juice onto the bedside table and gently helped him pull his arms free from the jacket sleeves.
"Careful." I warned, wincing as his bandaged hands snagged against the material.
"It's fine." He ground out. His tone indicating that it was, in fact, not fine.
"Alright, there you go." I tossed the coat off to the side and walked over to the thermostat, cranking it up. Sam may not have to wear four layers, but he needed to stay warm.
A pained hiss sounding from behind me had me turning quickly. The young teen sitting against the headboard was struggling to maintain a hold of the bowl of soup, dropping it with a loud clatter onto the side-table.
"Sam, what the hell?" I barked, rushing back over to the bed.
"What?! I was just trying to pick it up." He defended, staring down furiously at the bandages that were now damp and tinged yellow.
"Yeah, well that didn't really work out, did it?" I commented offhandedly.
My little brother glared up at me, clearly not appreciative of me pointing out the obvious.
"It's too hot." He mumbled, allowing me to pull his hands closer and start unwinding the layers of medical gauze. I was doing it quickly, knowing that if the hot liquid soaked through it was going to hurt like hell.
"I know. I was going to help you eat it, if you had just waited a second." I explained calmly as one injured limb came into view. I made an effort not to physically cringe at the site of the discoloured fingers and visibly damaged skin.
"So you could spoon feed me." Sam stated bitterly.
"You didn't seem to mind this morning, or last night for that matter." I pointed out, starting in on his other hand.
"I was half-asleep, I barely remember that."
"And at the hospital."
"Same thing, I was on so many drugs I could hardly keep my eyes open. But I'm awake now, and I can feed myself."
I bit my tongue to withhold the sarcastic comment I wanted to release, the kid was just being flat-out unreasonable, but the last thing I wanted to do was add fuel to his already simmering fire.
"I'll help you, it's not a big deal." I replied instead.
"To be fed like a baby!? That is a big deal, because I'm not a baby and I can feed myself." He declared, wincing as he pulled his hands away.
I stood up, tossed the old bandages into the trashcan, and rifled through my duffel to grab a roll of fresh gauze and the ointment given to us at the hospital.
I returned to sit on the bed next to my little brother's blanket clad legs.
"Hands." I requested when they weren't presented to me.
"I'm not an invalid." Sam bit out.
"I know. Give me your hands." I repeated, my tone level and relaxed even as my irritation grew.
Why couldn't this kid just let me take care of him?
The teenager didn't move, his limbs remaining on his left side, the one furthest from me. I was tempted to just reach out and grab them, but I was worried that he'd fight me on it and end up hurting himself.
"Just let me re-wrap them okay? Sam, please." I knew the last word would get him, I rarely said it, saving it for occasions such as this.
As I had predicted, my little brother's hard expression softened and he moved his hands back over toward me.
My touch was feather-light as I spread the lotion over the damaged skin. Sam hissed a couple times, his fingers twitching in discomfort as I coated them in the medicinal gel.
"Sorry." I apologized honestly.
I heard a light chuckle in response.
"What's so funny?" I asked, not bothering to remove my attention from my careful ministrations.
"Nothing, it's just that I'm being a jerk and you're the one apologizing."
"You're not being a jerk, Sam. You're just frustrated, and I get it. Really, I do, but you just- you've got to let me help you out for awhile. Alright? Just until you're healed." I stated, careful to sound gentle and not authoritative.
"Who knows how long that could take." My brother muttered.
"It'll take however long it takes. We won't rush it. The last thing we want to do is make this worse. You might have to be patient, but you'll heal." I assured the young boy gently smearing the ointment on his frostbitten nose before I began to encircle his hands in layers of gauze.
"But it's not fair to you." The whisper was so soft I almost couldn't make it out, but my head shot up at what it was I thought I heard.
"What?" I questioned, my hands stalling momentarily as I stared into the puppy dog eyes aimed my way.
