Sanctuary

by Cheryl W

When Dean’s near misses with death start adding up, Sam is brutally reminded that there is no such thing as just having a bad day when you are a Winchester. No Slash.

4. Chapter 4: Border Disputes

Sanctuary

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Dean or Sam, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting! I needed to overhaul this chapter practically from the first word to the last word. (Don't you hate it when you think you wrote something kinda good and after you reread it you realize it stank! Hope the chapter now falls under kinda good rather than stinking.)

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Chapter 4: Border Disputes

"I still say being in this room is safer than being out there," Sam waved a hand toward the motel room's door even as his eyes stayed fixed on Dean who was rummaging in his bag without reaction. "Dean?" Sam said with irritation at his brother's lack of response. "Ah crap," he realized, stepping to Dean's side that still retained its hearing. With the knowledge of his brother's latest injury rekindled, Sam's voice gentled. "Dean, I vote that we stay in here. There has to be less dangerous in here than outside, right?"

Without looking to Sam, Dean began to tick off the threats found just where he stood, "Fire, gas leak, earthquake. Heck, Sam a meteorite could turn me to ash right where I stand." His lips quirked as he continued to search in his bag. "Course maybe I'ld end up having mutant powers…you know, I could be competition for the man in tights."

"Stop trying to pretend this is nothing!" Sam yelled, ripping the bag from his brother's hands and throwing it on the other bed. Breathing hard, Sam waited for Dean to raise his head to meet his eyes before he spoke again, his voice achingly young, "Tell me you have a plan. Tell me what part I play in it. How do I keep you safe?"

"You don't," Dean said sharply, sidestepping Sam and heading for the door. With his inner ear struggling to come fully back on line, Dean's steps were slightly unsteady, making it child's play for Sam to beat him to the door.

Standing immobile in the doorway, his hands braced on each side of the doorframe, Sam conveyed his resolve to wage this fight until he drew his last breath. "Where do you think you're going?" he challenged, gripping the doorframe tighter as Dean's eyes gleamed with a threat to walk right through him, if necessary.

"I'm not dying in this crappy room, Sam," Dean announced with finality, his stance telegraphing his preparation for action.

Terror rifled through Sam's core at Dean's words. Worse still, they instantly meshed in his head with Dean's previous declaration, 'I'm not dying in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot.'

Watching as Sam's face lost all its color, Dean regretted his choice of words. "Not like I'm planning on dying or anything.." he lamely reassured, his tone slipping into the mocking humor as he broke his defiant stance by shuffling onto his right leg.

"You won't die," Sam swore, voice cracking, eyes burning as they seared into Dean's. Erasing the weakness from his tone, he vowed boldly, "I won't let you die, Dean. I've got your back today."

The tone struck a chord with Dean, reminding him of the bold promise his brother had made him in that hospital. His own words ran through his head, 'I'm going to die and there's nothing you can do to stop it' and then Sam's confident rejoinder played in stereo, "Watch me." Wearily, Dean hung his head a moment before raising his eyes to his brother's feverishly obstinate gaze. "Look, Sam. I'm not asking.."

"You don't have to ask me to protect you," Sam declared, resolve blazing from his very soul. Then, with a smirk on his lips, he tacked on, "It's all part of the inclusive brother package, you know."

"Why does that put the fear of God into me?' Dean grumbled but the soft light in his eyes belied his tone. Sighing loudly, Dean relented, "Fine, get my back if I need it but," and his eyes darkened and his tone dropped a few degrees, "I'm not staying in here, Sam. That's the deal, take it or leave it."

Knowing when to walk away from a winning streak, Sam dropped his hand holds on the doorway and turned to his side, allowing Dean ample room to step by him.

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Dean began to walk by Sam, playfully landing a backhanded slap into his brother's stomach as he passed. Unprepared for the hit, Sam flinched and his breath whooshed out of him. An evil chuckle emanated from his brother, who had begun to walk toward the stairs. Regaining his breath, Sam instantly shot to Dean's side.

