Title: On The Turning Away

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Dean would do anything to keep his little brother safe and healthy. He would provide for him, no matter what the cost. They didn't need their father. Not today, not ever. AU, what if they'd had Max's childhood. Angst and smarm.

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.

Rating: T

A/N: I am so, so sooooo sorry that it's taken me this long to update this fic. And I wouldn't even be surprised if no one was reading this anymore. I just got such major writer's block when it came to this plot line. And honestly, I'm only forcing myself to get this out now because I want to kinda tie up all my loose end stories before I start posting this new project of mine; so again, I'm sorry if this isn't as great as it could be. I really, really tried to get back in the swing of it. Really.

Well, Read on, if you're interested…

Previously:

Dean was too protective of his little brother. His trust would take years to earn. Years she was willing to wait. She knew that's what Mary had wanted.

She smiled at them both, knowing it was inappropriate, given their circumstances, yet also sure the boys would appreciate the lightheartedness of it.

Not many knew of John Winchester's true personality. It was a shame too, because he had such promising potential. Had he been different, in fact, destiny itself could have altered and brought the boy's a different fate.

"Sam, Dean," She said again, shaking her head affectionately. "Welcome home."

Chapter Thirteen: On the wings of the night

"Dean?" Sam questioned in a half-whisper that night, knowing his brother wasn't asleep but not wanting to startle him, sure he was lost in his own thoughts.

"Yeah, Sammy?" The elder man responded almost immediately, turning his head slightly in the direction of Sam's bed. The two had agreed to - or rather, Sam had talked his big brother into - staying at Missouri's house for a while.

"Do you think about it?" He was lying on one of the two mattresses that had been shoved into the small guest bedroom, hands folded behind his head, studying the ceiling. "Why dad did it, I mean?" As if that hadn't been obvious.

"Not really," Dean shrugged, and even though Sam couldn't see his facial expressions, he could read the older man like an open book.

"Liar." He said it accusingly, but in a tone that he hoped would convey the message, this isn't over. Not even close.

"Of course I think about it, Sam." Dean sighed. "I've been thinking about I for the last two weeks. But it doesn't really matter, does it?"

The fourteen-year-old sighed heavily, accepting his brother's logic momentarily, before voicing his own thoughts. "I know, you're right. It doesn't. but still… what do you think he was thinking about?"

"I…" Dean sounded at first like he was going to object to the morbid line of questioning, but changed his mind. Sam guessed that his thoughts had been in the exact same place. "I think he was too high, too drunk, to really be thinking at all." The words were only slightly bitter, and the younger boy didn't doubt their truth.

"He killed himself." Sam knew it wasn't the first time he'd heard the words aloud. He was, however, fairly certain it was the first time he'd said them aloud himself since that night Missouri had called.

Dean's knee-jerk head spin was all the confirmation he needed. "Sammy…"

"What?" Sam pressed when his brother didn't go on. "He did."

"Get some sleep, would ya, kiddo?"

"I just…I can't stop thinking about it," he ignored Dean's pleading, didn't even register it until several minutes after the fact. "Was he thinking about us? All the bad stuff he did to us? Where we were? Did he even know we'd been gone?"

"Sammy…"

"Or was he thinking about mom? The way things used to be before she died?"

"I don't know, Sam." It would amaze the younger sibling, later when he looked back on it, how Dean managed to keep his tone so calm, his voice that level. It was as if all his own thoughts, fears, plaguing nightmarish what ifs just disappeared whenever Sam's threatened to take over. "We'll never know, okay?"

"But I can't-"

"Sam," Dean spoke firmly, Sam listened grudgingly. "You've got to let it go. Obsessing about this…it's gonna kill you, kiddo. It's gonna kill you."

Sam finally let out a deep breath, admitting at last that perhaps his brother was right; that this obsession was pointless. And dangerous. "Yeah," he hoped his thoughts were conveyed accurately through his words. "Sorry."

They were silent after that, each debating the merit of starting another conversation. They'd been having half-conversations like this the entire time they'd been back in Kansas; each too tired to get into anything more emotionally trying. But too scared to let the topic simply rest.

Then, just had happened on nights previous, as they were deciding whether or not to keep talking, they unwillingly slipped into some off kilter form of rest. Where sleep would come in reluctant little bouts, but exhaustion was too great to have them up and about.

And, just had happened nearly every night, one of the brothers would wake from one of their unconscious periods, too vulnerable to go back to sleep alone; they would stumble out of their own bed- forever glad that their mother's old friend had squeezed two singles into that tiny room- and fall ungracefully onto the other.

The brother in that bed would grunt, but move over accordingly, allowing room for the second person and the second blanket. As the one who invaded the bed in the middle of the night always brought along their own covers and collapsed on top of the ones already in use. Neither would really want it any other way; they weren't little kids anymore, after all, and some things were just awkward.

Yet sharing a bed like that, with that level of comfort and security, knowing it was always there for the taking…well, that they would never grow out of.