"Nothing. It's nothing." Sam declared with a dismissive shake of his head. "Can you hurry up? I'm kinda starving here."
I wanted to interrogate the kid, figure out what the hell he was getting at, because something about his statement irked me. But I couldn't help react to his announcement of a physical need.
Especially since, Sam had - in fact - been starving just a few days ago.
"I'm nearly finished." I reported, returning my concentration to bandaging the teen's hands.
Once Sam was properly mummified, I set the medical supplies off to the side and focused my attention on tackling the next problem.
Food.
"Okay, so I've got a straw for the juice and if we place it near the end of the side-table you can just lean over and take a sip whenever. No need to pick it up."
Sam nodded at my observations and waited for me to continue as he stared warily at the still steaming bowl.
"The soup we can tackle one of two ways. Either I could use the spoon and...uuhh... do what we did before."
I watched as the young boy's face morphed into displeasure at the idea of being spoon-fed.
"Or I could hold the bowl and you could sip it out."
"Can't I just hold it myself, I mean I could probably-
"No, Sam. The bowl is hot and you really shouldn't be holding anything right now, especially not anything of an extreme temperature." I stated assertively, recalling what the doc had told me about the nerves in my brother's hands being all out of whack.
"We could just wait until it cools." He suggested.
"You want cold soup? Besides gripping the bowl at all will still be too difficult with the gauze."
Sam looked like he wanted to argue. I could practically hear the wheels in his head turning as he thought up something to say, but he remained silent, nodding curtly in reluctant agreement.
"Fine. How about you just hold it and I'll sip it."
"Sure." I said, trying not to sound as thankful as I felt.
Taking care of Sam was always a hell of a lot easier when he allowed me to do it.
It took some time, but eventually the bowl of soup was empty, Sam's bandages were still clean, and he had managed to maintain a small degree of dignity throughout the whole process; he even smiled at a couple of my attempts at humour. I gave Sam his next does of meds and collected the dishes, setting them on the tray they came in right outside the door as I placed the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the handle.
"You ready to turn in?" I asked.
"Yeah, I just need to go to the bathroom first." Sam said, climbing from the bed.
I had to stop myself from helping him. The kid needed some level of independence and there was very little he could do on his own. It was important to allow him to do the things that he was capable of.
The lanky teenager plodded to the bathroom, stepping inside and closing the door part way, not able to grip the doorknob to tug it fully closed. I took the opportunity to change into sleep-clothes, eager to fall in to bed and get some much needed shut-eye. Twenty or so straight hours of driving made laying back on a comfy mattress and resting sound like heaven.
"Dean?" The timid call sounded from the bathroom, and had I not grown up attuned to the owner of that voice, I wouldn't have even heard it.
"What do you need, Sam?" I asked.
The door inched open and a red-faced teenager stood on the other side.
"It's my pants, you tied them and I can't..." My brother faded off, looking down at the tiled floor.
"Alright, it's no problem, buddy." I stated casually.
Sweatpants had been the obvious option when I helped my brother change at the hospital. They were comfy, warm, easy to maneuver, and perfect for travelling in. I had to tie them on earlier because Sam had lost too much weight and they no longer stayed in place without being secured.
I had untied them when we stopped to fill up one tank and empty the other, but the teenager had been half asleep that time; therefor shame and embarrassment hadn't come into play. It would seem that they had made their return now, though, and they had done so with a vengeance.
I tugged the sweater up and quickly untied the knot, trying desperately not to notice for the hundredth time today how damn skinny my kid had gotten. I retied it loose enough the Sam should be able to push them down and pull them up without having to undo them of having to hold them in place.
"There you go. Need anything else?"
"No, I can manage it from here, thanks." Sam mumbled, his gaze avoiding mine as he waited for me to make my exit.
"Okay." I nodded my head and left, pulling the door partially closed behind me.
