I think I might finally be back again. After weeks of not knowing what to do next and where my head was, I finally can write again. You can't imagine how much I missed being able to sit down and just write...it's amazing. So, with as much conviction as I can find I will herewith promise to return to my regular updates again - unexpected catastrophies exluded.

This is again not beta-ed, which is entirely my fault because I was too slow in sending it off and I didn't want to miss another week's scheduled post.

I sincerely hope you'll enjoy!

Crows in the Wheatfield

Chapter 25

He was awakened by silence.

Being the hunter that he was, he immediately knew something was wrong – or different than when he'd gone to sleep, even though his sluggish brain didn't immediately pick up on the reason of his worry.

It took him longer than usual to fully wake up, both body and mind almost reluctant to free themselves form the clutches of deep, long, dreamless sleep. Dean kept his eyes closed and his breathing as even as possible while he gave himself time to fully dig himself out of his stupor, for his mind to catch up on why he was feeling so unsettled.

For minutes he only lay there listening to the sounds of his own heartbeat, felt the room around him with all his senses without actually looking. It didn't take long for him to realize what had woken him.

The room was empty.

Years of sharing a room and sometimes even a bed with his little brother had made him sensitive to the sounds of other people in the room with him to the point where he actually relied on those sounds to be able to sleep peacefully.

After Sam had left for Stanford it had taken Dean an eternity to get used to the new rhythms that directed his life, the new dynamics ruling his days as well as his nights. During the days he'd quickly learned to adapt - or at least pretend to adapt. It was what Dean did best, after all - accommodating himself to fit somebody else's needs.

During the day it was easy to pretend that everything was alright, that the new arrangements between his father and himself – the altered family dynamics - didn't bother him, did actually suit him just fine. He had a lot more time to himself, could listen to his music driving in his car without someone bitching about it, not always having to concentrate on the person sitting next to him. The responsibility of looking after his little brother had never bothered Dean, but he had also never realized how he had been…wired - on constant alert with Sam still around.

And still the sudden lack of that immediate responsibility didn't feel all that great.

The problems would come at night.

When the world got dark and suddenly the security of the day's layer of noise faded away and Dean truly was left alone with himself.

He missed his brother's presence like someone would miss a limb, missed hearing him snoring even, missed the quiet rhythm he used to fit his own breathing to when he had trouble settling down, when sleep once again eluded him. Dean missed Sam's heartbeat as if it were his own.

And he always dreaded waking up almost more than going to sleep.

There usually was that tiny window of time, a heartbeat or two only, when he woke up and wondered why he didn't hear his brother breathing in the bed next to his. He would lie awake, eyes still closed and wondering if Sam was up already, annoyed at the thought that his little brother was such an early riser and therefore always managed to call first dips on the shower, using up most of the hot water. Those minutes when Dean wasn't yet fully awake were good, peaceful, because no matter how pissed at the thought of a cold shower in the morning Dean would get, it was still something he could deal with – had dealt with all his life. It was…home.

And then he would remember that Sam wasn't in the shower, wasn't out to get some breakfast or up and packing the car already, giving Dean that extra 15 minutes or so to sleep off his hangover or sleep in after a night of grave-digging and corpse-burning and shooting creatures full of lead or salt or silver.

He remembered that he was alone – with Dad.

And now, waking up after what felt like hours of drug-induces sleep that made his body heavy and his mind unpleasantly languid, he realized that he was still alone.

The realization, as usual, cramped his stomach into a knot the size of a football, had his throat close up immediately. The sound of his own heartbeat became more distinct and he felt his pulse pushed against the soft skin of his throat for a beat, then another.

Sam wasn't here.

But then, unlike those countless other times before, Dean remembered.

Because he was sure, absolutely sure, that Sam had been there when he'd fallen asleep.

Slowly, Dean opened his eyes, found the light in the room low but still natural, suggesting that he'd slept till later afternoon.

Goddamnit.

Sam had come – had reacted to Dean's involuntary call for help and come all the way from Palo Alto to make sure that his big brother was alright.

But maybe Sam had left again, hadn't been able to wait until Dean woke up and just up and left without even saying goodbye. Which…didn't sound like Sam at all, even though he did have a history of leaving. There'd been that time in Flagstaff, when he'd been 15 or 16 and he'd simply up and disappeared for almost two weeks. Dean had found finally him, squatting in some rundown apartment, living off of Pizza and Dr. Pepper, never realizing how Dean had thought he'd been killed – or worse.