Dean came to a slow halt, looked to Sam, his eyebrows raised. Sam's head tilted in confusion. Quirking one side of his mouth up, Dean humorously reprimanded, "Sam, how about shutting the door to the room so we don't get ripped off while you're out protecting me."

With his face flaming red with embarrassment, Sam hastily turned around and pulled their room door securely shut. 'Good one, Sam. I'm sure Dean is feeling safer already with your sharp intelligence to count on today,' Sam chided himself, seeing that Dean was already making his way down the stairs without his trusty bodyguard.

Touched by Sam's over protectiveness, Dean allowed a smile to grace his lips as he descended the stairs. He, however, did not offer that expression to Sam when he joined him in the parking lot.

Bristling at Dean's smirk and shaking head, Sam knew his brother had every intention of bringing up this 'blonde moment' incident again in the future. Noting that Dean's eyes didn't reflect the humor his brother was projecting, Sam found his gut clenching with worry. Strictly he turned his focus on the business at hand, namely keeping Dean alive. "So, where are we off to?" he asked, striding ahead of Dean to reach the Impala's driver's side door before Dean. Tensed for an argument and his brother's belligerent presence trying to shove him away from the driver's side, Sam was shocked when Dean pointedly walked past the car and headed for the street. "Dean?" he called out with surprise and confusion.

Turning around and walking backwards, his eyes meeting Sam's, Dean rhetorically asked, "Do I really have to quote the number of fatalities that happen in cars every day, Sam?"

Releasing the car door like it was on fire, Sam quickly abandoned the Impala and jogged to Dean's side. Together the brothers stepped onto the sidewalk, shoulder to shoulder. "Did that happen last time?" Receiving no reply, Sam gave a silent curse as he remembered his brother's current hearing disability. Slipping to Dean's right side, Sam repeated his question. "Did that happen last time?" Instead of an answer he got raised eyebrows of confusion from Dean. "You get in an accident in the Impala?" Sam clarified.

"What are you doing, writing a term paper?" Dean shot back, his annoyance unmasked as his sharp eyes took in his surroundings, trying to anticipate nothing short of an anvil dropping on his head.

Sam chided himself, he knew that the direct approach of getting answers only worked one time in a million with his brother. It was foolishness to think this time would be the charm. "No. I just .." he backpedaled, instilling indifference in his tone.

"Well, don't," Dean sharply cut him off, his eyes purposefully not alighting on his brother. A heavy silence fell between the brothers as they walked down the sidewalk of the city. Shooting an assessing look to his younger brother, Dean cringed at Sam's wounded expression. 'Smooth, Dean. He's worried about you and you're biting his head off every two seconds.' Out of the blue, he whined,"Dude, I'm starving, aren't you?"

The brothers' eyes met and though Dean's words were not an apology, they were an olive branch. An offering Sam readily accepted.

"Yeah, I'm hungry," Sam replied, a smile lighting up his eyes. "But it's weird, I feel like I missed breakfast and yet, I'm pretty sure I spent some time this morning contemplating a breakfast menu," he drawled, shooting Dean a fake bewildered look.

Giving Sam a shove that had the taller man stumbling to the right and laughing, Dean grumbled, "Smart aleck. Next time you take the coffee shower."

Sam's smile remained as they made progress down the street. It only took Dean's proclamation of "there", his finger pointing to a restaurant located on the other side of the street, to steal the mirth from the younger man. With alarm, he realized Dean's intention: to jaywalk across the street. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, flinging his arm out in front of Dean and his hand coming to rest on Dean's chest, keeping his brother firmly on the sidewalk. "We're not at a cross walk, Dean," he pointed out as if he thought Dean was not aware that jaywalking was a crime…and would care once he learned it was.

Dean's face creased with incredulity. "What are you now? The crossing guard?" Grabbing Sam's arm determinedly, he made to dislodge it from his path.

