Chapter 10: Best Big Brother Ever

Dean would never let Sam go.

But it was more than that. To say it so simply was such an understatement, it would be almost ludicrous if it hadn't been proved time and time again. No matter how unworthy Sam felt, no matter how far he fell, no matter what he did or who it hurt, if you put the whole world in a pile and all of heaven and hell to boot, all the billions of lives and souls, all on one side with Sam on the other, and asked Dean to choose, in Dean's book Sam would trump them all every single time. And for a man whose very nature was defined by the innate instinct to save people, who would without even an ounce of hesitation or self-preservation throw himself into the devils palm just to save complete strangers, the magnitude of that choice was simply impossible to ever truly comprehend or acknowledge.

No matter how they grew and developed, no matter what passed between them or how their relationship changed, that was one aspect that Dean wouldn't, couldn't change. He couldn't let Sam go. Sam suspected he simply didn't know how, that he wouldn't be capable of it even if he tried. How could he be? It was something so engrained in him, something so integral and hard-wired into the make-up that made him him, that to let that go would be like asking someone to cleave their soul in half.

It was something Sam had never fully appreciated, had never truly understood, up until now. But now, having seen what he'd seen, having witnessed all the things that he had with an adult's understanding of what a child should and shouldn't have to do, he knew protecting Sam was something Dean simply couldn't help. Sam was too much a part of Dean, perhaps the only part of him that Dean would never sacrifice for anything, perhaps the only part of himself that Dean truly loved.

And he realised something else suddenly too; that no matter how much he wanted to be there to support his brother, there was a small selfish part of him that didn't want to ever be able to see through that mask, that didn't want to ever lose the luxury of security that the mask provided. If Dean lied to him and told him it was okay, Sam wanted to go on believing it.

And though he knew it frustrated him sometimes, more times than it should perhaps, that Dean didn't open up to him and trust him more, he was beginning to understand that perhaps Dean simply couldn't. That perhaps being a big brother wasn't a job you could just clock on and off from whenever you wanted, at the whimsical flick of a switch. The job was for life, not just Christmas.

Sam knew that it would always dog him, that he would never escape from under the mantle of Little Brother. It would always be there, impinging on his sense of freedom and independence and he realised it would undoubtedly frustrate him again, the irritation no doubt habitually flaring up again in time.

But for right then, sitting with a stiff back on the cold warehouse floor, for everything he had witnessed, for all the ways in which he had seen his brother unconditionally love and shield and safeguard him, Sam forgave Dean everything.

The fact that Sam had come so close to losing him, to losing the one person who loved him unreservedly, made Sam's heart clench up.

Dean groaned, finally stirring and Sam, though still supporting his brother, pushed Dean back away from him slightly so that he could look at him, could look him in the eye, holding his head between his hands to help keep him steady, aware that he was probably gripping him a little too tightly, but unable to loosen his grip just yet. He needed Dean to see him, to hear him. He needed Dean to know.

"You are the best big brother ever Dean. You hear me? You're awesome."

Dean pulled back from him to study his face, a pained and confused frown creasing his brow as he became more conscious, and eyes that had barely been able to focus, now squinted at him with such utter bewilderment that for all it mattered Sam could have just told him that he believed the moon was a pretzel and that he'd just seen a giant rabbit eat it clean out of the sky. All in Swahili.

"What?" He rasped, somehow managing to seem annoyed and irritated despite everything, the frown deepening as he vaguely shook his head as if it would shake away his confusion, the movement instantly causing him to keel over slightly in pain.

"Okay, okay. Easy." Sam reassured, moving one arm around his brothers shoulders while letting the other hand fall to his neck, still supporting Deans head as it rested against his palm, gently guiding and manoeuvring Dean so that his own frame could support his brother's weight more fully. Dean for his part, didn't protest. Sam glanced over to where Cas was completing the banishing ritual.

The murky green haze that had been engulfing the creature shone brightly for a moment, before dissipating completely, taking the creature with it.

"What about the other victims?" Sam asked, even though right then, if he was forced to be completely honest, he really didn't care as long as Dean was safe.

