Chapter Seven

Figuring Dean had had enough time to cool down, Sam walked out of his home office and nearly trampled over Patrick who was stomping up the hallway looking flustered. Sam had to put a hand on the wall to stop himself from kneeing his son in the face. Patrick just stopped in front of him, ignorant of the danger, and pouted up at him. Sam was exasperated for a minute, having mentally prepared himself to face Dean, which meant his defenses were up, he was ready to raise his voice, get down and dirty. That's not how he managed his kids. He took a second to change his state of mind before looking down at Patrick and raising his eyebrows.

"What's the matter, bud?" he asked, bending down a little so he wasn't looming over the kid.

"Dad," Patrick jutted his chin and Sam wondered how his father had ever been able to stand that gesture. Sam had pulled that move many times, especially into his teens. He tried not to let the fact that Patrick was only eight and had already mastered it bother him too much. "Hannah stole my space man," Patrick said, bobbing his head, looking at Sam like he should be completely furious over the notion that such an atrocity could happen.

Sam smiled. Stolen space men he could handle. He had ignored his brother's voice in his head saying, go steal it back, and instead said, "Well, go ask her if you can have it back."

"I can't find her," Patrick whined.

"Get Cam to help you look," Sam said, standing up straighter, ready to go talk to Dean now. He was starting to lose the edge he'd built up in preparation for facing his brother. He couldn't go in there unprepared, it would be certain death.

Patrick scoffed and Sam looked down at him again, unable to stop the warning gaze he gave him. Patrick didn't seem fazed. "Cam can't help, he's a baby."

Sam ran a hand over his face. "Then go ask your mother," Sam gave quickly, stepping to the side and getting ready to head towards Dean's room. "I have to go talk to your uncle."

"Uncle Dean isn't very nice."

The words stopped Sam in his tracks. He turned to look at Patrick, seeing that his son's pouting face had gone away and was now replaced with that openness that he loved so much in his children. The face that clearly asked for Sam to explain things to them, to tell them what to do, what's right, what's wrong. And as much as Sam wanted to go into Dean's room and talk to his brother, he couldn't ignore that face, nor the words that had accompanied it.

With a sigh, Sam came over and sat down, leaning against the wall. "Come here," he told Patrick and held out and arm. Patrick sat down next to him and Sam put his arm around him, hugging him close. This was a conversation he knew he'd have to have sooner or later. They had semi had it before, but he'd never sat Patrick down and actually told him what was going on. He knew that Dean's presence was going to affect his children just as much as it affected him. Patrick had been almost as excited as Hannah was to see his uncle. Probably had a lot to do with Hannah going on for days about how great Uncle Dean was and how they were going to have a lot of fun once he got here. And so far, it wasn't much fun. Sam could understand why Patrick would be disappointed.

"Pat," Sam started, wondering how he could explain this to his son. "Do you remember last summer when you slammed your fingers in the car door?" Pat nodded, obviously not remembering anything pleasant. "Remember how much it hurt?" Pat nodded again. "Well, when you weren't very nice for a while after that, right?"

"Because it hurt," Patrick defended, frowning up at Sam.

"I know," Sam said, reassuring him quickly. "And that's okay. Everyone was real forgiving, weren't they?"

"I guess," Patrick said. He looked up after that. "So Uncle Dean isn't nice because he got hurt?"

God, it sounded so awful said like that, didn't it? "Yeah," Sam whispered.

"Well when is he going to get better?" Pat asked and Sam felt his throat constrict. That was a good question. Sam wished he could answer it. He wished he could give Dean a band-aid and a popsicle and everything would be fine again. If only it were that simple.

"I don't know, buddy," Sam answered, squeezing Patrick a little. "Your Uncle Dean got hurt pretty bad. It's gonna take a while. Just give him some time, okay?"

"Okay, Dad," Patrick agreed and Sam leaned down to kiss the top of his head. Patrick growled and wiped it off, making Sam chuckle. "Now go find your sister and ask for you space man back, alright?"