I flicked off the lights, checked the locks, and laid the salt lines before falling into bed. It took effort not to hover, but I knew it was best to allow Sam some independence. So, I reclined back and pretended that I wasn't calculating my little brother's every move as he made his way out of the bathroom and slid into bed, clumsily pulling the covers up with his bandaged hands.
"Night Dean." He yawned, rolling onto his side, eyelids half-mast as he peaked over at me.
"Night Sammy."
The kid was sleeping before he could correct me. I smiled at the young face across from me and closed my eyes, letting my exhaustion take over.
I was startled from a peaceful sleep at the sound of glass shattering. Instantly pulling my hunting knife from under the pillow I scanned the room for danger. Instead of any sort of threat, all there was to see was my little brother crouched down on the kitchen floor.
"Sam? What the hell are you doing?" I questioned, voice rough with sleep as I rolled out of the bed.
"It's nothing. I just dropped a cup. It's fine, Dean. Go back to bed." Sam stated, not bothering to raise his gaze from the floor as he struggled to pick up small shards of glass.
"Here, I got it." I said, placing my hands on the young teen's shoulders and attempting to move him away from the sharp pieces.
"No! It's my mess and I'll clean it up." He declared defiantly.
"It's not a big deal, Sam. I got it." I insisted, bending down and grabbing hold of the broken glass that my little brother was fighting to pick up with his wrapped appendages.
"Leave it! I can do it." He snapped, swatting me away.
"You're being ridiculous." I announced, ignoring Sam's attempts to push me off as I proceeded to gather the shattered pieces.
"No! I'm not. I'm fourteen fucking years old, I can clean up my own mess!" My brother hollered, his temper lost as he stood abruptly to face me.
"Oh really?! How do you plan on doing that? You going to pick the glass up with your teeth? Because you and I both know that there is no way you can get a grip on it with your mummified hands."
I regretted my challenging tone the second I heard it. I had practically just told the most stubborn kid I knew that he couldn't do something.
There was no better way to get Sam fired up then telling him he wasn't capable of something.
Just as I figured, a defiant expression came over my little brother's face as he glared up at me.
"I'll figure it out! Just back the hell off!" He ordered.
I counted out slowly to five in my head, to calm myself before releasing a heavy sigh, and reluctantly taking a few steps back.
Sam nodded curtly and stooped back down to proceed with his fruitless efforts.
Watching the kid repeatedly trying and failing to pick the bits of glass off the floor would have been entertaining, humorous even, if it hadn't been for his growing frustration and evident distress.
I pondered whether or not to step in and help out, but I was held back by the vicious reaction I felt my little brother would deliver if I were to intervene at all.
The question was whether helping him was worth the anger that would be hurled my way. However, all consideration was thrown out the window the second I saw a teardrop drip of the end of the kid's nose.
"Sammy." I sighed, crouching next to the struggling teenager.
He ducked his head down further, his hair hiding his expression as he continued what he was doing. I reached out slowly, so that he could see what I was about to do. My fingers encircled around the too-thin wrists, effectively stilling my brother's movements.
"Hey." I called softly, waiting for eye-contact, which I did not receive.
"Look at me kiddo."
I slid the tips of my fingers under his chin and tipped his face up.
Two watery hazel eyes met my gaze, skittering away only to return again a short moment later.
"What's going on, Sammy? I've seen you stubborn, and I get the whole independence thing, but this- this is different."
The teen's mouth opened and closed a couple times before he seemingly gave up on any verbal reply and shook his head.
Okay, so we needed to start with a simpler question.
"What were you doing out of bed at two in the morning?" I asked after glancing at the time lit up on the microwave.
"Getting a drink of water." Sam answered flatly.
I had figured as much.
I glanced down to ensure that his bandages weren't wet, discovering them to be dry I concluded that the kid must have dropped the cup prior to filling it up.
"The gauze has no traction. The glass just slipped right through it." My brother muttered, confirming my assumption.
