Chapter Eleven

Last time on 'I Wanna Know Why'…

Dean wasn't helping his little brother with his nightmare for a very simple reason. He was trapped in one of his own. Sweaty hairs clung to his brow as he thrashed and tossed and turned in his bed, his covers kicked down to his waist, tangled around his legs. Dean was soaked in cold sweat, his breath coming in quick, shallow, gasps.

Sam watched his older brother for a couple of minutes. It still felt strange for him to watch Dean like that, to see his brother having nightmares. He used to have them all the time for a while, right after the accident, but he always refused to talk about them, pretending they had never happened.

Dean was in pretty bad shape for a while. Things got a little better after their father had left them again. Dean stopped having nightmares after that. He hasn't had one since, Sam was sure about that. Well, pretty sure. Almost positive. Surely, he'd notice if his brother had had a nightmare, he was a light sleeper after all… Dean couldn't have hidden something like that from him, he wouldn't. Would he? Sam took a deep breath, rolling his eyes and exhaling loudly. Of course he would! He was Dean after all, wasn't he? That stupid, arrogant, irritating, self-sacrificing jerk! Sam had a sudden urge to strangle his brother, or at the very least, punch him really, really hard.

On with the story now, shell we?

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Dean had been having nightmares all his life, even when he was awake. Because, really, the things he did, the things he faced with every day, those were the things nightmares were made of.

'You can't bring it home with you, kiddo, you have to leave those thoughts out the door when you come back, or you'll never survive.' That's the advice his dad had given him when he was twelve and the nightmares became so frequent he hadn't slept through the night for an entire week. And Dean tried, he really tried to leave it all behind. It's just that sometimes, things crept up on him, attacked him in his sleep.

He forced himself not to cry, not to shout, not to show any sign that he had had a nightmare. He was a man. Even at twelve. He had to set an example for Sam. Sam had such awful nightmares, he was such a sensitive kid. So Dean decided not to have nightmares anymore, and that was that. Or at least, he made damn sure no one knew he kept having them.

The nightmares grew farther and farther apart as he grew up, but still, every once in a while, a really nasty one would sneak up on him and make him wish he hadn't fallen asleep. He accepted it; it was a hazard of the job, after all.

But ever since that night at the cabin the nightmares came far too often for Dean's liking. He had different nightmares, but they were all basically the same; Sam leaving because he hated this life and everything to do with it, including Dean. Or nightmares where both his father and his brother had left, because they didn't need him. Because they didn't want him. Because he wasn't good enough. Nightmares of countless of hunts going wrong, all ending up at the same place. All ending up at that cabin.

Sometimes, it was Sam who had been possessed by the Demon, Sam saying all those things to him, saying how stupid Dean was, how useless, how pathetic. Sam ripping him to shreds and leaving him behind to bleed to death. On one or two occasions, it had even been his mother, smiling at him with those yellow eyes as she took pleasure in his suffering.

She didn't talk to him. She said his name, but then went right past him and over to Sam. The favorite. The special one. The one that mattered. And he was left alone, discarded, and more often than not, dying without anyone noticing or caring. They were all busy rushing over to Sam. Hell, even the monsters favored Sam.

"You fight, and you fight for this family, but the truth is, they don't need you. Not like you need them. Sam? He's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you…" And Dean knew. Deep down in his heart, he knew the Demon wasn't lying. After all, why bother lying when the truth hurt so much more?

God, he just wanted it over. He wanted to put it all behind and move on. Forget, repress, and never think about any of it ever again. But how could he? How could he move on, when those nightmares kept forcing him to relive it over and over and over again? It was almost as if someone didn't want it to be over, as if someone didn't want him to get past it, to be able to move on. As if someone relished in his suffering.

Sam.

Dad.

The Entire. Freaking. World.

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Dean's face creased in discomfort, his head swayed restlessly from side to side, as his hands clenched into fists. His chest heaved, sweat trickling down his brow. Sam couldn't watch it anymore. He touched Dean's arm gently, calling his brother's name. Dean's breathing quickened, the expression on his face making Sam's heart ache. Sam called out to Dean again, touching his shoulder this time, but Dean still didn't wake up. Frowning, Sam grabbed both Dean's shoulders, giving his brother a little shake.

Dean woke with a gasp, and Sam quickly grabbed his wrists as Dean, still disoriented, was about to punch him.

