Weaver, Chapter 2

Dean stared at the face of the phone, his dad's highlighted number staring back up at him. All he had to do was press one button and he'd be able to release his pent-up concern…to voicemail yet again. He clicked the cell shut. He had no idea what kind of message he'd leave for their father anyway. He didn't exactly have a clue what was going on with Sam any more than Sam seemed to.

"Hi, Dad, it's me. I think Sam might be going nuts. Just thought you should know. Call me sometime."

Right. That would really get their dad moving as fast as he had at Lawrence, or when Dean was dying. And there was the slight problem that Dean didn't actually think Sam was nuts. He didn't know what Sam was if not nuts, and that was so much worse. He got up and stalked to the bathroom door. He pounded on it twice.

"Hey, I'm going to hit the tables for a while. You okay here?"

This hole in the wall hotel – as tempting as it was, they couldn't risk getting busted for credit card fraud by staying at a nice place – had really good water pressure. He heard the sound of water slapping against porcelain change slightly, probably with Sam's movements. Dean glanced at his watch and wondered just how long Sam planned on staying in there. It wasn't that nice. Half an hour was pushing it a bit far, like Sam didn't think he could get clean.

"I'm not five, Dean," Sam bellowed. "Just don't lose all our money."

"Our money? Dude, I'm the one who earns the cash around here," Dean said. Sam sounded normal, at least. "You couldn't hustle pool if your life depended on it."

It was true. The more illegal aspects of their life fell heavily on his shoulders, which was annoying at times. Sam usually made up for it by using his greatest strengths when they were on a case – his geeky tolerance and enjoyment of research and the damned sincerity of puppy dog eyes. The simple truth was if Dean had to break the law so Sam wouldn't have to, he'd keep doing it. He'd keep making sure all the credit card applications and insurance forms couldn't be tied to Sam in any way. The fake IDs were a different story, but that was out of his hands.

"Hey!"

"You know it's true."

"Whatever, dude."

Dean rolled his eyes and then rolled for the door. They wouldn't stay here long. Vegas was just a quick pit stop he intended to make the most of, with or without Sam's mental mojo. The very thought of that made him pause with his hand on the door. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to leave Sam alone right now. It was the middle of the day, but Sam could still doze off or something and do that…apnea thing. Sam insisted it was probably just a one-time occurrence. Dean had his doubts. He didn't really know what he was going to do about it; eventually both of them would sleep at the same time, and he couldn't keep his eye on Sam forever. He turned the door handle and stepped out into the bright light.

He told himself he wouldn't play more than a couple hands. Dean glanced up and down the dirty street. Actually, they were so far off the strip that a few hands weren't worth the travel time. He looked at the closed door behind him and decided a few slot pulls at the 7-Eleven and a chilidog would be enough for now. Maybe he'd get to play some blackjack later, when Sam was out of the shower, which had better be by the time he got back. He didn't think he could keep it together if Sam wanted to keep talking about whatever was going on with his brother's wacky brain. The less they mentioned it the better as far as he was concerned. He rubbed clammy hands down the front of his jeans. It would help if he stopped thinking about it all the damn time.

Fuck 7-Eleven. This was Vegas and for once he was going to allow himself two days to be normal. Two lousy days free of supernatural shit and full of gambling, alcohol and women – all things Sam should really get in on. Dean turned around and went back into the room, intent on getting Sam on board and out of his funk. That overactive brain of his brother's made him nervous. He never should have even considered leaving Sam alone to just think. So help him, Sam was going to shut his brain down for a couple days.

"Hey, Sam," Dean shouted, pounding on the bathroom door again. "Change of plans. You're coming with me if I have to drag your ass out of the shower."

"Dean…" Damn, Sam didn't sound normal anymore, he sounded beat down.

"Get out of the damn shower, get dressed, we're going to have at least one memorable night in Vegas, Sam."

"Gambling's not really my thing, you know that."

"Then we'll go see some showgirls. Scantily clothed, long-legged showgirls. C'mon, man."

There was a soft thud and skitter as something fell to the tub basin, and water pounded down unimpeded by a body in its path. Sam didn't answer him. Sam didn't make any noise at all. Dean pounded on the door again, alarmed by the silence.

"Sam?"

At least he hadn't heard the sound of his brother collapsing on the floor. No, that was no comfort. Dean slammed his fist against wood, hoping like hell he wasn't going to have to kick in the door, but every second of silence made him feel more apprehensive. The tub faucet squeaked loudly, and the water shut off at last. He heard the shower curtain draw back. He relaxed a little. Whatever was going on, it must all be in his head. Sam was fine. Dean clenched his jaw.

