somewhere in the middle of chapter 12 maybe? I'm not the most consistent writer.

Nick wasn't particularly fond of Dean Winchester. It wasn't like the man had ever done anything wrong specifically… except for breaking his hand- but Nick had kind of earned that one so it didn't count. In the grand scheme of things, the big picture, he just didn't like him.

But Sam liked his big brother. Really liked him in a way that was almost fanatic. And Nick was fairly sure that Sam wouldn't have seen it that way, but at the same time Sam had been drunk off his ass while he explained the perfection of the man. While he told Nick how his big brother had kept him safe- which felt like a very relative term- from their alcoholic father while growing up. Drunk and slurring and talking with little to no emotion at all as he showed Nick old scars, leaning against him and tossing back shots of whisky like a pro. Quietly asking Nick if it was ok for him to stay for a few days.

Dean wouldn't mind. Maybe he hated Nick, but he would understand.

And of course it was fine.

Sam could move in and never leave if that is what he was asking. If that's what he needed.

Just a few days.

And Nick agreed, feeling so unjustly protective, so angry that it hurt. Too angry for words, so he nodded and kept an arm around Sam until the kid hid his face in Nick's throat and fell asleep with the grace that only the truly drunk can manage. Boneless and murmuring.

And Dean had sent Sam here to keep him safe, so maybe the guy wasn't all that bad.

Even now, years and a few thousand miles away from what sounded like a possibly criminal childhood, and Dean was still keeping Sam safe.

Maybe Nick just didn't like their dad.

Despite what some people might think, Nick had grown up in what he considered a positively loving environment. Sure, his mom had been a drug addict, but she'd always done her best to take care of him. Made sure he had food. Made sure he had clothes and a place to sleep. And when she could no longer provide those things, she made sure that he went to someone who could. That was love as far as he could tell. His father had had no fucking clue what to do with Nick- but that hadn't stopped him from trying his best to do right by the wide eyed little boy who arrived on his doorstep. And he'd done alright in the long run. Four sons, none of them currently in jail, none of them with any addictions to illicit or illegal substances. All with good jobs and decent educations.

And Nick could see that same intention that his father had in the way that Sam talked about his big brother.

But even knowing that, all those good intentions, Nick still didn't like talking to the guy.

"How's he doing?"

Nick looked down the hall at the lump that he'd left in his room, then back to the phone. "He's passed out drunk in my bed."

"He drank? God. How much?"

"Almost half a bottle of whisky." He said after looking at the abandoned game of checkers.

"Damn it." Dean sighed over the phone, voice oddly hushed like this conversation was something of a secret. "He's… he's not good at drinking."

"He seemed pretty capable to me." Nick looked away from the little pile of shot glasses.

"If you got my brother drunk and did anything weird to him-"

"Like what? What the fuck do you think I would do to him?" Nick half sat up, bristling, all that anger boiling right back up to the surface.

"Like take advantage of him while he's all college-girl drunk. Because I swear to god-"

"What kind of sick fuck do you think I am?" Nick almost threw his phone. Temper. Temper. Temper. But he swallowed it down, biting his tongue.

"I don't know, man." Dean took a hard breath, rasping over the phone, almost apologetic. "But he's my brother and he's not ok. Not if he's been drinking."

"He's alright. He's just sleeping it off."

"I can come get him. Take his sorry ass back home."

"No. It's alright. He asked if he could stay here for a few days. I don't mind."

Dean made hesitant noises. "He's… he's coming down with a cold or something."

"Is he?" Mind you, Sam had been otherwise occupied in his emotions and thoughts, no real room for mentioning any under the weather type feelings.

"He's… yeah. I… I'll pack up some clothes for him if you wanna' swing by." He chuckled roughly. "Be like I'm sending him off to one of those summer camps he always wanted to go to."

Nick felt an unwilling chuckle tear at his throat. "Ok, mom. I'll be by in about half an hour."

He lied. He was there in about twenty minutes, only after leaving water, Tylenol and a note in the bathroom where Sam was sure to find it. Dean met him at the front door holding a paper bag packed with sundries that the man thought his brother might need over the next few days. Nick couldn't help it, peeking into the bag curiously. Some clothes, a toothbrush, bottle of NyQuil, and…

"Condoms?" He glanced back up at Dean.

The man had the decency to shrug in a way that was ever so slightly embarrassed. "I'm only assuming that you've apologize to him," more of a warning and less of a suggestion, "and once he's feeling better you two are going to make up for that week you missed being angry at each other. And you fucking better be having safe sex. I hear gay guys can catch all kinds of things if they aren't careful."

"You… you really thought of everything." Would it be inappropriate to say thank you?

"Yes." Dean said firmly before handing over a large tuperware that was still hot to the touch. "The soup's for him. Not you." Which was followed by a meaningful look.

"When did you have time to make him soup?" They'd only just barely gotten off the phone.

"I started making it this morning before he rolled his sick ass out of bed."

Nick looked down at the armful of brotherly love and wondered if he caught sick… if any of his brothers would go through even half as much trouble for him. Probably not. Though Gabriel might start calling dibs on his stuff if things looked bad enough.

"You take good care of him."

"Like he was my own brother."

"I've seen how you treat your brothers."

"Like he was my own Sam."

"Fair enough." Dean rubbed at his face, glancing back over his shoulder like he was expecting someone to come up behind him. "Keep an eye on him. Ok?" There was a lot of unspoken something in that little bit of a request.

"Ok." He swore the most solemn of all promises.

And he tried. He really did. It wasn't his fault that he got the same damn cold as Sam. Germs all over his stupid apartment and by day two he was just as sick, curled up in bed beside Sam, coughing up a lung. There was a while that they shared their misery, then the younger man was on the mend and he took it on himself to look after Nick.

Maybe he didn't have a brother to come keep an eye on him when he felt half dead.

But he had a Sam.

A fake boyfriend and friend.

It was just as good.

Maybe better.