Wholly adverse to letting Dean put himself in the way of any traffic, Sam tenaciously stepped in front of his brother, his hand wrapping tightly in Dean's shirt. Now teetering between the curb and the street, Sam accused, "What's up with you! Before you were Mr. Cautious, only walking in the crosswalks with the walking signs!"

Instilled with his ever vigilant protective instincts for his brother, Dean stepped back a few paces until he was able to yank Sam back on to the relative safety of the sidewalk. "Yeah, well, that was before you knew what we were up against," he replied calmly, releasing his grip on Sam. His brother did not reciprocate the action, instead Sam's hold tightened.

His eyebrows wrinkling in confusion, Sam asked in disbelief, "And what? Now that I know you're in danger that gives you the freedom to be reckless!"

"Crossing the street isn't reckless Sam!" Dean shot back sourly. With an upward sweep of his right arm, he knocked Sam's hand free of its grip on his shirt. Sidestepping to the right, he found Sam there, blocking his path, wearing that formidable expression Dean had seen him level at their father.

"We're not crossing the street, Dean," Sam commanded, standing to his full height, body tense, fully prepared to do whatever was necessary. Inside, Sam's heart was pounding in his chest. He knew he was drawing a line in the sand, terrified of the repercussion of the actions he was willing to take if Dean opted to saunter across the line.

Intuitively, Dean understood the ledge he and Sam now balanced upon. One wrong move, one wrong word and irreparably damage could shake the very foundation their relationship stood upon. Easing his stance, Dean lightly mocked, "So if there's no restaurant on this block, I have to starve?"

Swallowing his terror and overwhelming relief at his brother's surrender, Sam gave a small smile, "Like you always say, every city plan involves a fast food joint on every corner. Guess we're about to prove your theory." Unconsciously, Sam latched onto Dean's arm, turned him right and began to propel him down the sidewalk.

Sam's manipulative hold sparked memories Dean wanted to forget. Memories of Sam helping him stand up, to walk, to sit…to make his way down to the second row of Roy LeGrange's miracle tent. 'Some miracle for Marshall Hall! One second he was alive and the next he was dying so I could live. Well, no one's dying for me today!'

Startling Sam, Dean growled, "Stop manhandling me, Sam!" Ripping his arm free of Sam's grasp, he angrily stalked down the street, unmindful whether his brother followed. "This is why I didn't want to tell you about the curse. I knew you'd go all.."

"Concerned," Sam supplied with anger, again matching Dean's strides, his eyes on his brother. "Brotherly," he ventured another guess, his voice tight.

"I've handled this curse for the past two years, Sam. Alone," Dean reminded, his tone harsh. "And, maybe you've forgotten, but I've taken care of myself for the past 22 years!" his eyes spearing Sam.

The declaration was as close as Dean had ever come to condemning their Dad's fathering abilities, of hinting at the weight he had had to bear because of John Winchester's failing. Suddenly Sam found his eyes burning. Watching the traffic, he swallowed, struggling to marshal his emotions. Focusing on Dean, he spoke, his voice full of gratitude and respect, "I know that, Dean. You took care of yourself and me. I'm not trying to say you can't protect yourself. I'm just saying you don't have to do it alone, not any more."

Stubbornly, Dean refused to look at Sam, to see the compassion in his brother's brown eyes. He wasn't ready to let go of his anger, not yet. Even before Dean spoke, Sam nearly flinched at his brother's censorious glare. A mocking smirk twisted Dean's lips. "Sure, you're here…until you can run back to your real life, can be a person again."

Cursing his poor choice of words in Chicago, Sam drew in a steadying breath, determined to make Dean see his words hadn't been an insult. "Dean, I didn't mean.." but without warning, Dean turned right and disappeared into a building. Forced to backtrack a few paces, Sam followed his brother. As the restaurant's deco assailed his senses, he suddenly felt like he had crossed the border into Mexico.