But, no – he wouldn't do that again. And certainly not now. Sam had learned from his mistakes, knew how much Dean needed to know about his brother's whereabouts after that incident.

So, He could stay right where he was, worrying himself sick and wondering if his brother would actually do something like this – or he could get his shit together and get up, get out of this room to find out for himself.

Dean had never been one to just wait for things to happen.

Pushing himself up and rolling out of bed was a tedious process, his muscles heavy from disuse and locked with pain, but he made it, leaning against the wall for a moment to catch his breath.

The door the living room was closed but right there, in the middle of it stuck a small, yellow post-it.

A message – which could only come from Sam. Dad never left any notes when he left, expected Dean to call when he wanted to know about his whereabouts only to not pick up the damn phone most times.

We're right outside. Shout if you need something.

Definitely Sam.

Dean couldn't help the relieved smile that involuntarily pulled at the corners of his mouth, couldn't hold back the heavy exhale of breath that seemed to have been held hostage in his chest till now. His knees felt weak with relief, or maybe it simply was him feeling weak in general, his body really needing that break it had been bugging him about for the past month or so.

Shout if you need something.

"Yeah, right," Dean huffed.

The crutches both leaned against the wall next to the bed and even though it felt far from comfortable, his shoulder raw and tender and definitely painful Dean opted on using both walking aids this time. He didn't think it wise to hobble across the house on one leg only – not right after waking up and still feeling a little shaky, at least.

He was almost at the door when he finally made out voices from the room beyond.

Two voices, both of them hushed and composed, but even from his compromised position behind a closed door Dean had no problem sensing the underlying air of tension that laced through the words, made them heavy and loaded, even though he couldn't yet understand their meaning.

So Sam and Dad were probably going at it again – or at least steadily building up toward it. But it couldn't be that bad, considering that they weren't shouting or even throwing stuff, like that one time in Tulsa when Dad had actually flung a chair across the room, he'd gotten so mad at Sam. Dean couldn't stand to hear his brother and father fighting, it almost physically hurt him when they spat venom at each other as if they weren't the only family they had.

Dean eased the door open, awkwardly balancing his weight while swinging the door inwards. Being on his feet, even if it was for such a short time only slowly awakened the pains all over his body again, igniting fires that had been simmering underneath the surface while he had been sleeping.

But Dean got distracted by the snippets of conversation he caught and he found himself holding his breath involuntarily, stopping to listen when in reality he wanted nothing more than to walk through that door and join his brother and father.

"You can't be serious,"

That was Sam's voice, low and seemingly composed, but Dean knew his brother better than anyone, knew that this was just the preliminary stage to him exploding, unleashing all that ever-pent-up fury and feelings of injustice done to him – to the whole world in general. Once Sam let go, he couldn't easily be stopped anymore – not without taking casualties along with him.

With a pang of sadness Dean realized that his brother and father weren't as composed as they had first appeared, that they were much closer to the breaking point than he had hoped.

"…you telling me you didn't know? You just went after it on the whim that it was a werewolf, alone, leaving Dean behind even he specifically told you that he…"

Sam broke off there, panting for breath as he had apparently forgotten to breathe during his rant that probably went on for a while already.

"He told you he saw you die? In his dream?" Sam finished, hands no doubt flailing, face all scrunched up in childish confusion that might have lookedf cute on a ten-year-old. Dean smirked at the thought as he carefully rolled his right shoulder against the sturdy support of the doorframe to keep himself from face planting right into the living room, breaking up the argument most effectively, if ungracefully.

"Yeah, Sam, that's what happened. Not like it was the first werewolf I hunted on my own. I've done this a lot longer than either of you," John voice sounded clipped and irritable.

Still Dean couldn't help but marvel at how composed his father still was. John had a history of snapping at a much less than Sam's current taunting tone of voice.

Like nobody else, Sam had always managed to scratch away John's already thin-layered patience, never knowing when he'd gone too far, when he'd reached raw nerves that would ignite John's temper like a spark igniting a wildfire.