"Sam, talk to me. What's going on with you?"

The door opened, steam rolling out. Dean backed up a few steps and slouched down on his bed. Sam didn't come out. Every passing second was like torture for him. Damnit, he knew the long shower wasn't a good sign. He was glad he came back in.

"Nothing," Sam said, quietly. "Nothing's going on. You want to gamble, fine. Give me a few minutes."

The fuck it was nothing, Dean thought. He let out a sigh. He really hoped playing blackjack or roulette was going to be enough of a distraction for Sam, and for himself. Something freaky was going on with his brother, more than just both of them thinking too much about something that could be a fluke. He felt like a jackass for thinking it, but Sam wasn't normal. He wasn't Max, but he wasn't normal and never had been.

"Yeah," Dean said with conviction he didn't feel. If they won anything, that was it. Time to hit the road again. He was sure Sam wouldn't object. "We finally get to have a little fun. Can we stay out past ten, grandma?"

"Shut up," Sam snapped as he stepped from the bathroom in a towel. "Believe it or not, I do know how to have fun sometimes."

"Prove it."

Sam glared at him for a second, then rooted through his bag, snatched some clothes and retreated back into the bathroom. Dean frowned. He should be relieved at his brother's snarking, but Sam had spent the better part of an hour in a hot shower, yet his face was drawn and ashen, his shoulders tight. Shit.

"I'm serious, Sammy. If you don't think I am, ask yourself when you think the last time I took a day off was. We need a break, but it ain't going to last. We have to make the most of it."

"You're right," Sam said, reemerging dressed and ready to go. Dean thought he really needed to cure his little brother of striped, button down shirts. "I'm up for anything. What happens in Vegas…"

Liar. Sam was a big fat liar. The hollowness that usually occupied Sam's eyes (which Dean figured Sam didn't realize was so obvious) was now more like a giant canyon. All dark and not even a spark of light. Dean knew he couldn't press Sam about it, but he could keep a careful eye on the guy. Something told him he himself would be the grandma tonight. It was harder to avoid other distractions in public and his gut told him he couldn't afford to slip up by letting his attention wander.

"Be careful what you wish for," Dean said, giving Sam an evil grin.

There was the problem. If he didn't act normal himself, Sam would know he knew things weren't actually normal. It was a delicate balance and even though he and Sam had traveled together 24/7, Dean still hadn't figured his brother out. He didn't think he ever would.

"I draw the line at strip clubs."

"Sam, your respect for women is a major character flaw."

"It's a problem that I don't treat them like objects," Sam said, flashing an exasperated smile. "You're unbelievable."

"Unbelievably skilled with the ladies."

"I so don't want to hear details of your exploits."

Yet another reason he wished his brother was normal. Dean had no one to turn to when he wanted to admire the female form and damn if they hadn't run into several fine specimens during their travels. Now Dean found himself more excited to see all the hot women Vegas was famous for than he was to earn a couple extra hundred in cash. He could totally handle the distraction, he told himself, all the while imagining half naked women. It was not a problem.

"Fine, but the offer for tips and advice is always open."

Sam sighed.

"This kind of thing is in an older brother's job description," Dean continued.

"Whatever. What're we just sitting here for? Let's go."

Sam said it like they were going to their executions, not out for a night in Las Vegas. Vegas. If he got a couple beers in Sam and he'd be fine and maybe that would help him get some sleep too. Sam hadn't even tried since the…apnea thing. Dean really needed to think of a different name for that incident. Or not, he told himself, because it was no big deal and he wasn't supposed to be thinking about it anymore. Sam couldn't bend spoons and just because one dream made him momentarily stop breathing didn't mean it would happen again. It was just stress. That was all.

"Where to first?" Dean asked. He jangled the keys.

"You're the driver," Sam said, weariness in his voice so heavy it made Dean tired. The lack of enthusiasm normally would have just irritated him, but now it was cause for more concern. "You pick."

"Look, dude, if you're not up for this, we can wait until tomorrow."

"Of course I'm up for it. What're you talking about?"

"You look tired, that's all. Thought maybe you could use the sleep."

Sam flinched and looked away, then shook his head and straightened his shoulders. For a second, Dean saw resolve set his brother's jaw and figured out they were both doing the same thing – trying like hell to be normal when nothing ever had been that way for them their whole lives. If nothing else connected them, that would. But Sam had always wanted that kind of normal more.

"I'm not tired," Sam said.

Dean let the lie slide.