A/N: Thanks for all of the great reviews! I really appreciate getting them, and I'm glad you're enjoying thus far.
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Dean couldn't tell if the awkward lack of communication between his brother and his father was intentional or simply an oversight, but he was beginning to get damn tired of it. He was sprawled, not uncomfortably, in the backseat of the Impala, annoyed that he wasn't riding shotgun even as he nearly succumbed to the soothing smell of leather and the long bench that just beckoned for sleep…Still, no luck in the rest department, and he was stuck in the back with a stoically silent father and an awkwardly fidgety brother. Dean sighed. At least they weren't fighting, right?
"So. Uh, we'll be getting back to the motel and staying here for a bit, right?" Dean asked tentatively. It had definitely not been his idea to lay low for a few weeks, but Bobby had seemed adamant, and John had given in far easier than Dean was expecting, conceding quietly that the older hunter had a point. John merely grunted in response to Dean's query now, and Dean sighed quietly.
"That'll be nice, right Samantha? Give you a chance to catch up on some schoolwork without the usual pressures."
"Yeah, it'll be nice, Dean." Dean sighed again, louder this time, and rolled his eyes. He almost, almost preferred the fighting. What the hell was wrong with them anyway? Were they so incapable of being around each other without fighting that they just weren't talking? Maybe they were pissed off at each other. He'd been out of it for awhile and who knew what he'd missed. Or maybe they were just oblivious. Or, and the thought made Dean frown, maybe they were pissed at him, for the situation he'd gotten himself into. They'd seemed nice enough in the hospital, but maybe now that he'd been released, their anger was free to be unleashed on him. Dean rubbed a tired hand over his forehead.
"You know, you guys can talk to me. Or each other. I mean, you don't need to be having, you know, deep, chick-flick conversations, but a damn conversation shouldn't be too hard, right?" Dean knew that he sounded whiny, knew that he was probably getting on their nerves, demanding too much, but he didn't really care. And judging by the reactions of Sam and John, they probably hadn't even realized that their silence had been so noticeable or awkward. Dean thought that was almost more sad than if they'd been playing the silence game on purpose. When the hell had their family disintegrated to the point that not talking became so run-of-the-mill that no one even noticed?
They pulled into the pharmacy, John mumbling something about picking up antibiotics and pain killers for Dean before sliding out of the car.
"Dean?" Sam whispered, and it was pleading and- scared? Dean frowned.
"Yeah, Sammy?" Sam turned so that his head was peering over the front seat.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. His eyes were wide and, Dean could see, teary. "I didn't mean to make you upset." Oh, great. Sam seemed afraid to raise his voice any louder than a whisper, and Dean realized that he was afraid of hurting him. He silently cursed himself for allowing himself to appear so vulnerable in front of his little brother. He was supposed to protect him, not the other way around.
"It's okay, Sammy. I'm not gonna break if you guys argue or whatever, I just…I just wish you wouldn't. Really. I'm okay." Sam nodded, still seemed a bit uncertain, but content.
John came back to the car about that time, tossing the meds next to Dean in the back and closing the door with a creak.
"I, uh," his voice trailed off for a second before he tossed something at Dean and something else at Sam. Dean smiled as he realized that he was holding a bag of peanut M&Ms, figured that Sam was probably holding a Twix or a Reese's.
"Thanks," Dean said, ripping the bag open with fervor.
"Yeah Dad, thank you," Sam repeated, and there was more than thanks in his tone. Dean watched appreciatively as they shared a look, both nodding slightly as if in recognition of something. And as the Impala roared to life and thundered towards their motel, music blasting and John and Sam good-naturedly bickering about whether Black Sabbath or Metallica was better, Dean smiled. Things were looking good. For now.