"Dean, it's okay, it's me." Sam said soothingly, trying to calm his brother down. Dean's eyes darted everywhere. He was hyperventilating, straggling against Sam's hold of his wrists.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out, gasping. Sam inched a little closer to his brother.

"Hey, hey, Dean, it's okay. It's me. It's okay, everything's okay, it was just a nightmare." Sam said, watching his brother to see the effect his words had on the older Winchester. For a moment, Dean still searched the room warily, before his eyes locked once again on his younger brother.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice shaking.

"Yeah, Dean, it's me." Sam said, letting go of Dean's wrists as the older brother stopped straggling. He placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, a little worried when Dean didn't shrug it off. "You okay?" Sam asked. Dean swallowed, looking around again, as if waiting for something to jump at him from the shadows. "Dean?" Dean cleared his throat.

"Yeah," he said gruffly, "Yeah, I'm fine. Dude, get off me." He said, pushing Sam away. Sam stared at his older brother for a few moments, gauging to see what was going to happen next. When nothing did, he asked,

"You want to talk about it?" Dean snorted.

"Sure." He said, "And then we can paint each other's toe nails and braid each other's hair." He said sarcastically, laying back against the headboard, "I bet there'll be plenty of braids on that mop of yours, I'd probably have to work on it all night long."

"Hey, I cut my hair three months ago!" Sam interjected.

"Uh, if it's long enough to get in your eyes, and it's long enough for birds to think they can nest in it, it's too long!" Dean shot back. "And trimming half an inch doesn't count as a haircut." He added grumpily, closing his eyes. God, he was tired. But those sights kept replaying themselves behind his closed lids, and so he forced his eyes open. Oh, great. The lost puppy stare. That thing should be illegal! "What, Sam?"

"Are you sure everything's okay, Dean?" Sam insisted. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Sam…" he said in a tone of voice that clearly stated it was the end of that discussion. Sam sighed, relenting, and moved back over to his own bed, resting against his own headboard. He tugged at his blanket, pulling it higher and tighter around him. He sighed, closing his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. And then he remembered the reason he woke up in the first place. Yep, sleep was definitely out the window for him.

Sam considered turning the TV on, watching it in mute, but he figured it would bother Dean. Sam turned to look at his brother. Dean was lying on his back, his arms folded under his head as he stared at the ceiling. Apparently, Dean wasn't really in the mood to go back to sleep, too. Sam wondered what Dean might be thinking. Sometimes, he wished his 'Shining' thing came with the ability to get in Dean Winchester's head and figure out what the hell was going on in there. If women were from Venus, and men were from Mars, then Dean was from another freaking galaxy altogether. Sam sighed again, this time actually looking to see Dean's reaction. There wasn't any.

Sam was just beginning to feel the pull of sleep when Dean called out his name. He said it so quietly that, for a moment, Sam thought that he had only imagined it. He turned on his side, looking at Dean, just to make sure.

Dean was still staring at the ceiling, one arm still folded under his head while the other lay on his stomach. Dean was biting his lip, a sure sign that something was bothering him.

"Dean?" Sam asked, knowing that if he didn't, this might never go any farther than that. Dean glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, clearing his throat. Sam leaned against his elbow, propping himself up a little so he could see Dean better, but Dean didn't say anything. Sam sighed. "Dean?" he asked again, trying to coax his brother to speak with the gentle tone of his voice. This time, Dean turned his head to look at him, still biting his lip. It seemed to Sam like Dean was a million miles away. There was a long moment of silence. Dean cleared his throat a couple more times. He wanted to talk. Sam knew that he did, but for some reason, his brother was finding it too hard. Sam hated that. He hated that Dean couldn't talk to him. Hated even more the idea that maybe Dean could talk to him, but wouldn't.

"Sam," Dean said eventually, turning his eyes away from his little brother and back towards the ceiling. He took a deep breath and just let it out. "If you could do it all over again, if you had the chance to go back and do things… I don't know, different. Would you?" Dean asked, his voice a little husky. Sam raised a brow, completely taken by surprise by that question. He opened his mouth to speak a couple of times, but couldn't think of anything to say. This question came from left field, giving him no warning whatsoever. Dean cleared his throat again. "I mean," he went on in a small voice, "you know, the whole leaving for college stuff." Dean added. Sam laid back on his back, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. Where had that come from?

For a long moment that seemed to stretch forever, neither brother spoke. They both lay there, looking everywhere but at the other, and then Sam sat up, leaning against the headboard.