"Alright," Patrick said and got up, running towards the kitchen. Sam sat still for a moment, hands over his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. Well that totally wrecked his state of mind. It was hard to be mad at his brother, to be ready to yell at him, when you just got done explaining to your son why he shouldn't be disappointed. Sam just didn't know what to do. He wasn't used to this, never had been. Sam had always been the brooder, Dean was always smiling, joking, and sometimes Sam had even classified his brother as seeming aloof. Dean was far from aloof, but his unshakable optimism had always given off that appearance. He'd used to get so angry at Dean sometimes, question how he could be so confident that things would work out, that they'd be okay. Now, he just wished he could have that back. He'd give anything to have that back.

Knowing it was now or never, Sam pushed himself up and started down the hall towards Dean's room. He braced himself just outside the door. All right, Dean, you're going to listen to me and you're going to stop acting like the world has ended and you are going to fucking smile because I can't stand that goddamned frown on your face. Yeah, okay, he could do this. Sam took a deep breath, counted to three inside his head, and flung the door open, prepared to start his tirade, rip in to his brother, fight fire with fire.

The wind was knocked out of Sam's sails as two pairs of strikingly similar innocent eyes turned to look at him. Anything he had to say was immediately squelched inside his throat as he surveyed the scene in front of him. Hannah sat cross-legged on the bed, her braid falling down over her shoulder, puzzle pieces balanced on both of her knees for categorization. Dean sat in his wheelchair, closer to the bed than he had been before, leaned forward, one arm out, hand frozen in place over a puzzle piece Sam assumed he'd just put in. They both had their heads turned towards him, like they'd been caught in the act of a crime. Of all the things Sam expected to find in this room, he'd never thought of this. The last time he'd checked, Hannah had been discouraged when Dean had failed to tell her goodnight. He should of known she recovered quickly.

Sam stood in the doorway, one hand on the door handle, mouth opening and closing in an attempt to find words to say. Dean drew his arm away from the puzzle and leaned back, watching Sam. They probably would have been there all night if Hannah hadn't interrupted the awkwardness.

"Daddy, look," she said and pointed to the puzzle. Sam forcibly had to draw his eyes away from his brother to look at what Hannah was pointing at. "Uncle Dean finished this whole bottom row by himself," she said proudly, giving both her dad and her uncle a grin.

"Did he?" Sam asked, not knowing what else to say.

"Yup," Hannah nodded. "He's really good at puzzles."

"Yeah, he is," Sam answered, eyes drifting back to Dean, studying him, surveying him, trying to fucking read his mind. For all Sam could tell, Dean didn't look disturbed at all. The tension in his shoulders had faded a bit and his eyes seemed lighter, less dark, less bleak. What had happened while he was gone? "Hey, Hannah, why don't you go help your Mom make dinner."

"But what about the puzzle?" she immediately protested.

Dean's eyes went to Hannah and Sam bit his lip when he saw the corner of Dean's mouth twitch up into a smile. "You can finish it later, if Uncle Dean feels up to it."

Hannah turned to Dean expectantly. "We'll finish it later, kiddo," Dean said, voice calm, smooth.

"Okay," Hannah grinned and jumped off the bed, scuttling towards the door.

"And give your brother his space man back," Sam said. Hannah scoffed but grabbed the toy from the wagon she'd brought in with her and headed out the door. Sam closed it behind her, leaning up against it, unconsciously not wanting anyone else to come in before he had a chance to talk to his brother, to find out if this person sitting here was actually Dean, his Dean. But Sam couldn't exactly come out and ask that, could he? He'd skirt the issue for now. "If…if she's too much trouble, I can ask here not to come in here."

Dean shook his head lightly. "No, it's okay," he said, eyes downcast, frown crossing his forehead. No, please don't look away from me, Dean. Look at me. I want to see your goddamn eyes. "She's a cute kid." Oh, Dean, is that you?

"Dean…"

"I'm sorry." Sam startled at the quickness, at the force behind the words. He hadn't been expecting that either. "About what I said earlier," Dean explained.