"They will recover." The angel said, walking over to the two brothers and crouching down to their level. "It will take time, as it will for Dean. But they will all be fine."

"Cas?" Dean had momentarily recovered enough composure to recognise his friend, but clearly not enough to become fully aware of much else. The sheer warmth in Cas' smile when he looked at Dean spoke volumes of his regard for the older Winchester. It crinkled the corners of his mouth and made his eyes sparkle in the dim confines of the warehouse. He tilted his head to one side, regarding his friend with a mixture of fondness and profound relief.

"Hello Dean."

"Cas… Sam you called Cas? After I told you... Wait… Wait are we… Sammy are we dead?"

Sam couldn't help the laugh that escaped him as his own relief bubbled to the surface, and even Cas' smile widened to a grin that showed his teeth, till he looked down to hide his face.

"No, Dean." Cas replied, shaking his head as he looked back up to meet his friends confused gaze, eyes still sparkling and smile lingering for a moment more before his face took on a mildly sterner expression. "But you should sleep." And before Dean could even begin to protest, Cas touched his fingertips to Dean's head and Dean slumped against Sam's chest, asleep.

Sam gripped his older brother tightly, knowing Cas was about transport them away from there.

"You're the best big brother ever Dean." He repeated, as at Cas' touch the light engulfed them and transported them back to safety. "Best big brother ever."

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Dean was confused.

Or more accurately, he felt unsure. Uncertain. His memories of what he assumed were the few hours during the hunt seemed to be muddled, somehow feeling as though they spanned a much longer space of time than he believed they should have. There were bits and pieces of non-sequitur recollections, jumbled up and entering his head at random, and collectively they didn't make sense to him.

He thought he remembered being with Sam, arguing, outside of the mill. Was sure of it in fact, and felt a small pang of guilt at snapping at him, but he couldn't help it sometimes. Sam could be so damn rational it annoyed him. Then he remembered, quite vividly, being in the vice-like grip of the creature, staring at what seemed like a million teeth and thinking, quite absurdly, that if his face ended up in being a chew-toy for that thing, there would be no chance of his leaving a good looking corpse behind.

And then….

And then.

That's where his mind ceased to be cooperative, seeming intent on following absurd and unrelated pathways through his brain. On the one hand, it seemed the next thing that happened was his waking up on the mill's warehouse floor, embarrassingly in Sam's arms, with Sam saying nonsensically inappropriate things and Cas smiling down goofily at him. But then also, it seemed as though in that short space of time, he had relived his childhood. Or actually, and this was the scary part, at times he had felt sure he was still living it. A few times he had fully believed that he was still a kid, maybe nine or ten years old, and confronting the adult version of his reflection in the bathroom mirror when he'd gone to take a leak had startled a yelp from him, though thankfully Sam hadn't heard. Another time he had been frantic that he had lost Sam, waking up in the middle of the night calling out his name. When Sam had been by his side, worried eyes and calming hands trying to bring him back to the land of the living, for a moment Dean hadn't recognised him at all, panic growing at the sight of this old stranger, instead of his five year old little brother. And though that feeling had passed almost instantly, it still bothered him that it had happened at all. Why would it be, Dean wondered, not able to find the answer anywhere in his head. Why the hell would it be?

And there were other things. He was remembering something, someone, he thought he had known. Someone he had somehow forgotten. A friend. A hero. Someone he looked up to. But the memory was hazy and would evaporate the moment he tried to focus on it, as if he were the Sun trying to stare at a raindrop.

He remembered how much he had worried as a child. How scared he used to be. How alone he used to feel sometimes. How overwhelmed. Those memories and feelings felt fresh in his mind, even though he knew he had long ago outgrown them. But still, for some reason that eluded him, it was as though those wounds had been carved into him anew and he was bleeding those emotions all over again.

He also remembered his dreams. Or more accurately, his nightmares, and that was the thing he hated most. He wished those had been the things his memory could have been hazy about instead. How in his nightmares, for years, his mother had told him she hated him. How she had told him she died because of him. How in the deepest, darkest, most lonely part of his heart, he had believed it all to be true. And no matter how much he told himself it wasn't, there was still that tiny little whisper of doubt that left everything in his mind tasting bitter and vile.