Already a striking Mexican woman was leading Dean to a table flanking the bar, her smile solely for Dean. Making his own way through the array of occupied tables, Sam arrived in time to hear the flirting tone of the hostess' parting words, "Well, you have a nice lunch."

To Sam's surprise, Dean offered his charming comeback in all Spanish, something that made the woman smile and laugh. Then, putting her hand on Dean's hand, she began to lower herself into the chair at Dean's side.

Before she could claim her seat, a rough man's voice barked from the bar, "Rosita," loud enough to cause most of the patrons of the restaurant to look his way. With an aggravated huff, the hostess turned around and began a rapid fire argument in Spanish with the bartender as she approached him. As their argument continued in louder tones, Dean raised his eyebrows in reaction to the woman's heated words. Inexplicably, he found himself commiserating with the bartender who thought of himself as the hostess's boyfriend. "You're on your own there, dude," he chuckled, shaking his head. Facing Sam, Dean wasn't prepared for his brother's questioning look.

"You know Spanish?' Sam asked, resentment in his voice that this knowledge had been withheld from him.

"Yeah," Dean snapped, his eyes daring Sam to deny the one word statement.

Without further clarification, he looked to the menu.

"How?" Sam pressed, clasping his hands on the table, trying to present the calm façade he used when interrogating witnesses to the supernatural.

His brother's unmistakable belief that he was incapable of knowing another language drove Dean to the end of his already worn patience. Lancing his glare into Sam, he hissed across the table, "I might not have gone to college, but I completed high school, Sam."

The surprise that registered in Sam's eyes was another slap in Dean's face. Laughing bitterly, Dean's eyes turned opaque. "Our family business wasn't the only reason you didn't want me to meet Jess and your other college buddies, was it?" Shaking his head, Dean looked away before the hurt could flicker in his eyes, unwilling to offer up another vulnerable target for Sam to nuke. But he found that he couldn't let the rest remain unsaid. Meeting Sam's gaze head on, his eyes dark and unreadable, Dean conjectured, "It would have hurt your ego, letting them see that you were related to some dim witted guy who barely managed to graduate high school."

Going pale, Sam fervently shook his head in denial. "No. Dean it was never.."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean ordered gruffly, pointedly looking away from Sam and his pitying look.

"But Dean…." Sam tried, his voice insistent.

Facing Sam, Dean growled, "Shut. Up.", the threat in his tone rarely unleashed on Sam. When Sam flinched as if Dean had landed a blow and his eyes instantly skittered away from his older brother, a twinge of guilt stole over Dean. Seeing the convulsive swallows Sam made and the way he was biting his bottom lip didn't ease Dean's remorse. 'For the moment, he's staying. He's here, now, why are you punishing him for doing what you want him to!' The answer was hard and bitter and painful. 'Because he's forcing himself to be here, to care, and he doesn't even think he's a person living this life, doing this job, being with me'. Then, with the force of a tornado, a sorrowful revelation slammed into Dean. 'I should have let him go with Dad. I should be going solo, not Dad. Sam and Dad, they need each other, their sense of loss could bridge the gap that Stanford created. They might finally find a middle ground…..without me around.'

As the idea continued to ricochet through his head,the more certain he believed it was the best plan of action. 'I should call Dad, tell him to come get Sam. I need to do it now, before this day gets any worse.' With that goal in mind, he reached for his phone only to find it missing from his pocket. 'Ah crap, that's right my phone's toast.' With that reminder of his earlier abuse, he unconsciously pressed the palm of his hand over his abused ear, recalling that the muffled hearing and the ringing wasn't normal.

"Is it hurting worse?"

Even with one ear in operation, Dean could detect the concern in his brother's words, could make out the uneven tempo of his tone. Dropping his hand, he shrugged it off, "Nah, its fine," his eyes skimming to Sam to gauge his brother's emotions.

Before Dean could decipher Sam's expression, a plump middle aged waitress came to their table bearing glasses of water and a tired smile. "Do you need a few more minutes to decide?" she asked, causing Sam to become aware of the menu in front of him.

