Disclaimer: I lost the papers that say I own Supernatural and the Winchester boys. But I do! Really!

Warnings: Language. Dean's a potty mouth…but we already knew that. Don't think there's anything else.

Chapter Two - Forgotten Blood, Forbidden Blood

After placing the coffee and brown paper bag on the table just inside the room, Sam stood leaning against the closed door of the motel room, staring musingly at the motionless, shadowed lump that was his brother. The curtains were drawn, the lights were out, and Dean was in the exact same position he had been when Sam had left two hours before.

Unlike most nights, Dean was sprawled under the covers, and Sam wasn't quite sure whether that big bump near the headboard was his brother's head or feet. Usually, the older Winchester would be on his back, always alert, on the bed closest to the door and right across the window—something that Sam stopped rolling his eyes and huffing over, he knew what battles to pick. This particular older-brother-being-a-bit-too-protective, wasn't one of them and hadn't been since before Sam left for Stanford.

And college had taught him a couple of things.

Several, he mused and smirked, would make Dean just kinda stare all wide-eyed and 'what the fuck!' Something Dean didn't do all that often, and when he did, just made Sam just a little smug and snicker-y.

He wondered whether or not he should apply such learned lessons right then. Crossing his arms over his chest, he continued to regard his brother in such rapt observation that had Dean been awake Sam would've gotten a freaked out 'Dude! What!'

Dean was probably hung-over, he hadn't stepped in the door until just after four in the morning. Which was, Sam glanced at his glowing watch face, just over five hours ago. Well, at least someone had a good time, Sam thought just a bit sourly and shook his head.

He should be nice. He should be a good, obedient, quiet little brother and just let Dean have that free, deep kind of slumber that he so rarely had. God knows their last job was sucker punch that Dean really hadn't needed—that neither of them needed. That Shtriga had left a soreness that Sam usually only felt after one helluva flu bug or one helluva midnight alcohol binge. It had been four days since they had left Fitchburg, Wisconsin and Michael and five days since Dean had told Sam of that night that happened nearly seventeen years before.

Sam had never seen Dean look so…broken like he had while he was telling the story that had ended in Sam nearly dying because of the then nine year old's desire for air and video games. Not even when Dean had been dying of imminent heart failure.

Broken and vulnerable were not words he would normally apply to his cocky, arrogant, smart-assed older brother. They were words a year ago, he would've sworn could never be applied to Dean. But the past couple of months on the road together had opened up a lot more than a supernatural can of worms.

Dean needed his rest, between Sam's run-of-the-mill, go-right-along-there's-nothing-special-here nightmares and Sam's not-so-run-of-the mill, not-so-non-special nightmares, Sam doubted he got much of it.

He knew Dean probably didn't know that Sam was aware of what he was doing. Always playing the guardian, watching out for his little brother with little to no regard for his own health. It was something that always seemed to irk Sam, but, he smiled bitterly, but now he knew why.

Now he knew why his brother had such a "blind faith" in their father, why he always followed the orders that Sam never would've let go by without a bitch or a 'why?'

And he had to say, he didn't think he liked knowing all that much.

Dean was still a pain in the ass, he probably would always be a pain in the ass, but Sam finally understood why better.

But just because he was seeing his brother in a clearer light, because he was finally letting himself see his brother in a clearer light, didn't mean he had to be nice.

So he stood there for another two minutes, finally, with a grin and self-deprecating shrug, he threw the curtains open and tossed the light switch on with a flourish.

"Yo!" He let out a shrill whistle, "Wakey uppy, Sleeping Beauty!"

Dean jerked awake with a startled yelp, "Huh? Wassit?" He leaped out of bed and too late realized that that tight embrace he had felt in his dreams was one layer of blankets wrapped around his body. After an instant with an almost comical look of confusion on his face, after the dull thud of his body hitting the floor, there was silence.

Later, Sam would wonder how his brother, the best hunter he'd seen that wasn't his father, managed that slightly stupid, majorly lazy awakening, but right then…it didn't cross his mind.

A raised eyebrow turned into a grin, that grin turned a snort, that snort turned into a snicker, and that snicker turned into a cackle.

Dean stared in wonderment at the white sheet that was holding his legs hostage, a slight frown on his face before his brother's guffaws and that blinding light registered. He grimaced tightly and lifted a clumsy hand to cover his eyes. He misjudged the distance slightly and cursed when he nearly poked an eye out.

"Dude! The damn light!" Then he winced again when his shout reverberated through his head. "Oh, damn. I'm hung-over. Why am I hung-over? I shouldn't be hung-over." He would've denied that the sound that came out of his throat resembled a whimper. He would've denied it to his dying day.

"Up and at 'em, Sunshine!"

"God, I'll kill you." He groaned pathetically and just dropped back down on the floor, feeling around on the bed and grabbing the first thing that felt vaguely like a pillow. "I don't give a damn if you're my brother. I'll kill you dead. I swear it." His voice was muffled through the object that apparently meant to block any light and sounds. The weak groan seemed to say that it wasn't working all that well.

"Yeah, yeah." Sam snickered. "I'm quakin' in my boots." He rolled his eyes and walked over to his brother. "Got you advil, got you coffee. Now get the hell up before I decide to take my kind, thoughtful, charity back."

He couldn't quite understand what was being mumbled through the pillow, but it he was pretty sure it was meant to be something threatening. Then when the pillow lifted a bit and one blurry, bloodshot, hazel-green eye peeked out, he caught the tail-ending and snickered again.

"Dude, I like you and all, but you're just not my type." He shrugged and managed to sound apologetic. "And you're my brother, that would be illegal."

"Give me the fucking coffee." A rumpled head emerged from under the pillow, a shaky hand reached out from under the sheets and took the coffee and pills that were being offered. "God, you're such a bitch." He dry-swallowed the pills with a wince before gulping the coffee. "Ugh. What the hell is this!"

Sam just couldn't hold back his laugh. There was just such a look of disgusted indignation on Dean's face. "Dude…stop whining."

"Jesus, I'm in agony here. Where's the sympathy?"

"Five minutes of pleasure, Dean."

"Okay, one—you're insulting me, I last a lot longer than five friggin' minutes, two—I'm not a fucking woman, and three—pity me, all right? I'm hung-over."

Sam's only response was a lifted eyebrow.

"Jesus, you're a great brother, Sammy. You're a really great brother." As nasty as that coffee had been, it had managed to clear up the worst of the headache and the nausea. Dean cautiously pushed himself to his feet, and stumbled to the bathroom to the sounds of Sam's laughter. And because of those sounds, he let himself smile just a little.

When Dean stepped back out, fifteen minutes later, he found another cup of coffee waiting on the bedside table. With a careful sip, he realized with a sigh of relief that it wasn't that cheap crap he had drunk earlier.

Oh, thank you god. He thought and looked onto the beds. His belongings were packed and his duffel sat at the foot of the bed with a fresh set of clothes right next to it. He rolled his eyes but grinned.

Yeah, Sammy. Good brother.

He wasn't quite sure if he said it aloud, but when Sam walked back in not two seconds later, the first thing his little brother said was 'don't get used to it.'

He rolled his eyes. "Bitch."

Sam smirked. "Jerk."

TBC…

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