Author's Note: THANK YOU! I'm loving the feedback on this story :)
Dean grabbed his own duffle and the weapons bag and slammed the trunk of the Impala closed practically in his brother's face, smirking. He waited for Sam's trademark huff and whine, but the air behind him remained uncharacteristically silent. He frowned and half turned, ready to fend off one annoyed baby brother, but the look on Sam's face stopped him in his tracks.
The kid just stood staring at the closed trunk with glazed eyes that looked more blank than angry. Sam's eyes traveled upward then, to take in Dean's hands filled with gear. The kid's eyes met his for a brief moment in time, then skittered away. Dean frowned when Sam simply turned on his heel and hobbled away.
"I'm gonna look around a bit." Sam directed his remark toward John, who nodded as he unlocked the rickety door to the motel room.
"Be back before dark, and don't go too far. You have your phone?" John questioned, staring after his youngest.
Sam smiled faintly and nodded the affirmative.
Dean's eyes shot from Sam's back to his father's face. "What the hell, Dad?"
John played dumb, "Something wrong, Dean?"
"You just gonna let him wander off like that?"
John pinned him then with a cold stare. "Seems more kind than letting you keep hitting him with potshots. Can't really blame him for wanting a little space, can we?"
Dean had the courtesy to blush. "Come on. He knows I'm just razzing him." he said, stepping inside the damp room and tossing both bags on the nearest bed. "He can't go walkin' around out there alone, Dad. The curses …"
But John wasn't having it. "Dean." He said firmly, turning to face his oldest. "You've done nothing but aim below-the-belt comments at your brother for the last 200 miles. He knows he screwed up. He's apologized twenty times if he's apologized once. You're the one who won't let it go. Now give the kid some space." John stepped close and glared. "That's an order, you understand?"
Dean swallowed, nodding. He turned back to the bed to begin unpacking his belongings, but his eyes shot to the open door. Sam was nowhere in sight. He fidgeted for a minute then made for the parking lot.
"Dean." John said firmly.
"What? I'm just gonna go grab Sam's bag." the older boy lied.
"Maybe you should have done that before you locked it in the trunk." John said, letting Dean know he'd seen the boy's antics. "Sam can get his own bag. I need you right here right now." He handed Dean his battered laptop. "Since you don't like the way your brother does it, you can get started on the research. Over there." He tipped his head toward the only table in the room.
Dean stood by the door, hesitating. "Dad …" He started.
"NOW, Dean." John replied, the look on his face speaking volumes.
Dean took the offered laptop and reluctantly made for the corner. He pushed the table close to the window and propped the blind open with the coffee maker. He sat studying the parking lot until his father cleared his throat loudly. Dean opened the computer then and began typing.
"I'm making a dinner run. I'll be back in twenty. You don't leave this room. You hear me?"
Dean looked up, incredulous. "Dad! What if Sam …? He started.
But John was adamant. "You've made it perfectly clear to Sam how you feel about him at the moment. That boy needs to walk it off, Dean. And if I hear about you tracking him down and harassing him any more, you'll deal with me. You get it?"
Dean swallowed. Had he really been that pissy? "Yeah. I get it." He growled, unhappy about the situation but unwilling to push things too far with his father. "Twenty minutes. I got it."
"Good." John stated. He glanced down at the laptop. "You get done there, you can unpack your bag and mine. Might give you something to do besides think up mean things to say to your brother." John gave him a dark look and slipped out the door, leaving Dean sitting at the table alone and feeling like a dick.
###
Sam limped left out of the parking lot, wishing Dean hadn't locked his crutch inside the trunk. His foot was killing him, and technically, he probably shouldn't be dragging his clean bandage through the dirty gravel. In fact, he was surprised Dad had even let him go. Normally, it'd be Dean who'd be hovering over him like a cranky hen, but Sam guessed that was over with after what happened at the cemetery.