"Why didn't you just ask me to get it?" I questioned.
"Dean, I can get my own-
"Oh, come on, man. I thought we went through this already. You are injured, Sam. You need to let me help you out until you're better." I declared, assertive but not pushy, not wanting it to sound as though he didn't have a choice in the matter.
"I know. You said that already." Sam replied with that exasperated teenage tone of his.
"Then what's the deal. Why won't you let me help you?"
"Because you shouldn't have to, okay?! Because you're exhausted from driving for almost twenty-four hours! Because you hardly got any sleep at the hospital. Because you shouldn't have to feed me and clean up after me and help me go to the freakin bathroom! Because it isn't your fault that I got frostbite or that I'm totally useless, and you shouldn't have to deal with it." Sam hollered, getting to his feet and waving his bandaged hands around as he ranted.
I was speechless, not believing what I was hearing and not even knowing where to begin my contradiction.
How could this kid be worried about me?
He had been neglected by both Dad and I.
He nearly lost his fingers.
He ended up with hypothermia and signs of malnutrition, for godsake.
Now he was stuck in a constant state of cold, exhaustion, and dependence.
Why the hell would he waste time worrying me?
And useless?
How could he even think of such a word.
Sam was a lot of things, stubborn, argumentative, irritating, but never ever useless.
"Come here." Was all I managed to get out, gripping my brother's bony elbow and pulling him out of the glass shards littered across the kitchen floor and over to the beds. I pushed him down onto his.
"Dean, wha-
"Shut up, Sam. I've got some things to say and I need you to be paying attention." I instructed, sitting on the edge of my own bed so I was facing the kid, our knees touching.
I could clearly see the temptation to speak written across my little brother's face, but he managed to swallow it down and nodded in reply.
"I have no problem helping you out, little brother-
"But you-
"Sam. My turn." I insisted authoritatively.
The teen rolled his eyes, but shut his mouth obediently.
"I have never and will never have a problem with taking care of you. No matter how tired I am or how many things you might need help with, I have absolutely no issue with helping you out."
"Yeah but, Dean, you literally have to help be do everything."
"So what? It's not forever, it's just until you get better."
Sam looked unconvinced.
It was time for a different strategy.
"If it were me, wouldn't you do the same?" I asked, already fully aware of the exact response I was about to receive.
My brother's eyes went wide as he nodded dramatically.
"Of course, I would." He declared in a tone so earnest it had my heart clenching.
"So, can't I do the same for you?"
I could practically see Sam turning the argument over in his mind, mixing it with logic and emotion. Eventually he nodded, a shy dimply smile crossing his face.
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Good." I declared, glad that we finally seemed to be on the same page.
However, the sight of the teen chewing on his bottom lip told me another story entirely.
"What is it, Sam?" I questioned patiently, biting back the yawn that wanted to escape from my mouth. The last thing the kid needed was a reminder of my lack of sleep, because apparently it would be his fault in some twisted way.
"Nothing, I just-I hate being so useless." He confessed in a whisper.
This stupid kid.
I would love to get inside that head of his one day and find out how he comes up with such crazy shit.
"Well that's just moronic."
Sam raised an eyebrow at my insulting comment.
"Dude, messed up hands or not, aside from Dad, there is no one I would trust to have my back more than you."
My little brother let out a humorless laugh.
"Yeah, I'd be great back up. I can't stop shivering, I can't shoot straight, I couldn't even hold a weapon if I wanted to."
"But you would find a way, Sam. If I were really in trouble, you would find a way to back me up no matter what. Because you're smart and you think on your feet. You'd get the job done, Sammy, hands or not." I stated with complete confidence, meaning every damn word and letting the kid see that through my tone and expression.
Two hazel eyes squinted up at me.
"You mean it?"
