"I remember now," Sam announced after a half hour of two burgers, cold fries, and enough coffee that Dean was getting jitters for him. Sam seemed unaffected, or at least no more jittery than he'd been. "I was gonna ask you what classes you're taking."

Dean didn't want to talk college. He wanted to talk Sam. In the warm light of the diner, the cut looked redder and Sam's skin paler. His wrists were bonier, his collarbone more prominent, and the way he'd inhaled the burgers said he hadn't been eating enough for a while. His fingernails were broken, dirty, and/or chewed down to the quick. The pink scar along his hairline was visible with his cut hair. "When did you almost crash into my garage?"

Sam blinked. "God, I dunno. More than… two months ago, probably. Why?"

"Because you-" Dean caught and held a wrist, rubbing his thumb pointedly over the bone. "-don't look like you've eaten in that whole time."

Sam went still, eyes darting between Dean's hand and Dean's eyes. "I've eaten," he said thinly.

"Sure you have." Dean let go and Sam pulled both hands under the table. "You look terrible, Sam."

"Nice to see you too," Sam muttered.

"You keep telling me to be safe and take care of myself, but you're a hypocrite, Sammy. Who's taking care of you?"

"It's Sam."

Dean threw down a napkin and leaned over the table. "I don't care if it's Yukon Cornelius, man, and I don't care what you tell me, you look like shit. Any chance you can dodge the Illuminati long enough to get a decent night's rest?"

Sam laughed incredulously again, and scanned the diner as if looking for someone to laugh with him. "Okay," he admitted, to Dean's surprise. "I've been sleeping like crap and maybe I haven't been eating enough lately. But I'm figuring it out, okay? I'm… I'm getting there."

"How much figuring does it take to remember to eat roughly three times a day?"

Sam's face closed and his gaze dropped to the tabletop. "It's complicated. I've been busy."

"Too busy to eat?" Dean pressed.

Sam looked up again, tension around his eyes and a spark of anger in the back of them. "I just never did this alone before, okay?"

"Did what?"

Sam's mouth opened and then closed with an audible click of his teeth. "Oh, no. We're not talking about that. We are talking about you and your college classes. We are talking about you graduating. We are talking about you making it."

"Making it where, Sam? Picket fence, two and a half kids?"

"Yes!" Sam realized too late he'd shouted and he smiled apologetically around the diner. The handful of other people returned to their food and he leaned over the table. "Yes," he repeated, voice quiet but intense, stabbing the table with a finger at every item. "Beautiful wife, two and a half kids, picket fence, cookouts on weekends, neighbors. Normal. Safe." He sat back, breathing quickly.

"Are you aware, Sam, that every time you say those words 'normal' or 'safe' I really start to wonder about our childhood?"

"It doesn't matter. It's over, done. The past is past. Focus on your future. You have one, for God's sake, don't waste it."

"Who shot you, Sam?"

Sam flinched as if struck, eyes darting around the diner again. "What? What does that-"

"I've got a future but you don't? You were bleeding out in your car when you crashed into my garage from getting shot in the shoulder. Somebody shot you. Somebody cut you. And, a little more recently, somebody beat you up, if all those bruises hiding under your shirt are any indication." Sam's self-conscious shift, paired with a quick look down, confirmed Dean's suspicions. Gotcha. "What the hell are you doing, Sammy? Cos it sure as hell isn't good for your health, and I'm getting sick of your 'you can be safe' shit. What about you?"

"Dammit-" Sam rubbed at his still-bloodshot eyes. "Dean, don't you understand, it's because I'm doing what I'm doing that you're safe. It's cause and effect."

"And you can't fake-die or whatever it is that got me out of whatever it is you do?" Sam leaned his head on his hands, eyes hidden. His shoulders shook almost imperceptibly and suddenly Dean realized he was crying. "Ah, Sam-"

"No," Sam said, voice somehow both wavering and stern. "It doesn't work like that." He looked up at Dean, eyes gleaming with tears but none falling. "I tried. Not the fake death, but I've tried, okay, I've tried not-" He stopped himself, swallowed hard, and resumed, "I've tried to get out and it doesn't work. If it worked, I'd've been… I'd be a lawyer by now, living in California with my… my wife." His voice caught painfully on 'wife' and Dean's stomach dropped as he tried to picture himself in a wedding party, Sam's tearful smile as his fiancée walked down the aisle-

"Shit, Sam. I didn't know…"

Sam looked at him in surprise, then realization dawned. "Oh. No, Dean, we never got that far." His voice was dull now, almost lifeless, as if that would cancel out the agony lurking in the back of his eyes. "I didn't even get to ask her."