So for all these reasons, all these doubts and confusions, all rolling around in his head, it was with a resigned sigh that he acknowledged he had to confront Sam. Had to find out exactly what the hell had gone down while he'd been catching a few zee's on that lovely warehouse floor.

An awkwardly orchestrated bowel movement scene, or whatever the hell it was called, was headed their way.

And he knew Sam knew it, was if anything, itching to instigate it. He could feel it in the way Sam was tiptoeing around him, fishing for a good moment to pounce.

Dean could feel his brother watching him, constantly, and it was frankly beginning to make him feel claustrophobic. It reminded him of when they'd been younger and Sam had gone through a similar phase, relentlessly following Dean around, spying on him when he thought it wasn't obvious. Dean really hoped Sam wasn't going through a relapse. The first time had lasted a good few years and at its extreme, even their Dad had felt the need to step in and tell Sam to back off. Not that it used to do much good. As annoying as it had become back then, now, as adults, it was downright unnerving.

Every now and then, Dean would catch Sam looking at him with a profound expression of… Dean didn't even want to speculate what it might be. Sappiness? Goofiness? Oh god! Chick flick bromance. Chewing on his lower lip, with puppy dog eyes that almost welled over every time their eyes met, causing Dean to abruptly look away from this vista of Sam, pretending he hadn't cottoned on while knowing full god damn well there was that deep melodramatic talk coming his way. Dean knew it was unavoidable; he could sense the emotional pressure building like an imminent storm, slowly gathering force and bearing down.

He sighed. He supposed it needed to happen. He knew it needed to happen. He couldn't go on with this muddled state of mind he felt he was walking around with.

He hadn't been avoiding the talk on purpose entirely. Not initially at least. Despite having thought Cas was being overly protective in suggesting some time off, Dean found himself to be unusually drowsy for the first few days of his recovery, to the point where he found himself incapable of staying awake for more than an hour or so at most. He wondered if it had been something Cas had done, some residual drawn out spell to ensure he would rest, or whether it had been the aftereffects of whatever injury or infection he had sustained with the creature's attack. Whichever it had been, he had to grudgingly admit, he felt better for it, feeling more rested and whole by the time day three of his recovery rolled around. It was then that he had begun to notice Sam's scrutiny of him more acutely.

While he had been aware of his brother in the days prior, it had been through bleary-eyed snapshots and snippets glimpsed between semi-conscious states. Sam sleeping in a chair next to his bed, Sam on the floor at the foot of the sofa Dean had fallen asleep on, Sam hovering as Dean tried to get up, Sam putting food in front of him, Sam watching over him as he slept.

Now that he was more cogent, it was too obvious to ignore. And besides, he could always read Sammy like an open book.

So when, on day six, Sam coughed to get his attention, squirmed unnecessarily in his seat, and seemed to take a deep breath as if to steady himself, Dean knew what was coming. A part of him wanted to just stop Sam before he even got started, but then he realised this was something Sam needed to do, and that since Sam had saved his life, apparently, Dean begrudgingly had to concede he owed his younger brother this much at least. And besides, as he'd already admitted to himself, he needed to know what had happened as much as Sam needed him to know.

So he listened. He squirmed and fidgeted throughout the whole of Sam's account but to his credit, he didn't storm out or give too many flippant remarks or even, despite what he may have wanted, give Sam his 'Really dude? Seriously?' look. Not very often at least.

When Sam's tale reached the point at which he began recounting how he'd entered Dean's dream, Dean had paled, and realisation of one of the things that had been bothering him, one of the answers that had been eluding him these past few days, hit him with a mental sucker-punch. At that point he'd had to get up under the pretence of grabbing another beer, just so Sam wouldn't be able to see his shocked expression.

"…that's when I somehow ended up back at the mill, back on the warehouse floor." Sam finally rounded off. "I guess Cas pulled me back, or with the creature bound up, I got pulled back. I don't know man. But that's the gist of it all. The rest I guess you know."