"No." He said in a small voice, and turned to look at Dean's reaction. Dean just kept staring at the ceiling, saying nothing. "Dean," Sam tried, but Dean ignored him. Sam scratched his cheek and ran his fingers through his hair. The silence in the room was suffocating, there was tension in the air, and Sam hated it. He had to explain, it was obvious that Dean didn't understand. "Dean," he started again, but Dean cut him off.

"Did you even miss me in all that time you were away? Did you even care what happen to me? To us?" Dean asked, and the raw emotion in his voice cut through Sam like a knife. "Was it really that easy to just pack up and leave, not looking back?"

"What?" Sam straightened, staring incredulously at Dean, "Dean!" at that, Dean gave him a weak smile and a shrug.

"It's okay," he said, returning his eyes back to the ceiling. "I understand, Sam."

"Like hell you do!" Sam cried, his heart speeding. What the hell was Dean thinking? "Dean, of course I missed you! I missed you all the time! Have you any idea how many times I wished you were there so I could tell you things? So I could tell you how I impressed my Latin professor, or how well I did in one of the toughest courses where almost everyone else failed? Do you have any idea how much I wanted you there after I first met Jess?" he asked, throwing his legs off the bed and sitting so he could look at Dean better. Dean turned his head to look at him, but didn't say a thing. "Dean, man, I kept having these stupid imaginary talks with you." Sam said, his voice a little softer as a shadow of a smile crossed his lips. He shook his head. "I always used to think 'What would Dean do? What would Dean say?'" Sam licked his lips, and still, Dean didn't respond.

"I hated being away from you, Dean. I was so used to you being there…" Sam said, shaking his head. He swallowed, giving his brother a weak smile. "But I had to do it. I had to leave, and if I had to do it again, I still would have left." He said. At that, Dean looked away, staring at the ceiling again. Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "Dean, you gotta understand. I hated that life. I hated hunting. I still do." He paused, looking at Dean, but his brother's face was an unreadable mask. "I hate the way dad used to treat us, still treats us. Like we're little kids, like we can't think for ourselves, like we can't possibly have a better idea." Sam went on, "I hated living in his shadow, living in your shadow. I hated living his life, and not mine." Sam shook his head again, staring at his hands.

"I just… I needed to get out. I needed to find out who I was, who I am." Sam said. "Dean,"

"Yeah, whatever, Sam." Dean stopped him. "I hope you found what you were looking for, little brother. I really do." He said, and then grabbed his pillow, rearranging it.

For the longest of moments, a heavy silence hung in the air. The silence felt awkward, and there was tension in the air.

Sam knew the night was over. He wasn't going to get anymore sleep. He got out of bed, pacing the room, glancing at Dean every couple of seconds. Dean had both his arms under his head again. His eyes were closed, but Sam knew he wasn't sleeping.

That was the last thing they needed right now, the last thing Sam needed. He already felt bad about Dean's birthday, and now this. Why did Dean have to ask him that question? Why did it have to be now? And why was he being so damn quiet? What was he thinking? Why wasn't he saying anything? Yell, get angry, say I'm a selfish bustard, just say something, anything other than 'I hope you found what you were looking for'. What does it mean, Dean? Did you find what you were looking for?

Sam couldn't stand it anymore. Couldn't stand the silence. Couldn't stand the guilt. Couldn't stand the tension between himself and his brother. Even when they were kids and fought each other, even when they were teenagers and Sam resented Dean for always siding with their dad, there was never this tension between them. He racked his fingers through his hair, clasping them behind his neck as he exhaled loudly.

"Dean, come on, man." He said, "Look, I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do anymore, Dean." He said desperately. At that, Dean opened his eyes, looking questioningly at Sam.

"About what?" Dean asked, arching a brow. Sam shook his head, smiling awkwardly and swallowing.

"About you." he said, "About us. About this whole freaking thing." He scratched his neck, sitting back down on his bed. "It's all so messed up, and I don't know how to fix it!" he cried exasperatedly.

"Yeah, me neither." Dean said eventually, after a long, nerve wracking pause. Wait, what? Did I hear right? Sam wondered, almost smiling, did Dean just openly admit something really was going on? That something really was wrong? Huh. I can see the front page of tomorrow's paper already. Pigs flying in Texas, storm system so cold that hell froze over.

"Dean, I'm sorry, man." Sam said after yet another uncomfortable silence.