"I still don't get this," Sam breathed out, frustration bleeding out of his every word. "he freaking told you…"

"It was a dream, Sam. How the hell should I have known? Hell, he wasn't even sure about this himself. It's not like he is a damn psychic, for crying out loud,"

Dean felt a pang of hurt at his father's words, even though John was right. Dean probably wouldn't have believed it if John would have told the exact same story to him – if their roles had been reversed. If every stupid nightmare he'd ever had had actually come true… But the way John stated the obvious with that cold detachment - it still hurt. And John could have at least taken it into consideration, could have looked into the hunt some more, made sure he had all bases covered.

"You could have at least heard him out," Sam angrily spat back.

Count on Sam to at least agree with his brother on that part, even though Dean probably wouldn't have put it quite so bluntly.

As Sam continued, his voice was still low but trembling, tethering dangerously close to the edge.

"When has Dean ever asked you to stay, Dad? When has he ever asked you to back away from a hunt, to reconsider your decisions? I used to do it all the time – granted – but Dean...he always followed your goddamn lead, no matter what. It's about time you repay some of that trust,"

John sucked in an audible breath as the accusation hurled at him hit home – hard.

"Don't you start teaching me about trust, Sam. I did hear him out. And I made a decision. Do you really think I went into this hunt – any hunt - unprepared?"

"Well, apparently you did this time. I mean, a skinwalker, Dad… It could have…"

The silence following Sam's sentence felt suffocating and Dean could imagine the look on his brother's face, the look on his father's, too. But he did appreciate the effort the two of them seemed to put into keeping it down, to not jump at each other as had so many times before. Dean had no doubt that it was solely due to his own physical weakness that the truce was temporary at best and only because they feared to wake Dean, not because they'd finally decided to be respectful toward each other.

When Sam started talking again the edge to his voice was a little more pronounced already and even though he still kept the volume low Dean knew they were rapidly nearing the point where neither his sibling nor his father would care about keeping up the appearance anymore.

"…how the hell could you not have known? I mean…you were the one always drilling into us how going in prepared was the most important thing, covering all bases, not leaving anything to chance. You…you would have gotten our asses whipped if either of us would have gone out as ill-prepared as you…"

Dean winced at his brother's direct accusation, knew that it wouldn't sit well with John at all. He was moving out of the den before he even heard his father's answer, amazed at how exhausting it was to even tackle the stupid doorjamb, wondering how he'd ever made it into the woods – and back again – not to talk about the scuffle with the wolf in-between.

"Sam," Dean heard his father almost growl in protest to the disrespectful barb of his youngest.

"What, you good with dishing out the blame about a hunt gone bad, but when it comes to taking the blame you're not so generous, all of a sudden?" Sam practically hissed.

When Dean rounded the corner and stepped into the living room, facing the open kitchen neither his brother nor his father seemed to be aware of his presence at first. It didn't surprise Dean – he knew from experience that, when they got into it like this all their attention was solely focused onto each other, too engrossed in their argument to take notice of anything else around them.

When they fought, they forgot the world and everything else in order to not lose one precious snippet of scorn, to aim every bit of energy available to spit out accusation and allegations at each other.

This time, apparently, wasn't any different.

Both of them stood stock-still, trapped in an almost violent paralysis, muscles locked with anger and indignation, unwilling to give one inch to the other.

They looked like two rabid dogs, snarling and hackles raised, body rigidly erect, taxing each other and ready to jump the minute the other gave even the slightest sign of weakness, and opening to dig their teeth in to the bone. If it wasn't for the width of the table still between them, Dean was sure they'd be in each other's faces already.

Sam stood with his arms held rigidly by his sides, fists clenched while the vein on his forehead stood out dangerously against his tanned skin. John, opposite him had both his hands clamped around the backrest of one of the kitchen chairs, leaning onto the wooden support as if it was the only thing tethering him to the spot at the moment. They were both listing towards each other as if pulled by invisible strings, barely still resisting the force that had made them clash against each other on so many occasions in the past. Both of them were practically bristling, the air in the room laden with nervous energy and Dean had the impression that the hair on the back of his own neck actually stood up as he drew closer toward the two opponents.

They still hadn't noticed Dean so he took another step, his left shoulder throbbing as it was forced to carry his weight even for this short a time already.

"You have no right to talk to me like that," John growled, low in his throat, his chin tipped low, his usually soft brown eyes two flinty orbs now that would have made any other man tremble with fear in front of him.