His tale finished, Sam felt suddenly drained, the adrenaline of wondering whether he would even get to finish now all but burnt up and leaving in its wake an odd sort of emptiness that made his hands tremble. After a momentary pause, he reached for the bottle that Dean had placed invitingly in front of him not too long ago and took a long welcome swig. The postponed dip into Dutch courage took effect immediately, the cool liquid sliding down his throat and making him feel instantly a little calmer for it.

Dean was rolling his own beer bottle between his hands, not meeting Sam's eyes.

"You gonna say something?" Sam finally asked, a little perturbed by his brother's silence, finding that he couldn't read him, couldn't tell if he was fuming or not.

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, then closed it back up again, face going through a myriad of expressions, none of which he articulated.

"Dean!" Sam prompted, not even caring anymore if Dean was about to erupt, as long as he said something.

"…It's just… I mean…" Dean squirmed, not meeting Sam's gaze. "Dude, you were in my head! I mean, that's just… that's like… it's weird. It's like incest or something." He shuddered, seemed so genuinely uncomfortable that Sam couldn't help laughing at him. At that, Dean did finally look up, annoyance flashing in his eyes. "Oh you think this is funny?!"

"I don't know man, it's just… I'm sorry I had to go in your head okay. But it's not like I was in full control of what happened Dean. If it makes you feel any better, you didn't dream of anything weird, like preteen let's go to Porkies weird. And it all worked out so… Yeah, I'm glad and you can be mad at me if you like, but I'm taking it as a win." He took another swig of his beer. "… Besides, you would've done the same thing."

Dean opened his mouth reflexively at that, outright indignation and denial on the tip of his tongue. But Sam raised his eyebrow at him, challenging, and Dean found he couldn't refute it, realising that Sam, annoyingly, was right.

"Fine." Dean huffed, the closest he was willing to come to conceding defeat. At least, he thought to himself, at least now it was all out in the open, all over and done with. "…So," He started, taking a quick sip of his beer and keeping his tone serious. "… I guess this means you won't strike out so much with the ladies anymore, huh?"

"…What?"

"You know, being in my head an' all, you must've picked up a few pointers. It's all right man, we're both adults here. This is a safe space Sammy, you can say it, ain't no shame in admitting you learned a thing or two from a better man, from a master." He waggled his eyebrows. "Admit it dude, I'm awesome."

He grinned broadly, he knew annoyingly, and waited for Sam's retaliation. He'd meant it as a joke of course, hoping Sam would roll his eyes, call him a jerk, and that would be the end of it. Sam however looked anything but flippant, with an altogether more sincere expression moulding his features, and Dean realised with horror that Sam was about to get very touchy feely. Inwardly he groaned. Hadn't he been through enough already? He managed to say Sam's name just as the younger man held up a hand, pre-empting his objections and stopping him before he could make them.

"I learned more than just a thing or two Dean. And you really are awesome, I mean it. You can joke all you like but the truth is, you are. You always were. I was…"

"Sam–"

"I know I've taken you, taken it all for granted. And all the times I left, not just for Stanford, but–"

"C'mon man, don't–"

"When I ran away as a kid, I was selfish and ignorant and… but I see that now Dean. I mean, you're the best big brother I could have ever asked for. You always were, and I was just so wrapped up in–"

"Okay, okay, I get it. You had some weird mind meld Spock induced revelations in my head and now you feel grateful or something. Whatever dude, I get it. But can we please just… not?" And even though he'd tried his best not to be gruff, Sam looked away, gritting his teeth and shaking his head angrily. Dean sighed, continued, trying for a tone more conciliatory. "Look man, I'm grateful you saved my life, believe me I really am. And you're grateful that, I don't know, that I gave you my ice cream when we were kids, I get it. It's just… Do we really need to go all doctor Phil over this? Can't we just pretend Thanksgiving came early this year, both say we're grateful and just leave it at that?"

