Okay – here's an update! Please don't go 'Misery' on me!! (giggle, snort, chuckle)

Well, this chapter gets a little emo – okay, a LOT emo – but the guys still have a few issues they've never worked out and they can't dodge them any more. Next chapter will be back on the road again! (Wonder when we'll get to Seattle…)

Chapter 6

Dean stared up at the yellow water stained ceiling. Light from the television flickered across its surface, the only light source inside the room. Lifting his head, Dean looked around. The room seemed quiet, peaceful. So what woke him?

As he pushed himself up into a sitting position, Dean noticed he had not changed for bed. "Dude, I didn't fall asleep watching bad late night talk shows again?" he mumbled, his foggy brain searching for the reason he woke up. Concentrating on noises, Dean realized that the room was quiet. Really quiet. His eyes snapped open wide. Too quiet.

Dean leapt to his feet, rushing to check on the next bed. As he expected, it was empty. "Damn it! Not again." He sat heavily on Sam's bed, heart racing. "Well, guess I screwed up. Again."

'Enough!' The word ricocheted in his mind, hard and piercing, and oddly - not his voice. Dazed, Dean searched for the source but the room was still empty.

He cleared his throat. Feeling perhaps more stupid than he was sure he looked, Dean asked, "Who said that?"

'Who do you think, you big jerk?'

Dean grinned, looking around in earnest now. "Sam? Where are you? Where did you…" his voice trailed off as he noticed those strings of light from before. A bright one came out his stomach, right around the navel, and reached out through the wall. Using his eyes, Dean followed it. The wall appeared to melt away and he saw Sam sitting outside on the ground, leaning against a tree and staring at the Impala. With a sigh of relief, Dean pushed off the bed.

He went outside, the strings of light so faint the only one he could make out was Sam's. Dean followed it to his brother and joined him on the ground, leaning against the tree. They sat in silence for a time. Despite his worry about what would drive Sam out here in the middle of the night, Dean could not bring himself to attempt to listen in on his brother's thoughts. So he waited. Sam was the one who liked to talk and discuss feelings. If he waited long enough he should be able to discover what brought his brother out here.

"Nightmare," Sam replied, though Dean had not asked the question out loud.

"I'm surprised it didn't wake me," Dean observed. Sam's nightmares usually woke him up.

"Me, too," Sam said, though there was a hard edge to his voice. "I'm guessing you're pretty used to them."

Dean turned his head to look at his brother. In the pale yellow light from the parking lot, he saw Sam's deeply creased brow and that pinched look that never meant anything good. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dean, I…" Sam's voice trailed off. Dean had the distinct impression that Sam needed to say something, though he had no idea what it might have to do with a nightmare. He settled in to wait, but it did not take long. Sam cleared his throat. "You should have told me."

Oh, great. Now what? He was being accused of holding back again, and had no idea about what. "Told you what?" He sounded annoyed. Good.

Sam sat up and turned to face him. "About your nightmares."

His what? "My what?" Dean frowned at his brother. "Dude, you're the one with nightmares, not me."

"Damn it, Dean!" Sam pounded the ground next to him. "Don't lie to me about this! I saw it! I saw your nightmare!"

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Sammy, maybe you had a nightmare and just thought it was mine?"

"No!" Sam's shout echoed through the parking lot. He took a deep breath and when he spoke next, his voice was close to normal. "Dean, I know it was yours. I don't have nightmares about that."

Dean shrugged. "Okay, so what was it about? This nightmare I was supposed to have?"

From the look Sam gave him, he knew his brother still did not believe him. Man, unable to lie and his little brother still jumped to that assumption! He didn't know whether to feel flattered or insulted.

"It was about when I left for Stanford. The fight." Sam's eyes flickered up to meet his briefly before dropping to study the ground. "I mean, I knew it was pretty bad, but I guess I never realized…" Sam took another deep breath. "I don't think I ever considered how you saw it."

This was the last thing Dean expected. He really thought Sammy had the nightmare, not him. But it sounded like the dream was from his perspective. Maybe Sam had a nightmare from his point of view? Right, and he was going to sprout wings and… No, not going there.

"And how did I see it?" he asked softly, the fingers of his left hand tracing tree roots dipping into the ground. The rough bark felt natural and warm despite the chill in the air.

Sam peered through his curtain of brown bangs. "Like you were a failure because you couldn't keep our family together. Dean, didn't you know that the only reason I stayed as long as I did was because of you?"

The words stabbed. It certainly sounded like something that plagued his thoughts, but he did not remember any dreams like that. Well, not recently anyway.

"It had to be your nightmare, Dean. The ones I have about Dad aren't like that. They're a little more, uh, violent." Sam's head ducked down again.

"Oh?" It was Dean's turn to sit up. "Or am I going to have to try to eavesdrop on your dreams?"