"Hell, yeah I mean it. You are not useless. You could never be useless, you are too intelligent and too skilled, and just way too damn stubborn to ever be useless. It's your brain and your determination that make you such a great asset, Sammy, not just all the stuff you are able to do physically. You got that? Or do I have to keep going, because I'm not sure how much more chick-flick I can handle tonight, dude."
My little brother sent me a shy smile, evidently moved by something I had said, which I didn't get.
Because how was any of that news to him?
Didn't he already know how important he was?
How valuable?
"Thanks, Dean." He said, staring up at me with those freakin puppy dog eyes that were oozing all sorts of girlie emotions.
"Sure thing, man." I mumbled gruffly, clearing my throat as I stood.
"You should get some sleep." Sam announced, staring up at me as he shimmied further back on his bed, minute slight shivers making him tremble as he moved up toward his pillow.
"I will." I declared, carefully stepping over the glass and grabbing a new cup.
I brought the glass full of water over to my brother, setting it on the side-table with a straw dropped inside of it. I returned to the kitchen without ordering Sam to take a drink or supervising the process, even though a part of me had desired to do both.
Sam needed to feel capable, so I would do the best I could to help him with that, without allowing him to hurt himself in the process.
"Seriously, Dean. You look exhausted."
"Yeah, kiddo, I know. I'm heading right back to bed after I clean this up."
"Sorry about that."
I looked up from what I was doing, glaring over at the thin boy swallowed under the comforter and leaning against the headboard.
"Are you kidding me? Did we not just cover this? Sam, it's not your-
"No, I just meant sorry for making a mess, that's all. I'm not sorry that you have to clean it up. You don't need to go all Oprah on me again." He replied, his lips pulling into a cheeky smile.
I was shocked. Did my angsty little brother just crack a joke?
And an insulting one at that.
Maybe there was hope for this kid yet.
"Go to sleep, you little bitch." I replied with a smirk.
"You first, jerk." Sam said right before releasing a large yawn.
I shook my head, a fond smile crossing my face as I finished picking the pieces of glass up off the tiled floor.
My little brother just barely managed to keep his eyes partially open until I dropped onto my own bed. Only then did the stubborn little brat allow his eyelids to fall closed as he sunk back into his pillow.
"Can I have pancakes for breakfast tomorrow?" He slurred sleepily.
A surprised laugh came out of me at the simple request.
"Sure Sammy, whatever you want."
I watched as dimples lit his face, before fading as sleep took over.
Sam needed some serious fattening up and if he wanted pancakes everyday for the next month, that's what he would get.
The request was a good sign, it meant that Sam was done feeling guilty, at least for now.
I had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time we would deal with Sam's frostbite and all the emotional crap that came with it, but for now the kid seemed to be at peace.
And I'd take the win wherever I could get it.
"I remember being on cloud nine after you told me that."
Sam's announcement had my eyebrows raising.
"I thought you didn't remember what I said."
A mischievous grin lit my brother's face as he shrugged in response.
"You little shit, you just wanted me to say it again." I pieced together.
"No, I just wanted to see if you remembered it right. Because what you said to me, about how I was smart and determined and how that made me an asset - gawd, Dean - that meant the world. It was like everything I'd ever wanted to hear. Everything I had wanted Dad to tell me."
The honest confession was full of such raw emotion it caught me off guard. And the wistful smile on my little brother's face made my heart ache.
"Sam, Dad just doesn't know how to say things like that, but that doesn't mean he doesn't think it." I expressed.
I had inwardly - and sometimes outwardly - cursed our father for his inability to say the things Sammy needed to hear.
I knew that he did the best he could.
But sometimes, sometimes that just wasn't enough.
"Honestly, Dean, it meant a lot more coming from you." The young man declared softly, those damn puppy eyes making an appearance as he stared over at me.
I had no response to that, my throat closing in emotion as I diverted my gaze, no longer able stare into the soulful hazel eyes without losing my composure.
"You still think I'm smart?"
The soft question brought my gaze back to Sam, who was looking at me uncertainly from underneath all of his ridiculous hair.