"No Dean, we can't!" Sam spoke out then, almost shouting as the emotions he'd been trying to keep in check broke through. "I need you to know. I need–", His voice wavered and he took a breath to calm himself before continuing. "I need to thank you for everything you've ever done. I mean half the stuff you did I bet I'll never even know about. And I want to tell you how grateful I am except I don't even know how, where, to begin man! Because I've spent so much of my life wrapped up in my own crap Dean, just being so damned selfish and stupid and arrogant and blind that I couldn't see everything you were doing for me. All the time! You were always there for me Dean, always. Even when I haven't deserved it. And I just, I just threw it all away like… I just… But I'm sorry Dean. I'm so sorry. I'm… I don't know how to–" He broke off, unable to continue, looking imploringly at his brother, eyes pleading for some kind of forgiveness that Dean hadn't even thought ever needed to be given, as tears he'd been fighting but couldn't anymore finally slipped down his face.

"Sammy–"

But what was Dean supposed to say? He hated it, hated it, when Sam cried. Always had. It felt like angel blades were carving pain sigils deep into his heart, made him want to claw at his own chest, rip his heart out with his bare hands and offer it up to any demon or god or anything willing to take him up on the offer to trade it in and burn it just to stop Sam from being hurt anymore.

But he couldn't do that so he did the only thing he knew how. He moved around the table, opened his arms, and Sam practically fell into the embrace.

"C'mon man." He soothed, feeling the shuddering hitch of Sam's breath as the younger Winchester clung on to him, hirsute head buried somewhere near his shoulder and hands balling up the fabric on the back of his shirt. "It's okay little brother, I got you. It's OK."

Although Dean had been dreading it initially, thinking he hated these emotional turns, and had then been alarmed at the intensity of where it was heading, the truth of it was that when Sam's breathing eased up, Dean realised a part of him needed this, had missed it even. A part of him was glad to be able to step into this role again. Not that he'd wanted his brother to be so miserable, not at all, but just that it felt good to be able to mend whatever was broken in him. So often, against the things they faced, he felt powerless and small. But this? This he was made for.

As they'd grown, as Sam had grown into adulthood, he didn't need Dean as much anymore. Didn't need Dean in the same way. And while that was of course great, Dean hadn't realised what it was he had relinquished through his brother's maturity, not until right that moment when his little brother was crying and looking to Dean for something so rare and elusive he couldn't find it in or ask it from anyone else but him. Something that would be worthless and impotent from anyone else but him. It was Dean's ability, bestowed through his right as a big brother, to fix things, to make it better. Sam's unwavering belief that if Dean said so, it must be so. If Dean said it would be okay, then god damnit, it was gonna be okay.

Dean missed that, from Sam and himself, missed that ability to provide solace with something as simple as a hug. His role as big brother wasn't one he would ever retire from, and as he rubbed Sam's back, hearing his breathing calm, he realised he never wanted to. Until the day he died, and even beyond if he had anything to do with it, he would always be there for him, whenever he needed it. He would never let Sam go.

Dean waited, allowing Sam to be the one to pull back first whenever he was ready. When he did, his eyes were puffy and red rimmed, and he looked exhausted. It occurred to Dean that, given what Sam had told him, the length of time he'd spent in the past, his consciousness must have been constantly awake for the entirety of it, for all of those four or so days and nights. In fact, knowing Sam, he probably hadn't really slept much since they'd been back either, not if he'd been worrying over a non-one hundred per cent Dean.

No wonder he was on edge and strung out all the way from here to Kansas and back.

Poor kid.

Dean rubbed a hand over his own face and let out a weary sigh, its release seeming to take his pretences with it and the hand seeming to wipe away all traces of derision and subterfuge from his face. He was tired too, suddenly feeling the full weight of things he'd bottled up and been carrying around with him all these years. He looked at Sam, saw that he was pulling himself together, saw that he was stronger than he had been as a child, and made a decision as he settled back down in his own seat. He startled Sam, making him jump a little, when he began talking.