Sam sighed heavily. "It's not like I meant to, Dean. I can't help it. We're together so much, I'm pretty sure I started picking up your thoughts and emotions long before the telepathy really kicked in. As a matter of fact, I have to work at blocking you out most of the time."

"Sorry," Dean mumbled. He knew Sam could read him, but he had no idea it was that bad. "Maybe it would be better if-"

"No!" Sam interrupted. "I didn't mean that!" Sam looked him in the eye now. "I meant, if I don't work at blocking you out, I can't tell if what I'm thinking is me or you. If what I'm feeling are my emotions or yours."

Dean balked at that. That sounded horrible, worse than any nightmare. How could Sam live like that? He couldn't, Dean decided. It was wrong. They were going to have to…

"No, Dean." Sam sounded calmer now. "It isn't that bad. You act like it's horrible for me, but it isn't. I work so hard at blocking you out so you can have some privacy. It isn't right for me to experience all of your thoughts and emotions. Though I have to admit, blocking the thoughts is much easier than blocking emotions." A thin grin appeared on Sam's face. "Half the time I'm not sure if it came from you or not."

"It sounds terrible, Sam," Dean insisted. "You can't live like that. It's wrong. It's just wrong."

"Dean." Sam reached out, touched his upper arm. A flash, like lightning, passed between them, almost exactly the same way it did after he woke from his three day 'nap.' Sam yanked his hand back, looking as startled as Dean felt, but now Dean understood. It was more than a little creepy, but he saw how Sam actually preferred things this way. Sam had insecurities that Dean never imagined, foremost being losing big brother again to a misunderstanding. Now he saw that The Fight with Dad was about Sam forcing his way out of Dad's control and going to college to study whatever he wanted. Sam never intended to lose Dean, he always thought Dean would follow him out there, pester him, plead and demand for Sam to make nice with Dad. The ensuing years of silence were as hard for his brother as they had been for Dean. When Dean broke into Sam and Jess' apartment, Sam's line about Dean using the phone was serious. Dean had never dreamed his brother would answer, which buried Sam in enough guilt to at least spend a weekend with Dean looking for Dad. Sam had hoped after that weekend that Dean would start calling, dropping by occasionally for a beer and pool evening. Something. Anything.

"Okay, Sammy." Dean shook his head to clear it of the images – lonely birthdays, holidays with friends and feeling like an outsider, spotting strange happenings in the paper and wondering if his family was hunting it and if they were hurt. "If that's the way you want it, fine."

"Dean," Sam sounded exasperated, "it's not that I want it that way. I just…I don't know." Sam ran both hands through his hair, ending with his head hanging down and hands clamped behind his neck.

Dean cleared his throat. "I guess it's just something we can't do anything about."

Head still down, Sam nodded. "Yeah. I guess."

"You know, if I'd thought…" Dean's voice ran out on him. "When I came to get you at Stanford, I wasn't sure I could talk you into coming."

Sam lifted his head a little, just enough to make eye contact with Dean. "Was it as hard as you thought it'd be?"

Dean could not suppress the smile on his face. "Nope. Honestly, it was downright easy compared to what I thought it'd be like." He thought about it for a moment. "You would have answered the phone if I called, huh?"

Sam nodded. "You really didn't think I would, did you?"

Dean shook his head, leaning back against the tree again. "Not after the way you and Dad went at it. I didn't even think you'd let me in the front door."

"So you broke in." Sam chuckled. "Scared the crap out me, you know."

Dean grinned at the memory. "It was awesome."

"Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean rolled his head to the side, to look at his little brother. "I take it neither of us is sleeping any more tonight. Should we just hit the road?"

Sam leaned back against the tree beside him. "Well, we don't really want the cops spotting your glowing eyes at night, do we?"

Dean started to protest because he had control over that now, most of the time. Then he had the feeling Sam just wanted to sit and talk for a while. Well, it had been some time since he let Sam go all emo on him. "Guess not," he said, sliding to the side until his shoulder touched Sam's. With the physical contact, Dean could now hear and feel Sam's thoughts loud and clear. "I wanted to call, you know," he said. He felt a surge of emotion at that.

"Me too." Sam let out a deep sigh. "Maybe I should have."

"Maybe not," Dean said with a shrug that brushed his brother's shoulder. "I got to spend more one-on-one time with Dad. That hadn't happened since before you were born."

"You say it like it was a good thing," Sam sounded surprised. Dean wondered at that; his brother could read his thoughts and emotions, nothing should be surprising.

"Well, I'm not saying it was easy, at first. But you know, without the two of you at each other's throats, Dad's not bad to be around." He remembered long nights staking out spirits, watching Dad read his musty old books, and being thrown into more than one wall while Dad watched either shocked or angry. He wondered if Dad ever got used to that part.

"Probably not," Sam said. "I've seen it most of my life, and I still cringe every time you get thrown."

Dean chuckled. The night air had warmed and felt nice and the company was good. They could hang out here for a little while, even if Sam did want to walk down emo-lane.