A/N: Yet again, my mind running away with me. I was ill, so this is pretty angsty lol. Some bad language, because it's Dean... Again, hope you enjoy. And please review!

Still no ownership of anything Winchester-related (aside from DVDs).

Middle

I don't know how much longer I can take it.

Up until a couple of years ago, things weren't too bad. There were no arguments, no meaningless shouting matches. Sure, we weren't what you'd call "normal", but how could anyone really expect us to be? A piece of the heart of your family gets ripped away, your perception of reality gets flipped on its head by the discovery that there really are things to be afraid of in the dark - Dad's always tried his hardest to deal with it all. He's trained us the best he can.

Growing up, I just accepted it. Practically relished it, even – knowing that we were doing what we were doing to avenge mom, to save other people. Went on my first real hunt at 16, knowing that I'd met no-one else in my life who could even imagine the kinds of things I was doing. It scares the crap out of me sometimes, knowing just exactly what's out there, but it still gives me a strange thrill, that confidence that I'm different, that I'm not just one of the oblivious masses. What I'm doing makes a real difference, and there's very few, if any, others who could do it in my place.

Sammy's problem is that he's just too good with people. I've got used to being an outcast – I feel marked out, unique. Most people are too damn stupid to deal with most of the time anyway. Sammy's just too tolerant for his own good, too sociable, too likeable. Always makes friends wherever we go. I reckon that's why it all started. He started to resent being different, having to move every few months, to leave people behind every time. It was never a problem for me and dad – we understood the problems, didn't get to know people well enough to call it leaving them.

But it just got tougher and tougher on Sammy. He started questioning the lifestyle, dad's whole mission – and that was always gonna be a huge mistake. It all blew up when the kid decided to disappear. Damned idiotic thing to do, but he did it anyway – didn't want to have to move away again. We didn't see him for almost a week. He eventually turned up on the doorstep, looked like he'd barely eaten since he left. Said he was sorry, but dad went crazy.

They ended up yelling at each other for three hours straight. Turned out Sammy had a girlfriend for the first time. How fucked up is it that neither of us knew that? They went off together, stupid impulsive decision made by two kids who didn't know better – hell, why wouldn't Sammy think it could work? I'd looked after him for years while dad disappeared, sometimes weeks going by before he'd stumble back through the door – usually injured or wasted. But it blew up in their faces. Sammy's got too much of a conscience to think of stealing as a way to get by.

And that was where it started. Sammy entered the "rebellious phase" - only it's pretty much become the default setting now.

That first time, I sat upstairs, listening to the yelling, let them get it all out, figured we'd move on and it would be fine. But the moving on just didn't happen. They'll argue every couple days – something completely pointless usually sets it off, but the big things are always just under the surface, making everything that much worse. I tried to ride it out, ignore it. And it was a few weeks until I got involved. The first time things started getting thrown around.

Dad told us we were moving out the next day, off to God knows where. As usual, no that ok with you guys? wanna say goodbye before we leave? Sammy called him on it, they yelled for a while, but then the kid threatened to leave again if we couldn't stay a few days longer.

And just like that, bad became worse. A hell of a lot worse. Before I knew it, I reckon before he even knew it, a glass had been picked up from the table and launched from dad's hand across the room, smashed on the wall right by Sammy's head. I'd had enough. I waded right in, trying to keep calm, refusing to let myself be dragged into the shouting match. Quietly, deadly serious, told Sam to get upstairs and pack his stuff and dad to sit down and breathe, relax, before anything happened that we were all really gonna regret. They both listened – obeying orders ingrained into all of us. All of us shocked into a false truce, a stunned silence – not quite believing how far things had gone.

Since then, I try to stop it getting back to that place. By being the calm, reasonable voice in the centre of the storm. I desperately try not to take sides, even when one of them's clearly being an unreasonable ass. Won't let them fight if dad's drunk.

I don't know how much longer I can listen to them rip each other apart, watch what's left of our family pull itself to pieces.

And, for the last couple of days, I've known that I won't have to deal with it much longer. Because Sammy showed me the acceptance letter. Stanford, who'd have guessed the kid could manage it? My little brother.

But the dread that settled in when I saw that letter is outweighing the pride. Because I know now that things here are gonna get a hell of a lot worse before they have a chance of getting better.

Sammy's got the chance to get out of this, to be normal like he's always wanted, to have a real life, settle somewhere for once. And it's a huge thing, and I'm happy for him. But dad will see that letter and he'll feel the other thing that I feel too – the same he did that first time Sam ran off – because how the hell can we look out for the kid unless he's here? How are we gonna protect him if he's off at college?

Neither of them will really understand the other side – they'll refuse to hear it, too practiced at everything becoming an excuse for irrationality and block-headed, ignorant stubbornness. There'll be yelling, they'll say things they'll end up really regretting. But Sammy's too old to be stopped anymore, so there's nothing dad will be able to do about it, and it'll all be pointless.

And I'll be stuck in the middle, like always, seeing both sides, praying to whatever I can think of that this won't be the final thing that brings this fucked-up existence crashing down around us. That there'll be something left to salvage after the dust clears.

Then I'll have to watch Sammy leave, because it tears me up letting him go, but I can't stop him either, and I have to stay. No other choice for me. And I'll have to believe that one day he'll come back, we can be a family again. And just maybe, being in the middle won't be so difficult anymore.