Maybe Dean was trying to put some space between them so it wouldn't hurt so badly the next time Sam screwed up and nearly got himself killed.
Sam wandered aimlessly until he'd turned a corner between two buildings. He traversed the short length of the alley and caught his breath. In front of him stretched a gorgeous expanse of beach, topped by a sunset that Sam just knew had to be spectacular. He smiled and wandered down to the rock wall that separated the sand from the grass. Sitting down, he pulled his good knee up, wrapped both arms around it and rested his chin on top, trying to ignore the throbbing in his other foot. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep.
He could smell the fresh, fishy scent of the sea, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could block out the sounds of traffic and listen to the waves gently breaking on the beach.
"Did you ever in your life see such a vivid pink?" Sam heard a voice behind him say. He opened his eyes to find two women walking past. They appeared to be mother and daughter, and it was the older one who'd spoken.
"I know! I've never seen a sunset so beautiful." the daughter replied, smiling down at Sam as they passed by. "We don't get sunsets like that back in Utah."
The mother laughed, agreeing. The conversation continued as they ambled slowly away, and the younger woman pulled out a camera and began taking the odd shot here and there. Sam watched them disappear into the distance and thought about that.
Pink.
He wondered what pink looked like. He knew it was the color of roses and of the cheeks of blushing babies. Dean had once had a pink button-down that a girl he'd dated in high school bought him. To Sam, it just looked white, but Dean had explained to him that it was pink - the color of whipped manhood.
Sam smiled sadly, remembering. Dean had refused to wear the shirt. The girl had gotten pissed, and Dad had yanked them out of town the next day anyway. The next time he'd seen the shirt, it was on the grass, and Dean was using it as a ground cover while he changed the oil in the Impala.
Sam shook his head. Every time he'd gotten pissed at Dean after that, Sam had wanted to buy him a pink shirt and pretend he thought it was white. He knew Dean would wear it regardless because it was Sam who had bought it for him. And then every time he saw his brother in it, Sam could chuckle over his private joke.
But Sam had never had anyone to help him pick out the shirt, so the prank had gone untried. And these days, Sam realized, Dean probably wouldn't worry about wearing it anyway. He sighed.
"That's a mighty big sigh for a fifteen-year-old," John said, settling down beside Sam on the wall. He smiled over at the boy and handed him a cup of take-out coffee.
Sam's brows shot skyward in surprise. Dad had never brought him coffee before. He took a drink and tried not to wince. It was strong and black - the way both Dad and Dean liked their coffee. Sam preferred his sweet and light.
But hey, Dad had tried. And Sam didn't even mind so much that John had his age wrong. He was just surprised the man had cared enough to come looking.
Sam smiled. "Thanks." He said, taking another sip.
John nodded, nursing a cup of his own. "So …" he said, trailing off.
"So …" Sam replied, lost.
John sighed. "Sam, I'm so bad at this. Mary … This was more Mary's cup of tea than mine, you know? Talking to people?"
Sam sat stunned. Dad never talked about his mother. Not to Sam. Not ever. "Uh, that's okay."
John sighed again, "No Sam. It's not. The way Dean and I have been treating you is not okay. You just …" He trailed off, took another sip for courage. "You just … you scared the bejesus out of us, boy."
Sam looked away, embarrassed.
"But it wasn't your fault. It was mine. I know you have trouble seeing at night. You should have never been out there to begin with. And since I did take you with me, I had the responsibility to look out for you, and I didn't do it. And … and I'm sorry."
Sam's jaw dropped.
John chuckled, "So … how's the foot? And don't lie to me either."
Sam gathered his wits enough to answer. "Hurts."
John nodded, stood up. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Don't be out here too long, okay? We need to get that cleaned up and rebandaged."
Sam nodded. "I won't."
John smiled down at him almost … fondly? "We good?" the older man asked.
Sam nodded, still shocked, "Yeah, Dad. We're good."
