Hi Guys! I haven't added to my 'Mighty Winchesters' collection in a while, so I figured I might as well. As per usual, I've left several stories just sitting around for quite some time now. Oops.

This one is set in season 6 sometime before episode 6 so vague spoilers I guess? (It's before Dean realizes exactly what's wrong with his brother though). Dean's POV.

Strangers

I think I know his name, but I've forgotten how to pronounce all the syllables. I think I know his face, but the way he walks makes me wonder if he's really here. I think I want him to still be the little kid I remember, the one who used to bring me earthworms and smile like he was giving me the sun instead. To me, it felt like he was. It was the only way to explain the warmth that filled me every time I saw that dimpled smile of his. So much life. So much light.

He's watching me now, a long, calculated stare, and there's something behind it I've never seen in him before; a cold aftertaste of something dark and almost as terrifying the Hell he's been through, the Hell I left him to face alone. At first, I thought that's what this was. No one comes back from something like that in one piece. But now I think it's something else, something worse. He's just…not the same.

I've looked out for him my entire life, been so scared of having something take him away from me and not being able to stop it (because it's happened before, it's happened so many times before).

But now he's the one who scares me.

The way he's looking at me now.

I don't dare stare back, because he thinks I'm asleep, but I can sense his eyes on me. They burn into the back of my skull with an intensity reserved for the things we hunt. And for the first time in my life, I feel like I am the hunted.

I try to keep my breathing even, afraid that any hitch will alert him to the fact that I'm conscious. I've faked sleep countless times before, pretending exhaustion had claimed me after a particularly brutal hunt so that my little brother could finally lay his own head down. There are many times he won't sleep until I do. But tonight, he doesn't. He hasn't moved in a long time, hasn't so much as ruffled the sheets of his own bed in the hours since we'd turned out the light, but I still know him better than he thinks, and I can feel him. Awake. Staring.

I slide my hand a few inches to the right. Just until I can feel the knife beneath my pillow.

I wish it didn't make me feel better.

The quiet is eerie and hollow and it beats against my eardrums like a heartbeat, like a telegraph sending out a warning.

I'm a little rusty on my Morse Code, so I'm not sure what the message is, but I'm sure it's nothing good. It can't be anything good.

He sighs then, long and deep, like it's the first exhale he's taken in a long time.

I tense.

He moves slowly, so quietly that if I wasn't listening for it, I probably wouldn't hear the soft padding of each step he takes toward me. The instinct is to freeze, but I force myself to shift slightly, letting a small sigh escape my lips and twisting my neck until I'm facing my little brother. He stops. I see him through half-cracked eyelids. We are both frozen for this one, immeasurable moment; a kind of limbo that makes me feel almost completely detached, as if I'm watching this scene unfold from the screen of a television. Because there's no way this can be real. My little brother can't be standing here in front of me in the dark, fists curled and neck locked, glaring down at me with hollow, contemplative eyes. Like he's measuring pros and cons. Like he's analyzing whether or not I'm worth having around. Keeping around.

And then the moment ends and he takes one step back, then another. He backs up until his calves hit the side of his bed, and then he lowers himself stiffly onto it, spine straight and eyes still locked on my face now that I've turned towards him. I'm still trying to keep my breathing steady, but I have a feeling he knows I'm awake.

When the sun rises, we don't talk about it. I had drifted between awake and asleep for the remainder of the night, but there was no way I would let unconsciousness truly claim me. Now I open my eyes and blink against the sun already streaming in through open blinds. Sam is sitting at the table near the door, laptop open, staring intently at the screen. He shoots a quick glance in my direction and nods, immediately turning back to the screen.

"Morning." I force the word out, along with the accompanying smile, but my stomach spins and bile clings to the back of my throat. I push myself back so that I can sit against the headboard, fingers curled into the sheets on either side of me so I don't reach for the knife again.

"Want me to grab breakfast?" I ask. Sam looks up and smiles but there's something different about the way it touches his lips, like he has to think about it before he moves the right muscles into position.

"I can grab something," he replies, immediately slapping his computer closed and reaching for the jacket that hangs off the back of his chair. He's out the door almost before I can register it.

And I'm left sitting on my bed, hands cramping from squeezing the sheets so tightly.

Thanks for reading! As always, feel free to leave your thoughts- you're all wonderful.

Also, if you have any suggestions for story ideas, feel free to shoot them my way!