Actions speak louder

Chapter 2

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

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"Dean?"

Instantly alert, Dean bolted up in his bed, reaching for the knife he kept under his pillow. He expected to see some evil creature clawing its way into their motel room with the way his brother persistently and frantically called his name. Instead, he saw nothing but the younger man curled up into an impossibly tiny ball on one of the chairs. His instincts immediately told him that something was wrong, and he moved for an instant wanting to go to him. It was an ingrained behavior that he would just have to learn to quell. His expression hardened and he flopped onto the pillow and grumbled out, "What?"

"I need to talk to you."

Rolling his eyes, Dean spared a glance at the clock between their beds. The red glow read 15 minutes to 4am and he resisted the urge to yank it out of the wall and hurl it at the younger man. He rolled over instead. "Well that's too bad, because I don't need to talk to you."

"Dean, please. I have to tell you something—it's important!"

"There's nothing you have to say that I either need or want to hear. You've said all you needed to say and you've made it pretty clear on those thoughts."

"No, I haven't Dean. That's why you have to listen—I need you to understand—"

"I understand perfectly Sam. You resent me. Probably even hate the fact that I'm still alive and Jessica's not. You hate me for being a part of this miserable life you lead, I get it, Sam. And I bet you'd love if you could get rid of me so you could go back to your nice little normal life."

Sam was shaking his head adamantly, "No, none of that's true, you've got it all wrong, Dean--"

Nostrils flaring angrily, Dean fired back, "BULLSHIT SAM! Ellicott didn't plant those thoughts in your head, he just prevented you from hiding them anymore. He wasn't possessing you to make you pull that trigger either. That was ALL you Sammy Boy. So I'll tell you what. Here!" He grabbed the pillow from his bed and threw it as hard as he could at his brothers head. "Since I know you're just itching to get rid of me, you can use that to smother me in my sleep!"

Sam had caught the pillow and now dropped it faster than if it had been a hot frying pan. "I don't want to kill you."

"Then quit your bitchin' and go back to sleep!"

"Dean—"

"Sam, I swear if you say One. More. Freakin' word, I'm taking what little bit of money we have left and getting a room of my own…"

Dean laid back down with an angry grunt and covered his head with the blanket to drown out the muffled sniffling of his little brother. He drifted off into a restless slumber, hoping that in a few hours, the younger Winchester would calm down and they could pretend that none of this ever happened.

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When he awoke a few hours later, he noted that Sam was dressed and ready to go, without any of the usual prodding and threatening for him to get a move on. His younger brother sat on the edge of the bed, absently tracing the flowery pattern of the comforter with his fingers. He looked like a lost puppy and Dean had to resist the urge to march over there and shake him so that he wouldn't feel so bad about yelling at him. But damn it! He was the one was shot, so why should he be the one to feel like the bad guy here! Oh well, he thought in irritation, at least the crying had stopped.

Dean was determined not to let him have his way and break down and let him talk, so he threw the blankets away and tossed his legs over the bed before striding into the bathroom purposefully. He felt refreshed after a long hot shower and emerged in a slightly better mood.

Sam was no longer sitting on the bed restlessly. One quick glance at the clock told Dean that they only had a few minutes before check out time and he had probably gone to turn in their key to avoid paying for another night. Dean was usually the one to do that since Sam always tended to take longer rising. The nightmares often kept Sam from getting more than a few hours sleep and he was therefore, usually rest broken.

That was one thing Dean had noticed right away upon waking this morning. His brother had obviously not slept at all, probably hadn't in the last few nights either. The circles under his eyes darkened so deep that they couldn't have even been hidden under Tammy Faye Baker's makeup. And that made Dean feel slightly guilty for it. After all, he was the big brother—it was always his job to look out for the younger Winchester. But he couldn't seem to get past the hurt, anger and disappointment he felt after his own flesh and blood tried to kill him. The very boy that he had practically raised by himself.