"Good. See you in the trenches then." John said, walking back the way he'd come. After he'd gone a few feet, he broke out into an aimless whistle, leaving Sam to stare after him incredulously.
###
"Where the hell is he, Dad?" Dean paced. It had been a good hour since John had made it back with the food, and it was full-on dark outside the motel room. "You told him to be back before dark."
John nodded, relenting. "Go get him. He's down by the beach."
Dean came up short. "He's down … How do you know?"
"Because I saw him down there, Dean. There's a jetty. Sam's sitting on the wall, watching the sunset."
Oh.
The sunset.
Dean felt a flash of guilt.
Sam had never really seen a sunset, and it was rare that he complained about it. This new thing … this … restlessness … Dean suddenly wondered if it was tied somehow to Sam's color blindness.
"I'll be back." he said shortly, grabbing both his jacket and Sam's. He slipped out the door and made his way toward the sound of waves breaking on the shore.
It took a bit of maneuvering in the dark, but Dean eventually found Sam exactly where Dad had said he would be. The sun had long since set though, and just the lights of the marina remained shining down on black water. He cleared his throat.
"Hey, Dean." Sam spoke softly without turning around.
"What happened to bein' back before dark?" Dean settled down beside his brother on the rock wall and tossed the kid's jacket across his slight shoulders.
Sam shrugged, eyes closed, just enjoying the feel of the damp ocean breeze on his face.
Dean jostled him. "You sleepin'?"
"It's pretty here is all. Didn't want to leave."
"What? You're not excited to see your side of the motel room of the week?" Dean kidded.
Sam shrugged again. "Seen one motel room, seen 'em all."
Dean's eyes narrowed. Sam sounded so … resigned. It made Dean's heart hurt. "Listen, Sammy … I know you want to see stuff and go places. That's normal when you're fifteen …"
"Sixteen." Sam cut him off.
Dean snorted, "You ain't …" He began, then stopped, horrified. Son of a bitch. Dean desperately tried to calculate the date.
"S'no big deal, Dean. I'm not a kid anymore."
"Sammy … "
"What?"
Dean couldn't believe his own stupidity. He'd never forgotten Sam's birthday. Never. Not once in fifteen years. Dammit. And not only did he forget, he'd been treating the kid like garbage for the past three days.
"Sam. I'm so sorry. I … I guess we caught up in that last hunt and …"
"I know. It's okay."
"It's not okay. It's pretty damned far from okay."
Sam shrugged. "Water under the bridge, Dean." He turned then and looked at Dean and the older boy winced at the pain he saw there. "Let's go back. Dad's probably worried." Sam stood.
Dean followed Sam up. "Listen Sammy, I'll make it up to you, I promise. The next thing you see that you want, you tell me, okay?"
Sam nodded, having no intention of doing anything of the kind. He paused suddenly, and turned to look back over the water. "Dean?"
"Yeah, Sam?"
"You think … you ever wonder if this is … you know … all there is?"
Dean swallowed hard, chose his words carefully. "What do you mean?"
Sam bit his lip. "I don't know. I just … I mean … sometimes …"
"What?"
"Just … you know - one motel room, one monster - one after another and another and another. Just seems like there should be more, I guess."
Dean pondered this as he walked slowly beside his limping brother. "Well, I mean … we save lives, right? It's not everybody who can say that." He replied, worried. Sam sounded so sad all of a sudden.
"I guess."
Dean was silent for a moment, then, "What would you like, Sammy? I mean … if you could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?"
Sam replied instantly, firmly, and without hesitation. "Color."
Dean closed his eyes and fought down something that felt horrifyingly like tears.
Sam must have noticed because in the next instant, the younger boy had slapped him upside the head. "You cryin'?" He teased, effectively changing the subject.
Dean snorted. "Batman doesn't cry, bitch."
Sam smiled sadly in the darkness. "You're a jerk, Dean." He noted, tugging on the door to their motel room. "Did Dad ever make it back? I'm starving."
-To Be Continued-