Sam, of course, would use that exact look to just push onward even more.

"Oh yeah? Because I think I do. I saw what that thing did to Dean. I saw what happened to him because you didn't even manage to take care of yourself, let alone him. You almost got Dean killed, Dad. There's nothing else I need to know but that,"

There was a cord of muscle in John's neck that jumped once, hard, the corners of his mouth drawing up into what at first sight appeared to be a smile but instantly turned into an almost animalistic snarl.

"Dad," Dean tried to interfere, but his voice, rough and low from hours of disuse was easily drowned out by a sudden bang as the legs of the chair John was holding onto slammed hard against the floor.

"Don't bring your brother into this, Sam. If you've got a problem with me, just…"

"Don't bring Dean into this? This is all about him, Dad. Did you take a good look at him? He almost got killed, goddamnit…I almost lost him…"

At that Dean's head snapped back automatically, the raw emotion in his brother's voice enough to halt his immediate indignation at being discussed without him being present.

"You're not the only one who almost lost him, Sam. I was there, remember? I found him…I…I was here all this time, seeing him suffer. I was the one sitting by his bed when the doctors didn't know if he was going to make it through this and I was the one who practically carried him out of there afterwards. I was there, Sam,"

He didn't say it, but the words 'Where were you?' were echoing across the silent room like they were blasting from a freaking boom-box.

John's flinty gaze was pinned onto his youngest, accusation bleeding out of his every pore and for a moment Dean was dumbstruck by the emotions radiating from both his brother and father, couldn't contemplate that this…it was all because of him. They were fighting over him, goddamnit, where all Dean wanted – needed – was for them to just stop.

"What, you want a medal for staying with him? You want someone to compliment you on staying by your son's side when he was hurt – because of a life you forced on him?" Sam asked angrily, voice slowly but steadily rising in volume.

It always started like this and within minutes they'd both be yelling at the top of their lungs.

"I'm not the one who ran away," John hissed, and that was the one drip of water that made the bucket overflow.

Dean tightened his grip on the crutch, painfully pulling himself a half step forward.

"Hey, you guys…" he croaked out, cursing his own voice for coming out hoarse and weak and basically inaudible. This whole being weak-and-helpless-routine he had going here would have to stop soon or else Dean didn't think he'd be able to hold onto that last shred of dignity he had still left anymore.

Sure enough, both Sam and John stayed oblivious to his presence.

"I didn't run, 't was you who threw me out," Sam spat and Dean could have sworn he felt the energy in the room bristling, a tickling sensation running all over his skin, raising goose-bumps along his arms and chest.

"You made that decision, Sam. Don't you go and pin that on anyone else but yourself. You left us, not the other way around."

"Yeah I left. But I did nothing to deserve being cast out like this…I," Sam broke off, teeth baring and eyes squeezing shut almost violently for a second. When he opened them again they were cold and hard and, if at all possible, pinned on John's face with even more indignant pain and accusation than before.

"This is on you, Dad – and nobody else. Don't you dare and try to pin that on me,"

Sam's anger, his pain wrapped around Dean like a smothering blanket, seeping into his pores to contaminate his very being.

Dean felt sick to the stomach, knowing that his brother suffered like this. If only Dean had been stronger, had been able to keep his injuries a secret…Sam deserved being at school, living the life he thought best for himself. It didn't matter that Dean didn't have the same dreams of happiness as him.

But Dean was supposed to be the one standing between John and Sam, absorbing the shockwaves of their emotions, always. He was the one that had to make sure they didn't hurl accusations at each other that they would come to regret later.

He had already failed once before, and look where it had led them.

All Dean had ever wanted was to keep his brother safe, keep him happy.

And he wanted to make it better now, despite everything. Despite not knowing how to make things better for Sam without giving up yet another part of himself.

John let go of the chair he'd been holding onto, both his hands balling into fists.

"Sam, stop - or so help me god…"

"Or what, Dad, you gonna throw me out again? Is that it?" Sam challenged , chin jutting forward defiantly. "Well, I think I can save you the trouble,"

Sam took a step back from the table, his focus still on John as he physically removed himself a little, as if needing the space all of a sudden.

"I won't be staying much longer. I gotta leave first thing tomorrow morning,"

The room fell silent so suddenly that for an insane moment Dean thought that someone had turned off the sound.