"You know when I was a kid, right after… after mom died, I was scared of everything for a while. Well, I guess you know that now. But I mean Sammy, everything. Like, for ages– ha! For ages, I was even scared of stairs, of going anywhere upstairs you know? Coz… Coz Mom died upstairs, and I had to run down the stairs with you, thinking I would trip so… And I was convinced that Dad made us stay in motels coz our rooms would all be on one floor and I wouldn't have to go upstairs, coz he knew how scared I was. I thought he was doing it for me… Maybe a part of him was, I mean we always got ground level rooms… I don't know… Anyway, I guess if it hadn't have been for you, I would've always been afraid of things. I mean, you were a royal pain in the ass, don't get me wrong… But you were also my responsibility. I know you hate me saying it, but it was my job to look out for you. So I had to step up… I guess what I mean is, if it hadn't a been for you, I'd have had no reason to go up the stairs or to try and stop being scared all the time… or be ready to fight whatever I had to fight. So, you know, I guess I owe you a thanks too… Or something."

Sam shook his head. "You don't owe me anything Dean. If anything, I owe you."

"Yeah well, if that's the case, how about we just call it evens and quit while we're all square huh?"

Sam knew this was awkward for Dean. Knew that it took a lot for Dean to open up like he had. And while it was the most Dean had given him in a long time, there was something else that had been deeply bothering Sam. Except he didn't know how to say it, or how Dean would react. He took a deep breath.

"Dean, in the dream… in the dream, you said something, but I don't know if it was true, like if it really happened, or if it was just something in your head but…"

"Just spit it out Sam."

"You said you saw pictures of Mom. Like police report pictures. Was that true?"

Dean was quiet for a long time, rubbing a hand over his face again, then he reverted to his go to evasive manoeuvre, that of heading for the fridge to retrieve a couple of beers. Sam was eyeing him the whole time, too afraid to push, just waiting in silence, unsure if Dean would even ever reply.

Dean opened the beers one by one, placing one in front of Sam and taking a long, deep swig from his own, before finally responding.

"Yeah." He said quietly. "It was true."

Sam felt sick. Despite everything, he'd been hoping beyond hope that that particular element of it had been fabricated, that it had just been a twisted morbid figment of Dean's mind. He wasn't sure he knew how to deal with it being true.

"Dean…" But he couldn't think of anything to say and felt another wave of nausea wash over him. He reached for the bottle Dean had placed in front of him and took a long drink, getting through most of it in that one go.

"Ease up." Dean warned quietly, eyeing him warily as Sam downed the beer too fast and Sam nodded, taking the hint and shakily placing the bottle back onto the table. "Look man." Dean said, sensing the affect this information was having on Sam, knowing it was too late now to pretend it had never been said. "I was young. And stupid. I wish I'd never seen the report, but if I hadn't I think I would have imagined things a million times worse. Or maybe just broken into the police station and stolen it for myself. Either way, I would have seen it. I would've gotten my hands on it somehow. I know it was a stupid thing to do, but…" He shrugged. "At the time I thought I needed to do it. So I did it and it's done. It doesn't matter now anyway."

But Sam couldn't let it go. "It was in Dad's things?"

"What?"

"You said you found the police report about Mom in Dad's things. Was that true?"

"Sammy–"

"Was it true Dean?"

Dean sighed, knowing exactly where Sam was headed with this. "Yeah, it was true. But don't start on Dad all right? I shouldn't have been looking through his things, but I did, so it was my own fault, not his, so just don't start on him okay, just… Just, don't."

And as much as he didn't want to right then, hearing the weariness in Dean's voice made Sam clamp his mouth shut. It took him a few swallows to push down the anger at the irresponsibility of their father, but he managed it enough to ask Dean something else that was bothering him about that.

"How come I've never seen it?"

"Hmm?"

"The report; it's not in Dad's things anymore. Where is it?"

"Oh, yeah. That. Well…. Yeah well I threw it."

"You threw it?"

"Yeah Sam I threw it. Dumped it, got rid of it. Threw it. So it's gone."

"What? Why? When?"

