An: So sorry about the delay. RL, y'know? I'm going to try and have this finished (le gasp!) by Sunday, cause I'm going out of the country, but no promises!

And So It Goes (Billy Joel)

Usually Sam didn't wake during the night unless to his own nightmares. That night he did. He suddenly, some noise pulling him out of his deep, dreamless sleep. The light of the moon illuminated the room he and Dean shared at Bobby's. Bobby was there, leaning over Dean who appeared to be having some sort of panic attack.

"Shh, Dean. It's alright. He's not here. He's dead. He's not gonna hurt you no more." Dean's breathing slowed under the litany of reassurances.

"You didn't take your anti-anxiety meds." Bobby said, disapproval clear in his voice.

"I don't need that shit anymore, Bobby. Haven't taken it in years."

"I know, kid, but you don't think after that scar splitting open and telling Sam everything you're entitled a little anxiety?"

Sam could see Dean's figure shrug slightly.

"Where do you keep it?"

"S'in the Impala," Dean mumbled.

"I'm gonna go get it. You keep yourself calm, boy, y'hear."

"Yeah, I know."

Sammy waited til Bobby was gone and his foot falls had faded to nothing before he called out, the name leaving his mouth surprising him as much as it didn't Dean.

"Daddy?"

Dean was up in a minute and by his side in five seconds flat.

"Whatsa matter kiddo?"

"Are you alright?" Dean's eyes softened.

"Yeah. You heard that, huh?" Sam nodded. "I'm alright, tiger, I just get a little anxious sometimes. It's okay. It was a lot worse when I was younger. I'm pretty good these days."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I made things harder for you. All the time, I bet. And then I found out and...Bobby said that was making you feel - feel anxious."

Dean sighed heavily. He squished onto the bed and moved them around until Sammy was laying cuddled up against his chest.

"It's bringing up a lot of old memories, Sam. It's not you. I just - I know that you have a lot of questions. Why don't you just go ahead and ask."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I know you don't. And you're not going to. If I don't feel up to answering, I won't. S'okay Sammy." Dean sounded...something. Resigned? Far away, at least. Like he was hardly even there with him. Yet Sammy didn't doubt that he was, that Dean was always with him. He'd only ever doubted it while Dean was in hell. And well, maybe a little while he was at Stanford.

"Why'd Da- John hurt you?"

"I wish I knew, Sammy. I - I think it's because I reminded him of mom."

"But why'd that make him hurt you?"

"It hurt too much to look at me Sammy. It just - it hurt both of us, how much I was like her. Am like her."

"Is - is that why..." Sammy trailed off, but Dean seemed to understand.

"I think so. I don't think he would have - would have touched me that way if Mom had lived. I don't think he was a - a pedophile, y'know. He never wanted you that way."

"He didn't?"

"No. Sometimes he wanted to hurt you. He wanted to hurt you a lot." Dean admitted. "But - but..."

"Why didn't he?"

"I don't want to answer that." Dean had protected him, as he always had. Dean had taken the hurt for him, as he was always willing to do. Dean gently stroked his hair, calming him. Sam could feel himself start to drift off to sleep.

"How'd you learn to be a dad?"

"That was easy Sammy. That was always easy." Sam drifted off to sleep, Dean's hands in his hair and rubbing circles on his back.

When he woke again, the sun was shining brightly through the window, warm on his face and arms. He felt relaxed but also nervous, and it took a minute for him to pinpoint exactly why. When he did, the despair he had felt yesterday washed over him again. He turned to the side and burrowed under his blankets. Stifling his sobs with his fist, Sam cried. His whole body shook with his sobs. He felt like he didn't know which way was up. He was tailspinning, completely lost in terrain that used to be familiar but wasn't anymore. Simple assumptions - Dad actually does love me. My Dad is John Winchester. John was a dick but he took care of me. None of these things were true. Not at all.

His whole world, shifted sideways and turned inside out.

"Sammy, you up?" Dean. No, his Daddy. Sam tried harder to stifle the sobs, to stop the shaking of his body.

"Buddy? You cryin'?" Dean came over to his side, laying a hand on Sam's broad, quivering back.

"No-o." Sam denied.

"S'okay if you are." Dean said softly. "Look, uh there was a little while, while you were at Stanford where I saw this shrink, right? Bobby made me, so don't go sayin' nothin. Anyway she used to say that people around me who find out - they hafta grieve. They have to grieve who they thought I was, and y'know, the things I didn't get when I was a kid. And that I can't really get that, because people aren't built to grieve for themselves, y'know? I had - have - to go through a different thing to process and shit. Move on or whatever. So it's okay if you needta cry. You're grievin. That's alright."

Sam cried harder. Dean's hand stayed on his back, rubbing gentle circles.

When Sam finally settled down, Dean left him alone to shower and dress and headed downstairs to start pancakes - Dean could make them from scratch and weird as hell ingredients, too, so even considering that Bobby only really stocked up on was liquor, Sam was sure breakfast would be delicious.

He was, of course, right. If there was one thing he was familiar with, it was Dean's cooking. Dean had cooked all his meals and packed all of his lunches growing up - even when Dad was home. Unless they were at a diner, it was Dean-food. Dean-food was Sam's comfort food and he had missed it more than anything while he was at Stanford.

After breakfast, the day devolved into any other day while they were at Bobby's. Dean dissapeared into the scrap yard to work on the Impala and any other car Bobby might want a hand on. Bobby manned the phones and did research for any hunter that needed it. Sam helped.

It was any other day. But it didn't feel like any other day.