A/N: this one mentions sex again, but not graphically.

I own a lot of super things and many natural things, but nothing Supernatural…

o0o

Sam was quietly reflecting on all that Chris had shown him as his motel room took shape around him. He shuddered remembering the slick certainty of Morse and how he'd been afraid that Dean would follow through if it meant keeping his brother safe. He remembered Dean's promise to keep him safe that his younger self had slept through and he remembered the shared moment of victory between father and son, that while not much was said, the two pride and love was apparent to both past and present participants. Sam had known that John loved his sons and would do everything he could to keep them safe. And he'd known that Dean felt the same way about his family and that he'd accepted role and seemed to become the perfect hunter. What he hadn't ever understood was how Dean could be happy with such a limited lot. How he could thrive under the rigors and restrictions that their upbringing had put on them. How he could be happy in the lonely, twisted role that John had forced him into, that John had never given him any other choice about.

And he'd never really appreciated that their family actually worked. Sure it worked in a way that would have any other family in therapy or a straightjacket – or jail for that matter – but both he and Dean could take care of themselves, could deal with whatever life threw at them – either supernatural or otherwise – and each member of the family knew that the other two had his back. Admittedly Sammy never wanted to have to face the decisions that Dean had had to, but Dean's recent electrocution and subsequent heart attack had shown Sammy that there was very little he wouldn't do for his brother. He'd had time to reflect as he'd waited for Layla to finish saying goodbye to Dean and as he'd watched the dieing woman leave, from his vantage point of the passenger seat of the Impala where he'd taken refuge, he'd known that even if he'd known that saving Dean would mean Marshal Hall had to die, he'd have done it anyway. It was a dark sentiment, and it was amoral and unethical and above all, selfish. But he'd reconciled himself to his own dark side, and knew that the ends would have justified the means if it meant that Dean lived. Dean was right, when he'd said that there were some things more important than killing the demon, that killing the demon wasn't worth it if it meant that they had to kill one of them to do it. His family, as warped and twisted as it was, did come first. And always had.

And that was what Chris was trying to tell him.

At least he thought it was. Man he hoped there weren't more memories like that one to go through…

Oh no. That had to be it, right, there couldn't be anything else… Dean hadn't ever…

He didn't want to ask, but wasn't sure he could live with not knowing.

"Chris… Dean didn't ever… he never… this was as close as he came right? He didn't ever sell himself to protect me? Or my Dad? He didn't, did he?

"No, Sam, he didn't. " Chris' voice was gentle and calming. Sam relaxed with a sigh of relief and closed his eyes to briefly give thanks to whatever deity might be listening.

Chris was feeling a touch of pride, tinged with regret: Dean would be so proud of his student. Chris hadn't technically lied: Dean hadn't compromised himself for Sam or John – he'd done it because he'd briefly wanted something for himself.

Dean had made that choice, he had given in – once – but it was in totally different circumstances and at fourteen, Mrs. Burkowski's offer to baby-sit Sammy every other day after school, for a price, so that Dean could play on the school baseball team, had really not seemed like a hardship to a hormonal teen. Dean had reveled in being a star shortstop, his hunter's reflexes making him a natural for lightning fast recoveries and he'd had a wicked snap to first. It had all been incredibly exciting and delicious and coupled with the lure of doing something wonderfully sexy and utterly non-hunting related, for only his own personal needs, it was as close to rebelling against their father's edicts as Dean could allow himself.

In fact initially it had been wonderful: fourteen-year old Dean had been ecstatic and had exulted in his new non-virginal status and in all the wonderful things he was learning. In fact, Chris privately suspected that all the women Dean had slept with since should be very grateful to Mrs. B. But what Dean had originally thought of as a win-win situation, was eventually tarnished as the newness finally wore off and as the treasured reward became an inconvenient chore. It became less of a fantastic sexual secret and much more of a shameful sexual service. Dean knew that his after school freedom had been bought at an awful price.