"Don't you get mad at me Sammy. That thing, that thing was…. Trust me, you'd never have wanted to see it. But you were just at that age where you were starting to poke your nose into every little thing you weren't supposed to. And God knows I couldn't keep an eye on you all the time. And I told Dad we should get rid of it, but he just got mad, said he'd lock it away somewhere. But I knew you'd find it eventually. I mean if I did and I'm not that smart, I knew it wouldn't take you long. So I decided to get rid of it, before you could ever see it. Cause believe me Sammy, you wouldn't have wanted to see it. I did it to protect you, and I don't care how mad you get at me, I don't regret it. Not once."

There was a stubborn, defiant edge to Dean as he glared at Sam and then drained the rest of his beer. But he'd misunderstood. Sam wasn't angry, not at all. He was grateful that Dean had done that, completely and utterly grateful, without a single shred of resentment. He remembered Jess's report and he really didn't think he could have handled his mothers. Not at all, not even as an adult and certainly not as a child.

"Dean I… Thank you. I mean it. You… just… thank you."

That took Dean off guard, but he shrugged a response and looked away.

"What did Dad say?" Sam prompted, not wanting to leave things on such a sombre note.

"About what?"

"About you getting rid of the report. I bet he was pissed right?"

Dean chuckled, an odd sad smile creasing his face, his voice startlingly soft when he spoke. "You'd think so wouldn't you? I was all set for a show down. Thought he might actually disown me or something, knew he'd probably kick my ass all the way through to next year. But when I told him, and I was all set for a fight, when I told him, he just… just sat down. Didn't say a word, for ages. Freaked me the hell out. Then finally he just got up and hugged me. I mean, he hadn't hugged me in ages, he stopped doing that I guess pretty much after I was nine or something. But he hugged me then, and it freaked me out. And then he said thank you, which freaked me out even more. But that was that. We never spoke about it again."

Sam didn't know what to make of that, but apparently, Dean did.

"I know right? But I thought about it, like years later, why he didn't get mad, and I think it was because he knew he had to get rid of that thing. He knew he should. But I think it would've felt like throwing a part of Mom away, even as awful as it was. And I don't think Dad had it in him to do that, no matter how much he knew he should. So when I did it, I guess he was grateful, like I'd taken the burden away, or taken the hit or something. That's the only thing I can think of anyway."

"Yeah. Yeah I think you're right."

They sat in silence, both mulling over their own thoughts, and this time it was Sam who got up to retrieve their beers. There was something else that had just occurred to him, and this was the most open heart to heart they'd had in a long while, so Sam figured he might as well push his luck. The look that had passed over his brothers features while Sam had been recounting his adventure was still on his mind and he wanted to know what he'd said to have caused it.

"A moment ago," He began, as he passed Dean a beer. "When I started telling you about how I ended up in your dream, you got this weird look on your face man… like you'd seen a ghost or something. What was that about?"

Dean glanced up, looked embarrassed, an almost apologetic smile on his lips. "Oh. You caught that huh?…. It was… It was nothing." And he clammed up, but Sam wasn't about to let it go, keeping his eyes on him but not saying a word till Dean sighed. "Well… I mean, obviously I didn't know it was you at the time… but I guess… I guess maybe I dreamt about you, like a couple of times after maybe."

"You dreamt about me? As in more than once?... But… But Dean I was only in your dream that one time. How…? Why were you dreaming about me man? Why was I in your dreams?"

"Oh yeah, that doesn't sound gay at all." He mumbled, sighing again, a long weary sigh of a man who knew he had no choice but to spill the precious petty beans he was trying so desperately to hold on to. "No wonder they write that Axel Rose fiction crap about us."

"What? …No, dude it's slash, not…. Never mind. You dreamt about me? After that night?... You dreamt about me."

"I may have dreamt about you once or twice after that initial dream, all right? And quite saying it like that!"

"Hang on. You told me you didn't remember being there, in that town. Now you're saying you remember me being in your dreams? So wait, do you remember that dream?"

"Yes, OK? I remembered that dream."

"Dude!?"

"Well I didn't know it was you did I? Not back then, how could I? And besides, I didn't know it happened in that town. Or even that it happened when I was nine. I just remember this one time I had this really vivid dream in which there was this guy who… well I guess, it was you, helped me out."

"Huh… That still doesn't explain why you dreamt about me after I'd left."