They'd never want to.

Another week passed, and nothing changed.

"They put dad next to mom." Dean said it out loud to Sam, who was sitting at Missouri's old, wooden kitchen table, reading something thick and probably beyond the elder's comprehension.

"Yeah," Sam didn't look up. "I figured they would."

They was actually just Missouri, but talking about it like this made it easier somehow.

"Sammy…" but he let it trail off, and when his little brother looked up, he just shook his head and went back outside to tinker some more with the Impala.

Sam's fifteenth birthday had come and gone.

The leaves had started to change colors and began to flutter peacefully to the ground.

They'd been there a month and a half.

"Dean," Sam approached his big brother, who was sitting on Missouri's back porch staring at the flat expanse of Kansas backyard.

The elder man looked at him as soon as he spoke his name, and whatever emotions had been playing over his features before Sam's arrival were now well-hidden.

"What are you doing up?" Dean tried to distract him. It was early, early morning, but Sam simply ignored the question, seeing it as the pointless diversion that it was.

The younger boy felt guilty for what he was about to say, but he knew without question that it needed to be said. Knew that he would always be able to be honest with Dean; and that, even if they fought about it, his brother would be much angrier if he kept things from him.

"I don't want to go back to Boston." The words came out rushed and strung together. He cringed in anticipation.

When Dean didn't say anything for a few long moments, Sam risked a glance in his direction. The older man wasn't looking at him angrily or disbelievingly. In fact, his gaze had drifted back out to the yard.

"Yeah," he whispered hoarsely. "I figured."

Then there was silence.

"What are we gonna do?" When Sam could bare the absence of conversation no more.

"I can't stay here." There might - might - have been an ounce of regret in his words.

Sam knew exactly what his brother was referring to. "No on suspects you," he knew Dean hated talking about this, but felt that right now it was necessary. "What happened to Chance… It wasn't your fault. And no one thinks you had anything to do with it."

Dean let out a deep breath after a couple silent seconds. "Yeah, maybe."

"Man," Sam sighed as well. This wasn't something he was overly used to - having to comfort Dean. It had always been the other way around, and the younger boy could count on one had the number of times it had been reversed over the course of their lives.

Sam knew Dean needed this though, and hell, he owed it to him. "You've got to stop blaming yourself for this."

He moved and took a seat next to where his brother was perched on the thick porch railing. "The guy who shot him; Alan; it's their fault he's dead. Not yours."

"I coulda done something." Never had these words been spoken aloud, yet Sam wasn't surprised by the depth of their meaning. Dean had spent the entirety of his life protecting his baby brother, and Sam wasn't naïve enough to think that that hadn't shaped and molded who his brother was to the outside world. Wasn't surprised that Dean tried to save everyone.

"If you had, you might have been the one that ended up dead that night."

That night.

Sam would never forget that night. It had been frightening, to see his big brother that vulnerable, that detached. Yet in a way- and mind you, Sam hadn't realized this until many years after the fact - that night had installed a sense of equality between the two that hadn't really ever been present before.

Sam had learned that he could hold Dean up, as much as his big brother had always supported him. And while it was a job he could never handle full-time - would never want to have to handle full-time - it had made the younger man aware of a certain strength within himself. One that he was dipping into right now.

"Not-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted. "I wish that night had never happened. We both do." He said it factually and the older man absentmindedly nodded his agreement. "But it did. And…and I'm glad it happened the way it did. Because you're not dead. And…"

"And I'm not dealing drugs anymore?" He finished, just a tinge of harshness in the guess.

"Yeah," Sam admitted easily. "It used to scare me." He wouldn't meet Dean's gaze, keeping his own eyes focused on the sky, watching as the sun started to rise. "When you would go out. I knew what you were doing, but, man…I was so young. I didn't really…get it. Not until I was older, and then it was just so normal…"

"So basically I've screwed you up for life?" The anger was probably directed at himself, but Sam couldn't tell for sure.

"No," he shook his head. "I'm just saying…"

"What?" Dean snapped when Sam couldn't continue. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying; it happened." He spoke firmly. "And can't we just put it behind us?"

"It's not that easy." His tone was more level, but still distant, cold.

"Why?" Sam spat. "And don't say anything about cops or an investigation," he warned. "Because you know you were never a suspect. And the investigation's over now. You just used that as an excuse to get us away from here."

"I got us away from here because of dad." Dean's temper flared.

"Well dad's gone." Sam argued angrily. "So what's your excuse now?"

"You don't understand, Sammy." Dean shook his head, set his jaw and looked away.

"Make me." The younger man demanded. "Make me understand, Dean."

His big brother just shot him an indescribable look, before removing himself from where he'd been seated and making his way across the large porch and back into the house.

He didn't look back.

Sam watched him walk away.

He didn't try to stop him.

TBC…

A/N: I promise if anyone still wants me to continue, it won't be too, too long before the next update.