"Bowl of chili," Dean promptly supplied, giving a small smile to the woman as he turned over his menu to her.

She didn't look up as she wrote his order, "Something to drink?"

"Coff.." Dean began to reply.

"Cokes!" Sam contradicted adamantly, shooting Dean an incredulous look like ordering coffee was akin to ordering Cocaine. "For both of us."

Not batting an eyelash at the outburst, the waitress settled her look to Sam. "So what will you be having?"

"Ah…" Sam hedged, his eyes scanning the offering. "The Mexican sampler," he answered after a moment, handling the menu to her.

"I'll be right back with your drinks and some nachos," she informed before turning away from their table.

Distractedly, Sam watched the waitress walk past the bar to disappear behind the kitchen doors.

"So what, now I can't have coffee?" Dean groused under his breath like a child rebelling at his punishment.

"Sure you can," Sam drawled, a light returning to his eyes as he sighted on his slouched brother. "When you show me you can order it without wearing it."

"Funny, Sam, a real gut buster," Dean muttered, feeling his tension ease at Sam's taunt, just like his little brother had intended.

As a more relaxed air fell on the table, Sam was finally able to draw in a full breath again. Of all the types of fighting he hated, fighting with Dean he despised the most. It always left him feeling like a traitor of the worst sort. And then there was the distance it created between him and Dean. He never did have the capacity to endure that level of misery.

As promised, their drinks and complimentary nachos arrived along with two small dishes offering hot and mild sauce. Simultaneously, the each brother sought to deluge their nacho with hot sauce. Their chips collided, sprinkling the small dish with the destroyed nacho crumbs. Their eyes clashing over the nachos, they soon broke into laughter. For too long, they had been focusing on their differences, forgetting how alike they were, how their thoughts could forge together into a fine oiled machine, how often they tended to utter the same exact words at the same exact time. The last was occurring so often as they grew up that Dean had rendered the "jinx" game off limits. Besides, neither boy excelled at silence, especially when it hampered their ability to annoy their sibling.

Retrieving the remains of their respective nachos from the sauce, the brothers crunched contently on the offerings for a few minutes. The silence was one of companionship now, even contentment.

"Dude, you should have seen the dive I stayed at in Mexico!" Dean said after awhile, his enthusiasm for his tale unmasked.

Two of Dean's words, I and Mexico, jolted Sam, their connotations webbing together to snake an invisible stranglehold on him. With his throat suddenly constricted, he forced himself to take a deep gulp of his water and tried to quiet his rampant thoughts. 'Since when do we take on jobs in Mexico (thereby breaking one of our father's strictest rules: "never cross any borders and get yourself subject to a car search")! And where was Dad that time!.' Knowing that uttering either question could jeopardize the truce he and Dean had patched together, Sam instead jokingly challenged, "I can't believe it could be worse than that place in the Everglades."

Dean snorted. "Trust me, it made that joint look like the presidential suite!I swear Jimmy Hoffa could have been buried in the room I was staying in and his decomposing body would have been the only scent that didn't gag me. I mean, the number of bullet holes in the walls…the blood stains…the cockroaches. The good news would have been that the place was haunted and I could dynamite it."

"Was it?" Sam asked carelessly, hoping his tone would lull Dean into confessing what had prompted him to venture across the border.

"Haunted?" Dean scoffed, indicating he didn't believe the old adage that stated that no question was stupid. "Course not. Wasn't what I went down there for." Then he pulled his attention from Sam. Chomping down on more nachos, he took a healthy swallow of his Coke, giving no indication that he would continue his tale.

"Alright," Sam drew out, "so you got my attention. Finish your tale."

"What tale?" Dean innocently asked, raising his eyebrows in mock confusion.

Sighing dramatically, Sam wheeled his hands in front of him, indicating he wanted Dean to come out with it.