The experience had taught Dean the value of sex as a weapon; had taught Dean how to use his own sexiness to manipulate and get what he wanted; had taught Dean how to be charming. It was really just another lesson on being what people wanted you to be, just on a different level: more camouflage. And while the lessons had been valuable over the years, Dean sometimes wished he'd never learned them. Dean didn't want to be good at manipulating people, didn't want to use people in the same way to get what he needed, whether in a relationship or on a hunt. But he was, he was charming, he had always been able to be what others expected; he'd done it instinctively with both John and Sam for years. He was used to defining himself based on the needs of others, so he'd absorbed the newest lesson with less anguish than might be anticipated and had integrated his new abilities into his cocky, swaggering persona, and had adjusted in a way only someone who had been conditioned to keep their emotions in the background so they could assess a situation and act could. In his family rapid adaptation was a necessary survival skill.

But although the sexual barter system had certainly not been all bad – some of it had been very good – Dean had never made that choice again, no matter how badly he'd wanted something. Middle school and high school sports were just another thing Dean had to learn to let go of – they were rarely at one school for an entire year, so inevitably they'd had to leave before finishing a season. While he remembered Mrs. Burkowski fondly for the most part, he also remembered the taint of basically selling himself and the eventual disgust of knowing that he had let himself be used, had compromised his own beliefs just to meet his own selfish needs.

Chris knew that nothing would be gained by telling Sam of Dean's choice: it would only taint Dean in Sam's eyes because Dean was still Sam's hero, no matter if neither brother would ever acknowledge it. In fact, it worked both ways: Dean thought that Sammy, in standing up to their father and in pursuing his own dreams, was both better and smarter and had more to offer. Dean when he'd learned that he was dying had been accepting, as dying on a hunt was the only inevitable conclusion he could see his life taking. But he knew – how could he not – Sam kept reminding him – that Sammy had a future that didn't include him, didn't include hunting or anything supernatural at all.

Sam wanted a 'normal' future, and if Dean had anything to say about it he'd get it.

Dean had spent many years trying to make sure that Sam's life had ordinary things in it. There was much he couldn't control: Sammy also only rarely got to partake in school activities. But Dean had taken Sammy to the zoo, to the movies, to an occasional baseball game, once to an amusement park, in an attempt to make sure that hunting wasn't all there was in his life. If Sam was fixated on being 'normal' it was because Dean had constantly given him doses of it. And to Sam it had been addicting.

And Chris knew that as Sam finally opened his eyes and wearily reaffirmed that they were back in the motel room, he would shortly discover another addicting dose.

Because there was a set of Mickey Mouse ears on Sam's bed. An incongruity which Sam hadn't taken in yet as he wasn't really seeing the room, he was still lost in his own thoughts, trying to match what he had known with what he had just learned.

Dean, who liked amusement park rides but abhorred the crowds, who liked the food and candy but hated the lineups and who Chris recalled was seriously wigged out by the people who dressed as cartoon characters, was going to put all that aside to take Sam to Disney World. For five fun-filled days of rides and cotton candy and where there would be nothing scarier than a huge Dora the Explora cartoon character.

Because Dean, who couldn't always communicate, who wasn't able to easily make lasting connections, could read people and could usually understand what drove them, what they needed. He wasn't clairvoyant, he could be and had been fooled, and their life had left him with a pretty cynical worldview; he didn't expect much from anyone, even from his family. But he trusted his own judgment and his instincts. And he certainly knew what drove his brother and father, what they needed, and what would thrill Sammy to no end on his birthday.

Sam wanted normal. Well, it didn't get more normal than roller coasters, cotton candy and Mickey Mouse.

But Mickey would have to wait. Chris didn't want Sam to start thinking in the present yet, he had one more lesson he wanted Sam to see, because Sammy still didn't get that Dean was content in his own way, didn't believe that it was even possible that Dean could be satisfied with what Sam perceived to be an emotionally stunted and personally limiting career choice.

Sam still didn't totally get it. And Chris had just the memory to fix that.

Sammy's groan of denial was all that could be heard as Chris pulled Sam through the motel room door yet again.

Sometimes Chris loved his 'job'.

o0o

TBC