A/N: Frustration makes Dean cranky… haha. I figure about six more chapters until the real story starts and the chapters get long.

Disclaimer: Same as the last friggin' chapters. I tire of repeating myself. Constantly. Its irritating.

CHAPTER TEN
Arguments

1990 – Dean is 11, Sam is 7

Sam skipped along the sidewalk, joyfully stomping through any and all puddles he could find. So intent on the ground, he wasn't paying attention to anything, and slowed his pace when a strong, familiar hand gripped the back of his jacket and pulled him backwards. Startled, he looked up in time to realize he'd almost run over a little toddler walking unsteadily with his hand tightly in his mother's.

Sheepishly, he grinned up at Dean. "Thanks," he said.

Dean rolled his eyes and ruffled his brother's shaggy, dark hair. Sam had his head in the clouds nowadays. If his protectiveness of his little brother had been bad before, now it was much, much worse. Ever since the incident with the shtriga nearly killing Sam, he'd been terrified to let his little brother out of his sight.

Shame settled on his shoulders as Sam skipped on ahead again, not straying too far, only a few steps. Far close enough for Dean to grab him and pull him into the protective circle of his arm should something happen. If only he hadn't left, Sam never would have been attacked. Because of him, and his irresponsibility, Sammy had almost died. His dad had never looked at him the same, not since that night.

That cut deep, deeper than he'd ever be willing to admit. Only Bobby had dragged it out of him late one night when he couldn't sleep and Sammy was dead to the world, and he'd wandered the house only to find Bobby grumbling over old books in his living room. So he'd told the aging hunter about what had happened and how Sam had almost died, and how pissed he had been. Bobby had angrily informed him (though the anger in his voice was not directed at Dean) that it hadn't been his fault and quite frankly, John was a selfish dumbass to leave them alone and vulnerable to attack so often when so much supernatural shit wanted him dead.

He'd tried to explain it to Bobby, really, he had. But Bobby had just looked aghast, horrified, disgusted, and after that, threatened to shoot John in the ass if he ever set foot on his property again. He cocked the shotgun and everything.

And no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get Bobby to get that.

Growing up, Dean had followed two rules and two rules only: one, that he was to protect his brother at all costs no matter what or else, and two, that he was to always follow John's orders. And by leaving that hotel room and Sam alone, he'd broken both of the never-to-be-broken rules, all in the same night. He'd failed to both protect his little brother and follow his dad's orders.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?" he replied, the young voice yanking him out of his reprieve.

"How come dad's gone so much? And why'd he get so freaked after I had that weird nightmare?"

Dean sighed and fished through his pocket for the key to their motel room, shoving Sam inside and closing the door behind him. Lately, Sam had been peppering him with questions and he'd been dodging them the best he could, but there were only so many lies he could make up to evade the truth.

"Dad's a salesman," he explained, for about the millionth time.

Sam was already shaking his head as he dropped his backpack beside the couch. "I looked it up, Dean," he insisted vehemently, "and salesmen have products to sell, number one, and they don't hop all around the country like we do."

Damn. Too smart for his own good. Inwardly, Dean cursed. "It's complicated, Sam," he said after a brief, tense silence.

"That's what you ALWAYS SAY!" Sam shouted, losing his cool. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now, and he was sick to death of his brother answering his questions with questions or not answering him at all. Dean was the master of evasion, and eight-year-old Sam had had enough.

"Because it's true," Dean said with unruffled calm. "It's complicated."

"That's not a straight answer!"

Dean just shrugged, inwardly chuckling a little about how fierce his younger sibling was becoming before his eyes.

Sam, sensing that his brother was going to go on being his usual stubborn self, sat down on the couch in defeat, boring holes into his older brother's skull.

"Mom didn't die in a car accident, did she?"

For a moment, Dean just stared at him, eyes swirling with emotion. It wasn't a probing question, he hadn't asked for detail, he was simply asking for a yes or a no. So, before he could over think it, he shook his head slowly, forcing down the pain at the horrifying memory.

Little shoulders slumping, Sam sighed. He'd suspected that for a while, but Dad was never around to ask, and until now Dean had kept his knowledge under lock and key. Sometimes at night he heard Dean calling out to their mother in his dreams, and it made him sad. If he didn't have a picture, he wouldn't even know what his Mom had looked like.

"Dad's not a salesman, either, is he?"

Resting his elbows on his knees, Dean bowed his head to study the top of his shoes. He heaved out a great sigh and didn't lift his eyes to meet his brothers. "No, Sam," he whispered as if hoping to keep it a secret. "He's not."

Sam had suspected as much.

E/N: A short one about Dean/Sam. They're mostly just little drabbles until Paige & Dean reunite in TC. It's coming up… patience, my friends. ;)