Smiling at his willing audience, Dean leaned over the table, his voice low, "Bodies were showing up decapitated, heads remaining MIA. It sounded like some ritual …"

"So you headed down to check it out, alone!" Sam's words were drenched in disapproval.

Choosing to ignore his brother's attitude, Dean replied, his eyes flashing mischievously. "I was in Texas, it was just a skip and a jump away."

Comprehension hit Sam hard. Leaning over the table he lowly growled, "You jumped the border fence? Dean, do you know what could have happened if.."

"I didn't get caught, Sammy," Dean preempted Sam's lecture, offended at even the notion that he couldn't allude a few border patrols.

Clenching his jaw, his teeth protesting, Sam fought to reign in his anger. Reaming out his reckless brother would do him no good. In fact, from past experience he knew it would only result in Dean shutting him out. That was something he couldn't risk, wouldn't risk, especially not today. Taking time to munch on a few more nachos, he coached himself on his next words. Finally he managed to conversationally inquire, "So what kind of ritual was it?" Internally he growled, 'Like I care about the lives of people I've never even met compared to the danger you were in down there, in another country, with hellish prisons, on your own.'

Before Dean could answer, the waitress returned bearing their food. It seemed a role of reversals when Dean was presented with one bowl and Sam's order came on two plates. Picking up his spoon, ready to dive into the chili, Dean was puzzled as Sam moved the nacho basket and sauces to the edge of the table and placed his 2nd plate in the middle of the table. Gearing up to give Sam dirt for being a table hog, Dean was forestalled as Sam spoke.

"You're helping with this," Sam announced, shoving his 2nd plate toward Dean and giving Dean a stern look.

"You ordered it, you eat it," Dean argued back, sounding like Sam had ordered him to eat his vegetables.

"All you ordered was chili, Dean," Sam said reasonably, trying for a lightness and logic he was hoping Dean would accept. Dropping his eyes to his plate, hoping to give off a non ordering vibe, he stated, "I know you can stuff down a taco and burrito with it." When silence met his words, Sam tempted fate enough to sneak a glance across to his brother. The look in Dean's eyes told him his mothering was duly noted and strangely accepted.

"I'm not eating any rice," Dean warned, oddly touched by his brother's concern at his lacking appetite.

"No, of course not. Your body might go into shock if you ate anything with some nutritional value in it," Sam kidded back, surprised when he was hit in the cheek with a few grains of rice. Laughing he pointed his fork at Dean, "Stop it. I'ld hate to have to superglue you to something again."

"Dude, I still haven't forgiven you for that," Dean threatened, the smirk on his face countering his words as he dug his spoon into his chili.

Busy heaping sour cream into his fajita, Sam, hearing Dean gasping for air, jerked his head. Dean's choking! Instantly his first aid knowledge about choking came to the forefront of his thoughts. Intending to scramble to his brother's side and begin the Heimlich maneuver, he halted in his actions when Dean made a desperate grab for his coke glass, downing it instantly. Dropping the empty glass carelessly on the table, Dean latched onto his water glass, draining that too, uncaring that water dribbled down his chin.

Putting together the flush on his brother's face and the tears streaming down his cheek, Sam realized the chili's hot ingredients were the culprit for his brother's predicament. "Here," he offered his half cup of Coke to Dean who readily took the liquid and poured it on the inferno that was his throat. Turning to his water glass, Sam was chagrined that he had already drunk all of his water.

Unexpected laughter emanated from the direction of the bar. It had the power to draw Sam's worried gaze from his brother to the bartender, who was bent over laughing too hard to breathe.

"Gringos," the bartender sputtered in humor and contempt amid his laughter, "they are all alike. Soft."

Torn between leaping across the bar and suffocating the bartender with a hot pepper and trying to aid Dean, Sam turned a measuring look to Dean. Watching Dean wave his hand in front of his open mouth, still grasping for breath, it was no real consideration. "Rice," Sam exclaimed, shoving his plate in front of Dean. "Eat the rice, it'll help."

