Okay, I've been neglecting poor Sammie Rae lately, so I'm trying to make up for it here. Hope you SR fans enjoy!!

Chapter 10

"Do you have any idea what a great kid you are?" Dean asked Rae, leaning over to rest his cheek on her head. Sam followed them into the apartment, rolling his eyes at their backs.

"Dad, you sound drunk," Rae replied, "but you don't smell like a bar."

Dean giggled. Sam could always tell when his brother was over-medicated, because that was the only time his overly-macho, tough as nails big brother actually giggled. He bit his lip to keep from laughing at Dean.

"Hospitals have really good drugs, darlin'," Dean said with a grin. "Hey, guess what? I got the pictures from your sleepover developed." He patted down his jacket pockets several times. "They were here earlier," he mumbled.

"Come on, Dean," Sam reached out, grabbing a fistful of his brother's jacket, "take this off. I'll find them."

Dean allowed his jacket to be removed, even though it meant loosening his hold of Rae. Then he turned Rae to face him again. "Great kid," he beamed. Rae rolled her eyes at Dean.

Sam stifled a chuckle as he searched through Dean's pockets. He found one of those photo envelopes in the inside pocket. He pulled it out, hoping the pictures he took had not been discarded or burned. As he slid them out into his palm, Sam saw the first photo was of Dean curled around Rae, sound asleep. The second one was basically the same, but Dean had shifted a little. Sam turned his back to them, quickly slipping the second picture under his shirt.

"Find it?" Dean demanded.

"Yeah, yeah I did," Sam shoved the pictures back inside as he turned around. He held out the envelope.

"Thanks, Sammy." Dean's hand gripped his shoulder briefly before taking the envelope. "You're a good brother."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You keep saying that."

Dean's grin was bright. "What can I say? I got an awesome brother and a great kid! The only thing that would make it better would be if…" his voice trailed off at the same rate as his grin.

"Dad?"

Dean looked down, startled. The grin returned. "Wanna know what a great kid you are?" he asked.

"Uh…Okay?" Rae's eyes darted between him and Dean. She was clearly out of her depth with drugged-dad.

Dean's face lit up. "Great! Here, hold these," he thrust the pictures in Rae's hands before rushing toward the bedroom. At the doorway he spun around and would have fallen if he had not grabbed the doorframe. "Stay there." He pointed at them. "Uh, all of you."

"Pizza?" Sam asked, pulling out his cell.

"Uncle Sam? What's wrong with Dad?" Rae's hand shook on his arm.

"Hey," he pulled her close, sinking to the couch together, "Dean's fine. Okay? Don't worry." Her whole body trembled against his. "It's okay, honey, really."

"What's wrong with him?" she whispered.

"I'm not sure yet," Sam whispered, "but I'm going to find out. Okay? It isn't anything that can hurt him. Not really."

"The doctors said so?" she asked in the same hushed whisper.

"Yeah." He wrapped an arm around her to rub soothingly. "The doctor said so. Honest." Rae leaned into him, burrowing her head in his side. "What do you think he's doing in there?"

He felt Rae's head shake in his side. A crashing sound from the bedroom had them both on their feet. Rae raced to the larger bedroom, Sam close on her heels. They found Dean lying in the bottom of the closet covered with clothes and the weapons bag pinning him down.

"Dad!" Rae's scream filled his ears.

"Hey," Dean waved from his odd position, a silly grin on his face. "What's wrong with you two?"

Sam pushed Rae aside to move the weapons bag off Dean. He pulled his brother up. "What were you doing in here?" he demanded as Dean rose shakily to his feet.

"Need my box," Dean pointed to the top of the closet. "That damn bag never attacked me before." He kicked at the weapons bag.

"Rae, take your dad into the other room. I'll find his stupid box before he kills himself looking for it." He pushed both of them away.

Sam waited for them to leave the room before searching for this box of Dean's. What box, anyway? Sam shuffled through the few things they kept on the closet shelf. When his hand hit the thick winter blanket, it felt harder than it should. Frowning, Sam pulled it off the shelf. Something was wrapped inside it. Sam unrolled it on the bed, finding a wood box inside. Dean's box? He turned it over in his hands. It was stained a deep walnut brown with shiny brass fittings and the letters DW burned into the top.

Wondering when Dean acquired his box, and why he hid it, Sam brought it into the den.

"You found it! Awesome." Dean held up both hands for it as Sam approached the couch.

"Dean, what is this?" Sam demanded as he handed it over.

"My box." Dean said with a shrug. He turned to look at Rae. "Ready to see what a great kid you are?"