He knew he would have to get over his feelings eventually if they were ever to become a good hunting team again. His dad had told him years ago that anger amongst hunters was a liability—a death trap waiting to happen. Yeah right, he snorted derisively. That's why Sam and the old man fought constantly like an old married couple since the time he hit puberty.

But Dean was going to try and take his father's advice now. That's why he hadn't picked up any new jobs in the past week, not just to let his body heal, but to allow them both time to get back on track. He had even surprised himself when he left a voice mail for his father telling him to leave him and Sam alone for a least a couple of weeks. No mysterious phone calls or hang-ups in the middle of the night, and no coordinates to follow. His own voice mail was set to inform people that he was unavailable and to contact, he thought with mild amusement, John Winchester.

Dean sighed heavily as he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed out to the impala. Maybe when we get to the next motel.

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The trip would have been silent as the black Impala pounded its engine down the long stretch of highway if Metallica hadn't been blaring through its speakers.

They'd been driving for hours and Sam had yet to say another word while he absently stared out of his window. But Dean knew he wasn't just taking in the scenery. The way Sam's mouth moved ever so slightly told his brother that he was rehearsing something in his mind. Dean suppressed a grin at the thought, probably the upcoming 'chick-flick' moment he was dying for. Sam was probably not even aware that he did that now, and has ever since he was a little boy and prepared to soften their father up after whatever trouble he always landed in. The younger of the two had never used the technique on Dean, preferring instead to flash those wide, moss-green eyes with the long lashes that made him look as innocent as the day Dean carried him out the front door of their burning home.

And the older brother, the protector in him, could never resist or deny the boy anything with that look. It was a good thing he didn't do it that often. John used to complain to Dean frequently that 'Little Sammy' had him wrapped around his little finger. Even now, Dean guiltily tried to ignore that look, but he felt his stony facade cracking with every mile marker that whizzed by them on the highway.

The very idea that Sam now resorted to his rehearsal technique usually reserved for their hard-assed marine disciplined father, suggested that things had indeed gone too far.

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Hours later, Dean's stomach began to growl louder than the Impala's engine and he suddenly remembered that they hadn't eaten anything since the night prior. Before he could suggest food, they passed a sign signaling a rest stop up ahead with a convenience store. "Cool," he mumbled. He could find fuel for himself and his 'baby' in one convenient pit stop.

Dean pulled into the parking lot next to the pump. Sam was out of the car practically before it even came to a full stop, stretching his long legs after hours of discomfort and cramping.

Grabbing his wallet from his back pocket, Dean pulled out money and handed it to his brother. "Twenty for gas. And you know what I want," he said with a slight grin.

Sam nodded eagerly at what he perceived as a momentary truce—at least Dean was speaking to—not yelling at—him. "Sure. Snickers bar coming right up."

"Sam…" Dean warned despite knowing that his brother was just teasing.

"I know, I know. Peanut M&M's. I'll be right back."

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Twenty minutes later, Dean was leaning up against the car with his legs and arms crossed. He flipped his wrist over to check the time on his watch again and snorted to himself. "I don't care how much of a deserted, hick-town this place is, how long could it possibly take to pay for gas and a pack of M&M's?"

He stormed over to the entrance fully prepared to read his kid brother the riot act, "Sa-amm! Let's go man!"

Yanking open the door, he scanned the little market and quickly assessed what had taken the younger Winchester so long.

Sam stood a little to the left of the door, his hands raised, while an extremely nervous teenaged robber pointed a small caliber weapon back and forth between him and the clerk. The teen probably thought he could get the money quickly and be in and out before anyone would even notice in the isolated little store.

Sam's sudden appearance must have spooked the kid.

But it was Dean's sudden appearance and yelling that startled him into loosing his shaky grip on the trigger as he pointed at the newest intruder.

TBC…

Thanks for reading & reviewing :)

So what did you think? It's my first Supernatural fic, so the first time is always the most nerve wracking.