Dean wasn't sure if that made things better or worse. "Shit. I'm sorry, Sammy."

"Hazard of the job."

"See, that's what I mean-"

"Don't." Sam held up a hand. "Don't, Dean." Dean faltered to a halt. "I can't. I've tried. Drop it."

Dean nodded reluctantly. "Okay, fine." He caught the waitress's eye and gestured for her to come over. "I'll pay this time."

"Uh-uh, college boy, let me."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, then forced a smile. "Okay, I'll let you. But you gotta come back to the dorm and take a shower."

"Dean-"

"Ah! No arguments. The shower is fantastic. You have to try it. And you can borrow some of my clothes and crash on the couch."

"What about your roommate's party?"

"Eh, we'll just kick 'em out." Dean smiled again, a little less forced. "I can sleep in tomorrow- no class. We'll tell 'em the old guy needs his beauty sleep."

Sam smiled back; weakly, but sincerely enough. Success.

By the time Sam got out of the shower, Dean had managed to herd everyone out the door, including (to his pleasant surprise) even his roommate. "Just you and me, bro," he announced at the bathroom door. "I think Jack found accommodating company of the female persuasion."

"Great." Sam didn't sound like he cared and when he opened the door it became obvious that he didn't. Dean's borrowed t-shirt was tight across his shoulders and loose around his waist. "Is the couch reasonably clean? I thought maybe I could drive, but, uh…" He yawned, his jaw popping painfully. Dean winced. "Not a good idea, I think," Sam finished, eyes at half mast.

"No problem, I have a queen."

"No, Dean, you don't have to-"

"I'm gonna anyway. C'mon, Sam. You're about to fall over."

Sam sighed in exhausted exasperation. "If I were more awake-"

"Good thing you aren't, then, huh?" Dean took his elbow and led a yawning Sam into the bedroom. "You prefer a side?"

"Left," Sam said sleepily, settling onto the mattress.

"Convenient. I prefer the right."

"I know."

Dean paused, shirt halfway off, then tossed it into his hamper and almost started framing a question. Sam's soft, even breathing killed the idea in its infancy and he smirked as he turned off the light.

Dean half-woke sometime in the night to hear stifled crying, the bed shaking so slightly he barely felt it at all. He rolled over, puzzled, eyes bleary and unfocused. He was momentarily baffled by short dark hair above a masculine face, and then he remembered. "Y'okay there Sammy?" he slurred.

Sam choked, sniffed, and nodded. "Sorry," he whispered without opening his eyes. "Bad dream."

"You get bad dreams a lot?"

"Yeah. I guess."

Dean hummed in acknowledgement, then unburied his arm and threw it over Sam.

Sam's eyes startled open. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"C'mere." Dean tugged on Sam's- well, his -shirt, pulling him closer until they were almost breathing the same air. He rolled onto his back and gave the shirt one more tug, by which point Sam seemed to get the idea.

Sam shifted forward until his head was resting on Dean's shoulder. "You won't be able to feel your arm tomorrow," he mumbled. His voice vibrated against Dean's skin so he almost felt it more than heard it.

Dean grunted, as much to say shut up and go to sleep.

Sam was asleep in minutes. Dean lay half-awake for a while, listening to him breathe and wondering vaguely when he'd started staying awake to hear anyone breathe.

Dean woke to the sun in his eyes, the smell of frying bacon, and Green Day playing quietly in another room. He squinted at his alarm clock, blinking several times when it refused to be later than 9am. "The hell are you doing awake already?" he grumbled, not so much because he really wanted to keep sleeping or because he thought Sam should still be sleeping (though, really, he should have been), but more out of a general feeling that no one should have to get up before 10am on their day off. He crawled out from under his sheets and pulled on a shirt before wandering towards the kitchen.

Sam was flipping slices of bacon, humming along to the radio. He turned and smiled. "Morning, sleeping beauty." He gestured at the full coffee machine with the tongs. "Already made coffee." He looked quite a bit better: the dark circles were lighter, his hair clean and mussed, uneven stubble shaved away. He was back in his own clothes, which also appeared cleaner.

"Thanks." Dean poured a mug and downed half of it in two swallows, then refilled it. "Also, ha ha, you're hilarious. Can I ask you a question?"

Sam remained relaxed, arranging bacon in the pan. "Sure."

"There a reason you're up at the crack of dawn?"

Sam chuckled. "Eight in the morning is hardly the crack of dawn, Dean."