"Dad?" Rae reached out with a careful hand to touch the box. "Isn't that The Box? The one you keep in the trunk?"

"Yep." Dean set the box on their battered coffee table. He spun the combination lock a few times before attempting to unlock it. "Uh, Sammy?"

"What?"

Dean shoved the box toward him. "The numbers keep moving. Can you open it for me?"

"Sure." Dean had to repeat the combination a few times before he got it right. Apparently his brother kept confusing the lock combination with Rae's birthday. Sam popped the lock open and took it off before shoving the box back at Dean.

Dean flipped open the lid with flourish.

"Dean?" Sam was struck with an uncomfortable feeling. "You sure you want to do this?" If his brother had been keeping this box such a secret, it really should not be medication that makes him reveal its contents.

Dean flashed a brilliant grin. "Don't worry, Sammy. There's stuff about you in here, too."

Sam had been willing to protest again, but snapped his mouth shut at that. What did Dean have about him in there? And how long had his brother been carrying around that box?

Dean held out his hand to Rae. "Pictures?"

She placed the thick envelope in his hand. Dean slid out the pictures and took off the top one. He held it up. "This is for the box. If I ever find it in a frame, I'm gonna hurt one of you." Sam was certain that look was supposed to be intimidating, but the silly grin kinda canceled it out.

Dean set the picture aside. "Okay, ready? Here's that paper." He took out Rae's English paper about the attack on her parents, thinly disguised as a wild animal attack. He grabbed her face with both hands and planted a huge kiss on her cheek. "But you could pick a better hero," he told her as he set the paper aside.

"No I couldn't."

Dean winked as he reached back inside the box. "Some of my favorite pictures that you drew," he said, setting several drawings down. Sam recognized one as the very first picture she drew for them, of her standing between him and Dean. He wondered what happened to it, assumed it had been destroyed long ago.

"More pictures," Dean pulled out a fistful of photos. Sam glanced through them. He recognized some from pics taken on their cell phones or disposable cameras over the years, but some were unfamiliar. A few even looked like they had been taken at a portrait studio. There was one of Dean and Rae he did not recognize, taken in front of a fountain.

"Who took this?" Sam asked, holding it up.

Dean shrugged. "Some chick. She thought it would look cute. Hey! I forgot about this one!" He passed over a picture of the three of them at one of those roadside carnivals.

"Where was that?" Rae asked, passing it to Sam.

"I don't know, but I remember that day. You wanted to ride the ferris wheel all day." Sam grinned at the memory.

"Good thing Uncle Sam wanted to ride it, too," Dean said. "No way was I getting on that damn thing."

"Why not, Dad?" Rae asked, leaning forward to peer into The Box.

"Dude, it goes up. In the air." Dean huffed, rolling his eyes.

Rae turned round eyes on Sam. Sam shook his head. They could discuss that later.

"Hey, anybody hungry?" Dean asked, freezing with his hand in The Box.

"I can order pizza," Sam offered.

"Cool. That'll give me a few minutes to sort through this mess." Dean turned The Box upside down, its contents spilling over the table and flitting down to the floor.

"Rae," Sam nodded at the mess as he stood, the pizza place's phone ringing in his ear. He watched her drop down to retrieve the items on the floor so Dean would not have to move. After the closet fiasco, Sam was determined his brother not move from that couch unless it was to go to bed. As he ordered the pizza, a beeping tone informed him he was missing an incoming call. Sam ignored it, finishing their order. Then he checked to see who he missed, but the number was not familiar. He went to shove the phone back in his pocket when it went off. He looked. He had voicemail.

Sam waited for his voicemail to connect. One new message.

"Sam? It's Sarah." His breath caught in his chest. "If you still want to have that coffee, I can meet you around seven. Call me."

Sam checked his watch. It was nearly seven, but Dean was in no condition to be left alone. Sam practically ran into the kitchen, connecting to the last missed call.

"Sam?"

"Sarah, hi," Sam wondered if he sounded as breathless as he felt. "I'd really love to but, uh, I can't go anywhere tonight."

"Something wrong? Sam, what is it?" The concern in her voice was so clear, he felt like the last time he saw her was only a few weeks ago instead of years.

"It's nothing, really. Dean's not well, and I can't leave him alone. But, uh, how about tomorrow?" Oh, god, did that sound as desperate as he thought it did?

"Is he all right?" she asked.

"He's fine, just gave us a scare, that's all." At least it wasn't a damn heart attack.

"You sure he'll be well enough by tomorrow?"

"Yeah, pretty sure," he said, nodding his head even though he knew she could not see him. "So, tomorrow?"