Without protest, Dean picked up his spoon and shoved the rice into his mouth. It was not an instant relief but the fiery burning was easing with each spoonful. He didn't even question how another two glasses of water suddenly appeared in front of him. The first glass was downed like the others but the second one was slowly drained, the fire simmering down to embers now. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Dean took in deep breaths, his lungs starved for air, feeling as if he had nearly drowned himself, willingly.

Wrapping a hand around his brother's upper arm, Sam gently prodded, "You alright? Should I get milk or more water?"

Surprised to find Sam crouching beside his chair, his dark eyes looking up worriedly at him, Dean took a deep breath, briskly wiping away the tears that had tracked down his cheeks. "Now that…that was waaaaay too hot.." he admitted ruefully.

"Well I think it wasn't their normal recipe," Sam's voice could have cut a diamond, his look shifting over his shoulder to the bartender who was now leaning back against the shelf, a smug look on his features.

Following his brother's gaze to the hostess's boyfriend, the pieces fell together for Dean. "New rule Sammy: Don't piss off the cook by flirting with his girl."

Sam almost pointed out that the guy was a bartender, not the cook but it was simply a moot point. The man had broken Sam Winchester's number one rule: Don't screw with my brother. Satisfied that Dean wasn't going to self combust, Sam came to his feet and began to stalk toward the bartender like a big cat did to his doomed prey. "You're going to be sucking things up by a straw," he promised, his tone a deadly hiss.

"Bring it on gringo," the bartender taunted, waving his hand forward and stepping up to the bar to be closer to his opponent.

Flying from his chair in haste, Dean barely made it in front of Sam before his younger brother reached the bar. "Whoa," he interceded, his hands on his brother's chest. Sam's eyes continued to blaze over his shoulder at the bartender. "Sam," Dean demanded his hands gripping Sam's shirt and doling out a stern shake. Rewarded with Sam's heated brown gaze, Dean quoted their father's sage advice, "Pick your fights wisely, Sammy." Letting the tension ease from him, Sam nodded his head, earning his freedom from Dean's fierce hold.

"Alright, let's just finish our meal," Dean proposed, turning back to their table, aware too late that Sam was not at his side. Spinning around, he saw Sam haul the bartender practically over the bar and harshly plow a right cross into the other man's jaw. With a moan, the man sank down out of sight behind the bar.

Turning around and coming face to face with Dean's raised eyebrows, demanding an explanation, Sam shrugged. As he casually walked past his brother, Sam off handedly confessed, "I picked that fight." Reclaiming his chair, Sam spotted the waitress's shocked face among the stunned onlookers. "Could we get some more drinks? And I think there's something wrong with the chili," he called to her as if nothing strange had occurred in the last few minutes.

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"Sam, that…" Dean smiled, pointing to Sam, pride in his eyes, as they exited the restaurant "that was cool. 'Could we get some more drinks? And I think there's something wrong with the chili," Dean mimicked, giving Sam a congratulatory punch on the arm. "I loved that, man."

"Just taking a page out of the master's book," Sam explained, unable to wipe the giddy smile off his face at his brother's compliments.

"Yeah, Dad can do that whole .." Dean began to agree, envy lurking in his tone.

"Not Dad. You, stupid!" Sam corrected, laughter in his tone even as he fought to smother the discontent that flared in him when he realized that Dean didn't know how cool he was. Catching Dean's jacket in his hand as they made their way down the sidewalk, he sputtered in laughter, "I still remember the look on that guy's face up in Maine when you.." He never finished his sentence. The sound of a tire blowing shattered the quiet of the afternoon and then the pickup truck swerved across traffic, jumped the sidewalk and made a beeline for Dean.

TBC

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Again, I hope the chapter turned out OK. Love to hear your thoughts on it. To make up for the long wait for this chapter, I'm hoping to post the next chapter by Wednesday!

Thanks to all my reviewers! You guys are so wonderfully supportive and I appreciate that!

Thanks for reading!

Cheryl W.