By Evergreen
Officially, Dean Winchester was dead. A violent death, presumed murder- unsolved- according to the national crime database. Every time he thought about it, he got a shiver down his spine. It was just easier that way, to be dead. Nobody tracking him down, he was a ghost in his own right. It made it easier for him to assume the identities of others, masquerade as police officers, government officials, priests, whatever the situation warranted. It was weird, though, being dead and not being able to tell people who he really was.
No one really knew who he was anyway. He was a ghosthunter, a son, and most importantly, brother and protector to Sam. Sammy, his little brother, the special one. He knew it from the day that the fire took his mother that it was really after Sam. His father knew it, too, and that was why he pushed Dean so hard. Dean, the good little soldier, not special in an astrophysical kind of way, but he could hold up his end of fight if he had to. Especially if Sam was involved.
He had hated going to Sam's school and pulling him from his normal life, knowing that this was the only normal that Sam had ever known. He had been proud of Sam for standing up to his father and not wanting to follow in the family business. Sam was the smart one, the bright and shining one, to be protected at all costs. It was as if being the protector had burned out all traces of Dean, but that was just fine by him. Had he been surprised when Sam told him about the visions and the telekinesis? Yeah, a little bit, but not that much. With all the shit that they had seen on all of their hunts, it really didn't faze him all that much. He worried about that fact a little bit. Nothing much fazed him these days. Not being electrocuted and dying, not being brought back at the expense of another person's life. Not being forced to choose between his brother's life and an innocent police officer who had seen her share of horror. The only thing that would make his blood simmer was the thought that anyone or anything was hurting Sam. That brought his fire back up. Those yahoos in the shack, he was ready to massacre the whole family. His father had always said that they had to draw the line at people. He could kill anything undead, not cause it to be that way in the first place. Had he any other choice, he would never consider killing actual people, but something snaps inside his head when Sam's in danger. His words echo in his head, "I will kill all of you. All of you!" He had meant it and still did.
He wrapped his fingers more tightly around the steering wheel of his beloved Impala and stole a look at Sam, who was sleeping with his head against the window. Here he felt in control, Sam was safe. The throbbing in his shoulder had dulled a little bit and if he shifted the wrong way, it would send a fresh shot of pain down his arm. He bit his lip to avoid cringing the last time he had done that.
They had a long, hard walk back to town through the rain last night. They didn't talk much after they left away from that house. Dean didn't feel like sharing right then. He guessed that Sam was just as wiped and they left it at that. They trudged into town about 4 am, covering in mud and soaked to the skin. They crashed for a shower and a few hours rest at a crappy motel in the next town under assumed names, didn't want to push their luck.
He would really need to make sure that their badge numbers were connected to someone who looked remotely like them next time. Loose ends, loose ends get you killed, his father would always say. Always think ten steps ahead, not to just your next move. If he had thought about that, he may not have stopped to admire the tooth jar and run into little crazy girl back there. His desperation over getting Sam safe overrode some of his most basic instincts. He would have to look much more closely at that going forward. That was damned sloppy, he could hear his father say, your brother could've been killed. He had heard that countless times over the years from his father and he would try doubly harder not to screw up again. He would try harder not to screw up again. He sighed and pulled his full attention back to the road. The long brown strip flowed out ahead of them, pulling them towards the next job. Scrub grass and a few scraggly trees were all that broke up the monotony of the landscape. Dean swiped the back of his hand over his bleary eyes, the short nap he had taken had done nothing to blunt the bone-tiredness he had been dragging around. His head turned as he heard Sam sigh and reposition himself against the window and seatbelt strap. He knew that Sam needed the rest, he carried a burden that he never should have even known about, let alone experience.
Sam felt responsible for everything, their mother's death, Jessica's death, getting caught in the cage, and way more than that. He felt everything so sharply and deeply. Maybe that was why Dean didn't even try to understand all the nuances of emotion that flowed over Sam's face like a ocean wave when he was thinking about a situation. It hurt too much and when you were distracted, you get your brother killed. Easier to just stay apart, not too deep, not too close to the surface either. Just not Dean.