Sam shook his head, forgetting that Dean wasn't looking at him. "It's okay," he whispered, remembering his conversation with Patrick out in the hall. "You're mad. I understand."

"I don't blame you." Jesus, he'd really missed something, hadn't he? He'd come in here expecting a full on war of wills. Hell, he'd been ready to bring out the big guns, maybe even throw in a fist or two. But this? This was throwing him for a loop. He'd didn't know how to react. So he just stood still, letting Dean get out what he needed to get out. "I just…" Dean's face crumpled and he turned his head to the side, letting out a breath. "I don't know. I…I just…" He sighed again and looked up at Sam, locked eyes with him, and sucker punched. "Thank you."

Sam's eyes widened. "You're welcome," he replied back, still a bit confused. Dean nodded and Sam realized his brother was ready to leave it at that. Sam wouldn't have it. They needed to talk. They hadn't really talked about this, other than to yell and lay blame. He came forward and sat on the edge of the bed, searching for the right words. "It'll be okay, Dean."

Dean let out an unbelieving chuckle. "Look at me, Sam," he whispered so quietly that Sam had to lean forward to hear. Dean's voice was so broken, so lost. "What good am I?"

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, shaking his head. Dean looked away. "Dean…" Dammit, what do you say to that? Time to hit below the belt. "Do you know what I've always admired most about you?" Dean looked up at that, but didn't say anything. Sam wished he would just crack a joke already. But he'd work on one thing at a time. "It was that you never let anything get you down. My whole life, Dean, I've watched you bounce back from everything that got thrown your way."

"I can't exactly bounce back from this one, Sammy."

A pain struck in Sam's heart at the nickname. How long had he been since he'd heard that one? "I'm not talking about physically." Sam sighed. He leaned over, knitting his hands together, not looking at his brother. "I could always count on you to make me laugh," he said quietly. "Whenever things got rough, you were always there. And you always held things together." Sam sat up straight and looked Dean square in the eye, seeing his brother was looking at him, eating up everything Sam was saying. "You always fought back, no matter what. And…I need you to fight this one too. Yeah, things aren't going to be the same, but I know you'll find a way to work with this, Dean. It's what you do. It's who you are."

There. It was said, it was done, and now all he had to do was wait for an answer. Dean looked hesitant, confused. His eyes shifted back and forth, mulling over what Sam had said, trying to process the words. Sam gave him some time. This was heavy stuff. But the fact that Dean was even thinking about it, the fact that he was even listening to what Sam had to say, thrilled Sam to no end. It meant that Dean hadn't given up. He was still holding onto something.

Finally, Dean looked up at Sam, eyes shining with a watery glaze. "I thought I broke you of your talk show addiction," Dean whispered. Sam's grin was the widest he'd had in a long time. He let out a laugh and tilted his head, watching Dean's lips turn up into a small smile.

It was a start.

Sam shrugged. "Sarah likes them." Dean nodded.

There was a soft knock on the door and Sam turned around as Sarah poked her head in. She looked between the two of them, probably making sure they weren't ready to jump each other, before smiling and saying, "Dinner's ready."

"Thanks," Sam told her, giving her a nod. She returned it and closed the door again. Sam turned back to Dean, seeing his brother's eyes trail away from the door. Enough of this drama for today. Dean needed some normal. "So, are you hungry yet? Want me to bring some dinner in here for you?"

Dean turned his head to eye the room before giving a small shake. "No, that's okay," he said. Sam felt his happiness start to leave him. He thought he'd been getting somewhere with Dean. His brother was going to make himself sick if he didn't eat anything. But Dean surprised him again. "I think I'll come out there and eat."

"Oh," Sam said simply. "Okay, yeah sure." He got up to help maneuver Dean towards the door, but his brother batted his hands away and started to wheel himself out.

"This room's kind of minty anyway," Dean said, going out into the hall.

Sam didn't know whether to laugh or cry.