"It is on my day to sleep in." Dean blinked. "You were up at eight? My God, what for?"

"I went for a run."

Dean drained his coffee cup. "At the risk of repeating myself, let me repeat myself: what for?"

"To be honest?" Sam scooped several slices of bacon onto the plate covered with paper towels and patted them dry. "So I'd feel better about eating half your bacon." He picked up a slice and folded it into his mouth, then hissed in pain. "Hng- Dah, thas hot!"

"Yeah, it's gotta cool first, you dipstick." Dean got up to fill his mug one more time. "Well, I don't have class today, but I don't know how long you were-"

"Not long." Sam bit his lip and looked away. "Sorry. I wish I could stay."

"Why can't you?" Dean tried to keep his tone light, and leaned against the counter next to the stove. "Big Brother looking over your shoulder?" Sam chuckled humorlessly and shook his head, pulling more bacon out of the pan. Dean waited but no further information seemed forthcoming. "Listen, my roommate probably won't be back-"

"I don't want to take that chance." Sam now seemed to be avoiding his gaze. "The sooner I'm gone, the fewer questions I have to field- the fewer questions you have to field. Anyway, I don't like to leave the Impala alone too long."

"Yeah, she is a beaut."

"That's- I-" Sam tapped the tongs against the pan. "Yeah. She runs a lot better now. I mean, I know when I sort of crashed into the garage she wasn't in too good of shape…"

"And that's my car?" Dean picked a piece of bacon off the plate and blew on it before shoving the whole thing in his mouth.

"Well- technically, yeah. But I need her."

"You need my car?"

Sam pressed his lips together, the skin around his eyes tightening. He couldn't hide behind his haircut anymore, and in the morning light the amateur cut of it was much more obvious. "I can't explain it, okay, I just…"

"You need my car." Dean shrugged, trying to pretend he didn't care. "Whatever, man." Smoke on the Water started playing. "Dude! I love this song!"

"I know." Sam reached toward the radio and pulled up the iPod attached to it. "This is my music."

"That Green Day was you? Damn." Dean shook his head. "I'm ashamed of you, Sammy."

"It's Sam. And you recognized it, so I'm not sure-"

"I'm older, all right? I know everything."

Silence fell with the painful irony.

A church somewhere nearby was chiming 11 o'clock as Dean trailed Sam to the Impala. "Dude. You really gotta leave already?"

"Yeah, I, uh- I got stuff to do," Sam said, sorting through his keys. They slipped through his fingers and clattered into the gutter. "Dammit." When he crouched to retrieve them, his shirt rode up, showing off dark purple crosshatched bruises along his lower back, as well as an ugly scar at the base of his spine.

"Whoa, what the hell happened to you?"

Sam straightened quickly, squinting at the pain, then tucked his shirt in as if that would make the marks disappear. "They're just bruises, Dean."

"Just- Just bruises." Dean bit down on the anger rising in his core. "Can you- Do you think you could manage to be straight with me for one damn minute?"

Sam's fingers tightened around the keys at about the same time as his face shut down. "No. You're safe, Dean. I'm not going to jeopardize that. You can't-" He stopped, then laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. "Nevermind. Forget it. It's a catch-22. You'd have to know what- wasn't safe to appreciate what I'm doing."

"Sam-"

"No." Sam shifted his weight forward, closing his fist around the keys except for his pointer finger which he didn't so much shake in Dean's face as in Dean's general direction. "I'll answer the questions I can, man, but I am not going to put you in danger. If I can avoid that, if I can protect you-"

"Aren't I supposed to be protecting you?" Dean demanded, spreading his arms as if posing the question to the neighborhood at large.

Sam froze, then blinked forcefully, but his eyes teared up anyway. "You did," he said, the tension melting out of his posture, his voice catching. "You did, Dean. You did a great job. But I screwed up, man, I screwed up again, big time, and this is the only way I know how to make it up to you. I'm sorry."

Dean tried to stay mad, then gave it up with a sigh. "Don't be sorry, just…" After a moment of hesitation he pulled Sam into a hug. "Just be safe, okay?"

"You too," Sam managed, pulling back to squeeze Dean's shoulders before letting go. He sniffed and rubbed at his nose with his sleeve. "I gotta go."

Dean watched him climb into the driver's seat, waved as he pulled away from the curb, and waited for Sam to check back once more before turning the corner and driving out of sight, but his younger brother didn't look back.

A/N: Please do not make a drinking game of how many times someone uses the word 'safe' or 'sorry': you will probably die of alcohol poisoning. D: