As much as Sammy's talkativeness can really annoy me, the times he doesn't talk really bother me. It was the next morning. Sam was packed and waiting, sitting on his bed, waiting for me to finish packing up so we could get on the road. He hadn't said much since he woke up. Since our two a.m. conversation. Not that I was in much of a mood for talking either. I just knew that Sam thinking now meant a lot of me listening later.

"Dean?"

Guess it was gonna be sooner rather than later.

"Yeah?"

"When do you think Dad first knew something was wrong with me?"

"Oh let's not have that conversation again." I told him. I was so not in the mood. Sam huffed a little and tried again.

"When do you think he first knew something was going on with me?"

"I don't know. He never said anything to me until - y'know - just before he died."

"Yeah." Sam nodded but he looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "But - was there anything, any change, anything different? Ever?"

"Nothing I can think of." And really, nothing stood out in my memory. Except -

"What?" Sam asked and leaned towards me. He could read my face as easily as I could read his.

"You were eleven. You'd just turned eleven." I stopped packing and turned to face Sam. "Dad started taking me with him on actual hunts when I was thirteen and anything he thought was too dangerous for you to come along, you stayed with Pastor Jim."

Sam nodded kind of impatiently. I was telling him what he already knew.

"This was a couple of months after your birthday, school was over. Dad took me with him to a possession in Indiana. You remember? It slammed my hand in the door and broke my fingers?"

"I remember your hand, but I don't remember anything with Dad."

"He had me wait in another room while he did the exorcism, because of my hand maybe, I don't know. The demon was saying something to Dad, but I couldn't hear what it was saying, I could just make out Dad reciting the prayers. All of a sudden, I heard the demon being expelled, and Dad came rushing out of there. The lady's husband was there, she was alive and Dad told him to get her to a hospital and call us if anything else happened, then we booked outta there like we were on fire."

"Headed where?" Sam asked.

"To you. That's what it came down to. We drove all day and night to get to Pastor Jim's, got there nearly midnight."

"How do you know it had something to do with me?"

How did I know? What was the biggest difference between that time and any other time we got back from being on a hunt without Sammy?

"Dad woke you up, and he never did that. I mean - yeah, he always checked on you when we got back from a hunt, always went up to the room just to make sure. But this time he woke you up."

SPN SPN SPN

"John, I wasn't expecting you for another hour." Pastor Jim said as he opened the front door. Dad didn't answer him, just pushed past at a rush, through the front room to the hallway and the staircase where he grabbed the banister and flung himself up to the second floor. Pastor Jim looked at me for answer.

"He was doing eighty all the way from the state line."

"What happened to your hand?"

I lifted my right hand, all four fingers taped and splinted in a slightly curled position. 'Form of function' Dad called it when he did me up.

"Didn't move fast enough out of a doorway. Sammy okay?"

"Sleeping. At least he was. What's wrong?"

"I don't know."

I threw myself up those stairs too, wondering what I was going to find. But it was only Sam, sitting up, looking really tired and a little confused. Dad was sitting on the bed in front of him, holding Sammy's face in his hands, staring at him like he was trying to see through him.

"Hey Dad. What's going on?" Sammy sounded as tired as he looked.

"Nothing. Nothing kiddo. Just wanted to see you. You okay? You doin' okay?"

"Yeah Dad. Are you and Dean okay?"

"Dean got his hand caught in a door, got his fingers all banged up."

"He did?"

"Yeah, he did. He's okay though. You can see it in the morning. Go back to sleep now, okay? I have to go talk to Pastor Jim."

Dad stood up and tapped my shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Bed, Dean. You've had a long day."

"But Dad - what's going on?'

"Nothing."

He was lying; I could tell. And I'm pretty sure he could ell that I could tell.

"Go to bed Dean. Sammy, back to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

I nodded, and then waited until he was gone and knelt down next to the heat register in the floor where I knew I'd be able to hear what was going on downstairs.

"Dean?"

"Shh Sammy. Go back to sleep."

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Listening."

"Dad doesn't like when we listen."

"And if you'll be quiet and go back to sleep, Dad won't know."

Sammy got out of bed though and sat down next to me.

"What're you listening for?" He knew enough at least to whisper.

"I don't know yet, that's why I'm listening."

We sat there awhile, Sammy got sleepy again and rested up against me while I tried to hear what was going on below us. I couldn't make out much, I could hear their tone better than their words. Something serious was going on. I needed to get closer to the grate to hear better.

"Sammy? Sammy - sit up. I need to move here." I tried to keep my voice to a whisper.

He mumbled something that sounded like 'don't wanna'.

"Y'gotta move Sam, c'mon." But all he did was shift like he was trying to get more comfortable.

"Sammy."

"What?"

That did it. A second later I heard Dad coming up the stairs.

"Crap." I scrambled up, pulling Sammy with me, forgetting that my hand was mush and making it hurt like hell. "Sam - get back in bed. Get in bed." In my pain and panic, I pushed him to my still unused bed, and I dove into his, still dressed even to my boots, and pulled the blankets up over my head.