Sam stood very still, his eyes a little downcast, something akin to regret twisting his features into a weird mask of both anger and pain. John just looked…stunned, and it took Dean a moment to catch up with what Sam had just said.

As the implication of Sam's last statement slowly settled, Dean felt his heart flutter inside his chest, thudding hard and painfully against his ribcage all of a sudden.

Sam would leave again tomorrow. Tomorrow.

Sure he hadn't thought Sam was going to stay indefinitely – Dean had known that they would part ways again sooner rather than later. And the question had loomed somewhere in the back of Dean's mind ever since Sam had stepped through the door, but he'd been too afraid to ask, too afraid of the answer he would get. So he hadn't voiced it out loud.

It figured that it would jump Dean the moment he'd least expect it, though.

Another night only.

For the longest time Dean was rendered speechless, his head suddenly feeling empty and too full at the same time, throat dry as if he'd walked across the desert for days without water.

Tomorrow.

It wasn't anywhere near long enough.

Suddenly Dean couldn't stand staying in the room, needed to get out and away, get some fresh air.

He was halfway across the room and toward the door leading to the back porch when he heard someone at his back call his name. But he didn't stop, the air in the room becoming too thick to breathe and he just needed to get outside. Just for a moment and he would be ready to face them again – a moment to clear his own head, get his defenses back up before he could figure out a way to break up the fight and find a way to keep his brother and father from bashing each others heads in during those last hours they would have together.

Just a moment to figure out what hurt less – the fact that Sam would only stay for another night, or the fact that he hadn't told Dean about it. He couldn't help but wonder when Sam would have told him, how long he would have waited…

…if he would have told him at all…

"Dean, wait,"

Through the haze still clouding his mind Dean saw a large figure pushing itself between himself and his escape and he was both amazed and annoyed by the fact that he couldn't move fast enough to get away.

"I gotta get some air," he mumbled, pushing forward and forcing whoever it was to move out of the way quickly before he almost slammed his bad shoulder right into the human obstacle in his path.

"Dean…come on," someone pleaded imploringly.

But Dean pushed on, finally made it to the door and fumbling with the screen for a moment before succeeding in pushing it open without abandoning the hold on either of his crutches. He made it outside into the cool early evening air with the last fragment of his honor still intact.

Once he was out on the back porch, the screen door banging closed behind his back, he stopped – had to stop because his shoulder wouldn't tolerate one more step. He felt the nerves underneath the skin quiver and shake, tendrils of pain sneaking their way up and down his arm. But he couldn't sit down, not without running the danger of not being able to get back up again. And he certainly couldn't go back inside.

Dusk had already started to settle over the backyard, the sky above the line of trees a little ways in the distance slowly coloring into a brilliant orange. It was dirt - Dean remembered Sam telling him once - that made the sky color so vividly, creating what most people perceived as a romantic sunset. But in reality it was dirt-particles or soot and grime flying around in the atmosphere, reflecting the rays of the sun like that. Ever since Sam had told him, Dean couldn't help but smirk when he witnessed a sunset like this, thinking about the thousands of couples all over the world, sitting arm in arm, watching as dust and soot colored the sky, sighing and kissing and thinking how it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Right now not even that thought helped to loosen him up, though.

He took a deep breath, felt his chest flutter a little as the air made its way into his lungs haltingly. But he could breathe again and every new breath became a tiny bit easier than the last.

And when a couple of minutes later he heard the screen door at his back squeal open, then bang closed again he was as prepared as he would get.

OoOoOoO

TBC

AN:

Thank you all so much for reading, and special thanks to Masondixon - you know what for.

I know Sam leaving again so soon might seem a bit harsh, but I thought it important to show that, no matter how little time Sam had at hand, he still came for his brother. It makes the long drive mean even more, in my opinion, if he only came for a day and a night, just to check on Dean. And maybe I can make Dean realize that, too. I hope you agree with me on this one.

I am amazed at how many people still stick with this story, even though I was more than a little unrealiable lately. I really, really wish you'll not give up on me now, of all times. This is obviously nearing the end, but it doesn't mean I don't still rely on your revioews to keep me going for the last stretch of the way.

Please, if you find the minute, leave me a review - you'll make my day and feed my confidence and most definitely will keep me going.

Thanks so much and hope to see you guys again next week!