Did he really not think he was a bloody genius?
Didn't he know that he was the brains of this operation?
"Dude, does getting a free ride to Stanford ring a bell?" I asked in disbelief, because it was pretty damn obvious that the kid was massively intelligent.
And for the first time since we had been reunited, the mention of Sam's school brought a smile to his face, instead of a frown.
"Between that and you always knowing all the answers to Jeopardy, I'd say that makes it clear that you are pretty freakin smart, also a massive dork, but smart." I declared, a hint of a smile on my face.
Sam's lips traveled up into a wide grin as he rolled his eyes.
"And you knowing all the answers to the Price is Right, what does that make you? A geek?"
"No, that makes me financially conscious." I defended playfully. Although the truth was, when you grow up constantly budgeting and figuring out how far you could stretch the cash every week, you become pretty damn good at guessing prices.
"When was the first disappearance?"
The abrupt change in topic had me curious until I saw the glimmer in my brother's eyes, the same look he got every time he figured something out.
I rifled through the research until I found the required piece of information.
"Uuh a little over a year ago."
"And all the other incidences happened after that."
"Yeah, but not on any sort of scheduled basis." I remarked as I looked at the dates of all the disappearances.
"What's it say about the first one." He asked, not even bothering to read the paper, just sitting enraptured in thought.
"Madeline Reid, age eighteen, went into the house on a dare. Her friends are claiming she never came back out. She hasn't been seen since. That's pretty much all it says."
Sam nodded along as I read, absorbing the info, frowning as he took it in.
"What?" I questioned.
"I thought it might have to do with the first vic. Maybe a case of a pissed off spirit that's attached to the place she died and then whenever someone comes snooping around she takes them out."
"Like a victim of opportunity situation? Makes sense, that explains the differences in the missing people and the lack of any sort of pattern." I agreed.
"Yeah but, you said that she went in on a dare, indicating that people already thought the house was haunted."
"Maybe, but we checked out the history of the house, man, it's clean. There's nothing supernatural about that place."
"That's why I thought it had to do with the owners, or the Madeline girl, but that wouldn't explain why people already had suspicions about the property." Sam stated with a puzzled expression.
"It was an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. Of course people would think it was haunted, isn't that what they assume about every building that's been boarded up? Come on, man, we come across this kind of thing all the time, people see what they want to see. You've got a whole community that drives by this house on a country road and it's all closed down and empty, do they stop to wonder why? No, they just assume it's haunted, they start reading into things. All of the sudden every sound and glimmer of light is supernatural activity."
"Yeah? You think that's what happened?"
I shrugged.
"I think you're right about it being something to do with the first disappearance. I think we should check out this Madeline chic. Go talk to her family and friends, see if we can find anything suspicious."
Sam nodded in fervent agreement.
"Sounds like a plan." He said.
Sam watched as I re-stacked all the papers and returned them to the librarian in some form of order.
"You know, Dean, you are pretty bright yourself." Sam commented, nudging me with his elbow as we made our way out to the car.
"Yeah, accept I'm cool smart, like James Bond. Not dorky smart like you and all those old guys with giant glasses and crazy hair." I quipped.
My little brother released a genuine laugh, not even griping when I had to open the passenger door for him.
I made my way around the Impala, shaking my head in sheer disbelief.
Useless.
How the hell could Sam every think he was useless.
How could he not know how smart he was?
Or what a great hunter he was?
How could he not know how valuable he was?
How much he brought to the table?
How could such a smart kid be so incredibly stupid?
Maybe that was why I was around, so I could assure my big brained little brother that he had more use and value than could be calculated.
That he mattered more to me than anyone else on the entire fucking planet, regardless of any imperfections.
I was going to have to find more manly ways to do that, though.
Because I had broken no chick-flick rule way too many times in the past few days.
Then again, Sammy had always been the exception to every rule.