"Boy you're really not gonna let this go huh? Fine! I guess… I guess to the naïve and foolish child I was back then, you seemed really cool, and I swear to god dude if you smirk I will punch you in the face. But to me, back then, I remember this guy from this dream, and he seemed really, I don't know, like I said cool. Like brave and calm and like he wasn't scared of anything. And I was scared of everything but he… he said he had my back, made me feel more confident. And I thought maybe that's what it would've been like if I'd had an older brother. I guess I wanted that so badly I dreamt about him for a few weeks after. Nothing as intense as that dream you were in, just stupid stuff… But I remember thinking I wanted to be just like him so that I could make you feel about me the way I felt about him... Which, now that I realise he was you, is just weird as hell."

"So you wanted to be like me?"

"Yeah like I said, naïve foolish child that I was and I will punch you."

"Dude!" And Sam was laughing. "I was trying to be like you! In the dream, in your dream, I was trying to be the kind of big brother for you that I always felt you had been for me!"

Dean looked at him, dumbfounded, waiting for his brain to catch up. "So wait. Wait… Wait, if I was being like you, while you were being like me, who was being like who first?"

"What?"

"If you said you were pretending to be like the me you'd known me to be as a kid, and as a kid, I was being the you that you'd pretended to be based on the me you'd known me to be, but that was actually based on the you that you'd been for me when you were pretending to be the me I'd been for you, who did it first? You or me?"

Sam blinked. Blinked again. Looked at Dean, but couldn't reply, then shook his head, fearing that perhaps the effort of having tried to follow that sentence may have induced a mild concussion. Or aneurism. Or both. "Dude… Dude I've had waaaay too many beers to even know what the hell to think about that."

"You're not wrong. Time travel man, I tell ya, messes with your head. Maybe we should call it a day."

Sam nodded, but didn't make a move to get up. Over those few days, or just the few hours he'd been unconscious in the warehouse, however you looked at it, he'd seen a lot, learned a lot. Grown a lot. He was grateful for his brother, grateful for all the things Dean had done, but he realised there was something else he was grateful for too, something else that the trip had given him a chance to experience that perhaps he otherwise never would have acknowledged. An insight he'd been previously lacking. Or not lacking, maybe just ignoring, avoiding out of sheer resentment.

That creature had gotten Dean, the child Dean, and none of them had even known. Perhaps it would have gotten Dean no matter what kind of lives they'd led, normal childhood or not. Even if they hadn't been hunters, even if they hadn't been looking for that thing, or known about things like it, maybe Dean would have still gotten caught by it, would have ended up dying because of it, just like any other victim, and Sam would have never known why. Would have just been forced to accept it as a medical anomaly. If they hadn't been hunters, Sam would have never had the chance to save his brother.

But Sam was a hunter, John had made sure of that, had hammered that training into him even though Sam had fought it tooth and nail.

Though Sam hadn't seen much of their father in this trip to the past, and though his feelings towards him were still complex, he'd had the chance to see things he'd missed before. He'd seen the genuine love that John had carried, for all of them. Whether Sam would ever agree with John on anything, whether they would have ever found a way to get along, it didn't matter now. All that really mattered was that John had loved them, in his own way. He'd tried to protect them, to prepare them, taught them to defend themselves against the monsters out there, and he'd done it because he'd loved them. In his own way. Sam had managed to glimpse moments of that love, no matter how fleeting. He had to trust there had been many more moments like that, other moments he'd missed in the same way, first time round.

In the end, maybe John had done what needed doing, had been there when it mattered. In the end, maybe John had saved their lives. And in the end, wasn't that what love was really all about anyway?

"Here." Sam picked up his bottle, indicating to Dean to do the same. "To Dad." He said, raising a toast, surprising Dean and eliciting a smile from him, one of his genuine, deep hearted ones that always made Sam happy.

"To Dad." Dean echoed, finishing his beer, the smile lingering.

"Hey." Sam prompted as they got up to leave for their respective beds. "Think we'll ever know what Dad was doing in that town?"

Dean shrugged supressing a yawn. "Guess not. Guess some things we'll never know Sammy."