"Dean." That was Dad. In the room. Crrrrrap. I surrendered to the inevitable and threw the blankets back.

"When I told you to go to bed, what did you think I meant?" Dad asked me.

"To go to bed."

"Hunh, got it in one. So what are you gonna do now?"

"Go to bed."

"Look at that - two for two." Dad had his hands on his hips, but he looked more tired than pissed, unlike Sammy who was just sitting there, looking equal parts tired and confused still.

"Yessir." I said, and I meant it. Trying to hear what was going on wasn't worth the risk after the first warning.

"Dad?" Sam asked.

"Yeah kiddo?" Dad's expression softened a little when he looked at Sam. "How come you're in the wrong bed?"

"Are you gonna sleep in here tonight?"

It wasn't an out of nowhere question; sometimes Dad stayed with us at night at Pastor Jim's, when we used to be little, when we were sick or hurt.

"You want me to?"

"Dean's hurt."

Dad looked back at me, asking my opinion, maybe even my approval.

"Yeah." I said. These were old beds, antiques even. Bigger than twin, not all the way full. "Sam 'n me can share."

"Okay. When I'm done talking with Pastor Jim about our next hunt, I'll turn in here. You boys go to bed now. Both of you."

We agreed and Dad left again. I pulled off my jeans and boots and Sam helped me pull the blankets apart so we each had our own and then he got into the bed with me, both of us assuming the universal position of brothers sharing a bed: back to back, as far apart as physics and gravity would allow.

"You're okay?" He asked me over his shoulder.

"Yeah. Of course you're gonna have to scratch my nose for me for the next couple of weeks."

"Ewww - that's gross."

"Yeah, remind me to tell you the top ten grossest things you ever put into your mouth when you were a baby." I said. "Go to sleep Sam."

"Okay..."

SPN SPN SPN

"After that..." I told Sam, gesturing between us, "...we were always together. I mean, it wasn't much different from before, take care of you, protect you, annoy you at all cost." Sam rolled his eyes at that, but it was as true as the rest. "Just that one night, something really seemed to - I don't know - scare Dad."

"Did I scare Dad?"

"Yeah, that's why he took your head off every time you guys argued, because he was scared of you." That made perfect logic to me, but Sam looked at me, waiting for something more. "You didn't scare Dad. You don't scare me. How many times do I have to tell you Sammy? Scared for you, not of you."

He nodded, still working on it, but a little closer to believing it than he was before.

"So - Pastor Jim knew?"

"I suppose that's what Dad was talking to him about. No way of knowing now."

"He never did anything, or said anything, or treated me any way like he thought there was anything -."

I gave Sammy a look, telling him 'don't say "wrong"...'

" - different about me."

I could feel my aggravation level rising again. Was Sammy so fixated on being different because he hated it or because he enjoyed it? Or was that even fair?

"There was nothing different about you. If Dad learned something about you, then all that changed was what he knew about you. You didn't change, there was nothing different about you. And Dad never treated you differently after that night. Did he?"

"No, not that I can remember."

"See? End of story." I stood up and started packing again. That used to be all it took for me convince Sammy that all really was right in his world. Even though I knew life was never going to be that simple again, I hoped that once, just this once, it would be enough for Sam.

"But Dean -."

This close. I was this close to a clean get-away.

"Yeah?"

"What'd you think? When Dad told you about me?" He was nervous asking me, I could tell. "Did you think – did you think -."

"Aw Sammy – that's too hard to answer man." But he was looking at me, still looking at me, like I held his whole world in my answer. I tossed the t-shirt I was rolling onto my duffel and sat down next to him.

"When Dad told me, I didn't know what to think. He told me and walked out of the hospital room and the next thing I heard was you yelling for help and I wondered if whatever he was talking about had happened that fast. Then he was dying, and then he was dead and things were just too messed up to think about at all. Then in River whatever in Oregon, I wondered if maybe Dad had some psychic thing going on for him, if that Croatoan virus was what he meant I had to save you from."

"But Andy and Webber were before Oregon. My visions were for a long while before then. Didn't you wonder? Didn't you think -. Don't you think now - "

'And what are you gonna think Sammy? If I tell you what happened in hell? Are you gonna be scared of me? Are you gonna think I'm a freak? Think I'm a monster? What would Dad think of me if he knew?'

This was old and I was so damn tired. I wanted to yell at him but I didn't have the energy. It came out a tired plea.

"Sam please. For the last time – you're not a freak. Dad didn't think so. I don't think so. You're my brother. You're a hunter. You're just you. That's all there is. That's all there ever was. Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

I wasn't sure the look on his face said he believed me, maybe he just saw how tired I was. But in our family, you say it – you mean it. Even if everybody knows it's a lie. That had to be enough for now.

"Thanks." Sam said. He meant that one, I could tell.

"Sure." I stood up to finish my packing.

'You're not the freak, Sammy' I thought.

The End.