Her laugh sounded so natural in his ear, it brought a smile to his face. "Okay, I think I can swing it tomorrow. Seven okay?"

"Yeah, seven sounds great." He really needed to get that smile under control before rejoining Dean and Rae, though he doubted Dean would pick on it in his current state.

"Looking forward to seeing you, Sam. Bye."

"Me, too. Bye, Sarah." He stared at his phone a moment, picturing her face, before sliding it carefully into his pocket.

"Looks like it'll be just the two of us again tomorrow night, kiddo." Dean's voice came from behind him

Sam turned slowly. Both Dean and Rae watched from the kitchen doorway, grinning. Oh, shit. "Aren't you two supposed to be cleaning up that mess?"

Dean's broad smile looked positively goofy at this moment. "Sarah, huh? She still," he tried to whistle. After several failed attempts, Dean went with a rocketing hand motion. "Smokin'?"

"Dean, go sit down before you fall down," Sam spun his brother around, marched him back to the couch.

"Who is Sarah?" Rae demanded.

"Uncle Sam has a girlfriend," Dean sang as Sam forced him to sit.

"Girlfriend?" Rae asked, tugging on Sam's arm.

"Not girlfriend. She's just an old friend. We're meeting to catch up." Sam told her.

"Sam and Sarah, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S…" Sam smacked his brother in the back of the head. Dean looked back with unfocused eyes. "Dude, losing your touch. Barely felt that."

"Dean, if I shot you, I doubt you'd be able to feel it right now." Sam tried to reign in his frustration, but it had been a trying day.

Dean shook his head. "You wouldn't do that, Sammy." The silly grin returned. "Did I tell you what a great little brother you are?"

"Yeah, Dean," Sam kneeled down in front of his brother, "you might have mentioned it."

"Come here," Dean leaned forward over his organized stacks of stuff, "wanna show ya something." He picked up one stack, held it out. "But you have to give it back."

"What's this?" Sam asked. The old photograph on the top was a picture of Dad, him and Dean. Dean could not have been more than twelve, which would make him about eight.

"That's my Sammy stack," Dean replied, chuckling.

The next picture was of him sleeping in the Impala with a white plastic spoon sticking out of his mouth. He flipped it around. "You had this printed?"

"It gets better," Dean promised. Those words sent a chill down his spine. Sure enough, there were some extremely embarrassing pictures inside, including a number from the Nair in the shampoo incident. Sam debated on whether to slip those out for an innocent little burning later. Looking at his brother's open, trusting face, Sam had to decide against it. If he betrayed that trust tonight, the repercussions would be far worse than the silent treatment, he was sure.

The first half of the Sammy stack was photographs, but the second half was all paper items. Several were his report cards. Sam flipped one open, curious why his big brother might have kept any of his report cards. It looked like any of his other report cards, straight A's. He shuffled the report cards to the back.

"Dad, where was this picture taken?" Rae asked, photos spread across the table.

"Uh, don't know. But you're cute in it." Sam looked up from his seat on the floor. Dean leaned over the pictures, one hand on Rae's shoulder, his face beaming. "I keep all the ones you look cute in." Dean winked at her and she laughed.

"If you wrote it on the back right after you have it developed, you'd know," Sam told them.

Dean gave him a funny look. "That could work. Why didn't you say something earlier? Like, seven years ago?"

Sam shot him a nasty look. "I might have if I knew you were keeping pictures like this. And what's up with keeping some of my report cards?"

Dean beamed. "Dude, you always had the best grades. Just wanted to keep some record of that. You and Dad always threw them away." He shook his head, like he could not believe that.

Sam stared. "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?"

Dean laughed, really loud. "If you think that's bad, keep going," he nodded to the papers in Sam's hand.

Sam slipped the report cards to the bottom. Next was a homemade Christmas card made by a child. When he opened it, he saw a drawing of a tree with lots of presents under it and it was signed 'SAMMY.' How old was this thing? The next one was another homemade card, but for Dean's birthday. As he shuffled through them, he realized Dean must have kept every card he ever made for him. He felt a pang of guilt that the stack of cards was not thicker. At some point he remembered believing that store-bought cards were better, but there was not a single commercial card in Dean's stack.

"You're right," he admitted, "this is much worse."

"Oh, yeah?" Rae shoved a photo under his nose. "Try that!"

Sam took the picture. It was taken of her in the back of the Impala, clutching Ted, her stuffed bear. I might not be so bad, except she was wearing sleepwear that covered her entirely, including her feet, making her look like an overgrown three year old. She had to be at least eight in that photo. Sam grinned. "Can I get a copy of that?"