"For what?" Dean said dryly, not looking at him. Sam shook his head.

"It's my fault." He said, "I'm having all those visions about the Demon, I should have known something was wrong. I should have known it wasn't really dad…" Sam said. He had thought that getting it off his chest would make him feel better. That he'd feel less guilty for everything that happened to Dean in that cabin. He was wrong. Dean gave him a long look, and then turned away again, saying nothing. Sam swallowed hard, feeling so much worse.

"I mean, I have this… power," he went on, the word leaving a bad taste in his mouth. "I'm the one the Demon wants, I'm the reason all this has happened…"

"Sam,"

"Mom, Jess – they died because of me! It's my fault!" Sam snapped, "And then it was killing you, right in front of me, and I couldn't even… The gun was right there!" he cried, raising his voice in frustration. He looked guiltily at Dean, who just stared at him, and his silence was worse than anything he might have said. "It's my fault you nearly died, man. It's all my fault." Sam's voice cracked at the end, his eyes welling up. He swallowed hard, unable to look at his older brother. And still, Dean didn't say anything. Sam smiled miserably, shaking his head.

The ironic thing was that right now, Sam needed Dean more than anything. He needed Dean to help him deal, to tell him what to do, how to handle this unbelievingly difficult conversation. And yet it was Dean he was talking to, Dean he was having this uncomfortable moment with. And Dean still didn't say anything. He didn't say what Sam wanted to hear, what Sam needed to hear.

"It wasn't your fault, Sam." Dean said eventually, pushing himself up on his elbows and looking at his younger brother. Oh. But still… "None of it's your fault." Dean said, letting himself drop back into his pillow, looking away from Sam again. For some reason, these words weren't encouraging. They sounded hollow to Sam.

"Dean,"

"Now, if we're done with this precious Dr. Phil moment, can we just get back to sleep now? 'Cause seriously, Sam, we keep doing this talking thing, I'm gonna really have some nightmares." Dean interjected, not letting Sam continue. Sam shook his head, sighing, staring at his brother. This still wasn't right. Dean still wasn't right. And Sam still didn't know how to fix it.

Feeling his little brother's stare practically baring a hole into him, Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, God, I swear Sammy, you try to hug me, and I'll make you watch the fabric softener teddy bear commercials for three hours straight!" he snapped, though there was no real irritation in his voice. Sam smiled, letting out a small laugh, and laid back in his bed.

The two of them lay there in silence for what felt like ages, but must have only been minutes, before Sam spoke up again.

"Dean?"

"Oh, jeez, now what?"

"Happy birthday, man." Sam said, not looking at his brother.

"Thanks." Dean said, a little awkwardly, a few moments later.

"You thought I forgot, didn't you?" Sam asked. He could practically hear Dean's eye roll.

"Just go to sleep, Sir Sigh-A-Lot." Dean said tiredly, and Sam smiled.

"Alright," he said, "but then you won't get your present." He added a couple of seconds later.

"You got me a present?" Dean sounded a little more surprised than Sam would have liked.

"Nah, I'm just teasing you, man." Sam joked, but Dean failed to play along. Pushing himself up on his elbows, Sam turned on the nightlight. Dean winced at the offending light, covering his eyes with his arm.

"Urgh! Dude, turn it off!" he cried.

"You want your present, don't you?" Sam asked, reaching for his backpack and taking out a little wrapped package. Getting up, he walked over to Dean's bed, sitting down. "Happy birthday, Dean." He said as he gave Dean his gift. Dean sat up in bed, looking hesitantly from Sam to the little bag in his hand. "Well? Come on, man, open it!" Sam urged him.

"Dude!" Dean breathed as he saw what was inside, making Sam grin.

He felt a little guilty for remembering Dean's birthday at the last minute, and then having Lynn come up with the perfect idea for a present, but the look on Dean's face as he took out the three CDs, turning them over in his hands… That was worth everything.

He had gotten him three CDs. It wasn't much, but it was a start, a way to recreate his collection. There was an AC/DC CD, a Metallica one, and a mixed one, with some of Dean's favorites. Sam thought of buying something newer, too, something from the nineties, maybe, to keep things interesting. But he figured Dean would just toss him out of the car along with the CD…

It was a start. A small token. He'll just have to work harder on replacing the rest of Dean's missing tapes. And least that way, there will be something to cover up the silence in the car…

TBC