Chapter 13: The Catalogue Kid

AN1: Hey there! Another chapter has been successfully written! Hurray! I know some of you don't want to hear this, but there is an end in sight :( But don't worry, there are still many more chapters to come! I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's another one from Dean's perspective. I hope you all enjoy it and don't forget to R&R!

-GNS-

For a moment I just stood there, before leaning back against the door and sinking to the ground. I rested my head against my knees and if Sam ever asks, I did not cry, just had a little something in my eye. And hey, a grown man is allowed to cry for missing his baby brother, alright?

After I calmed down I slunk my way into the room and sat on the edge of the bed closest to where Sam was settled on the floor. I was content to just sit there and watch him play. He was letting his plane swoop through the air, making noises to match. The kid was enthralled with his own imaginary game.

"Hey Dean," He greeted, never breaking his gaze away from his new toy. I smiled a small, bitter sweet smile, down at the little boy.

"Heya Sammy," My voice was hoarse with grief, and soft-sounding against Sam's whooshing airplane noises.

Sam looked up at me, suddenly. His game stopping abruptly. "What's wrong, Dean?" He asked, confusion marring his face as he tilted his head to the side and slowly brought his plane back down to the floor. How Sam could always know what I was thinking or feeling was a mystery to me. Maybe it was because he grew up with me, always watching. You're my big brother, Dean, echoes in the back of my mind, I've wanted to be just like you since I was four years old. My smile slips from my face, and a line begins to form between my eye brows.

"I just got some bad news is all. Don't let me ruin your fun." I sighed, swiping my hand down my face in hopes of wiping the tired look away. I leaned back a little, thinking that he would drop the subject and go back to his toys. Instead, I was soon startled out of my thoughts by his small voice.

"From the man on the phone?" Sam wondered, shifting his body to face mine.

I nodded slightly, "Yeah the man on the phone."

"Who was it?" Sam always was a curious kid.

"Just an old friend," I explained, moving further forward on the bed.

"If he's a friend, then what did he say to make you upset?"

I looked down at Sammy, his eyes wide, and his attention all on me, "He just told me something I should have asked about a long time ago. I should have taken the stick out of my ass, or climbed off of my high horse, or something… way before now. I'm just… regretting that I didn't… I guess."

It was Sam's turn to nod.

"Dean?" Sam asked, voice low.

"Yeah Sammy?"

"Where's Dad?" He whispered, the words sounding as if he already knew the answer.

"He's—he's not here Sammy," I tried, avoiding his gaze by casting my eyes low.

"Is he… he's dead isn't he…" My silence was answer enough. He got quiet then, and started his game up again (even if it lacked the same amount of enthusiasm as before), as if he realized there was a sort of line he was playing with, and he didn't want to cross it. He was always damn smart.

Sammy was the perfect kid. I don't know why I never noticed it when I was younger because man, it was clear as day. He was any parent's dream. He wasn't too loud, and he wasn't too quiet, he wasn't too messy, and he always cleaned up after himself. He found a happy medium for everything, and was just right in every way. Plus, did I mention he was a frigging genius? It was almost as if someone went into a catalog and picked out the perfect characteristics of a child, then shoved them all into my little brother.

How could I have never noticed?

What I do remember, however, was how to Dad he wasn't the perfect anything. It was always like for Sam, Dad had this impossible standard that Sammy could never meet. It was different for me, I was always enough, more than enough. But not Sammy, never Sammy. Somehow, for some stupid reason, Dad created some image of perfection for his younger son that was never quite reachable.

To Dad, Sam was just disappointment after disappointment. He couldn't run very well when he was younger due to his string-bean-bones, too long even when he was small, and too damn skinny. He wasn't the best shot either, only ever hitting five or six out of the ten cans lined up. Dad never knew how much he practiced, how much he tried, I remembered thinking it wouldn't have made a difference, now I'm not so sure. Sam wasn't the perfect hunter, and therefore was most certainly not the perfect son. No matter how much Sam tried to look good in our father's eyes, it was almost as if he never cut it, he was never enough, especially when Sam was around eleven or twelve, to be exact. Looking back on it I can't understand why. Eventually Sam gave up trying, and switched to screaming out in hopes of being noticed.

It didn't matter that even though they switched schools seven times a semester Sam would still bring home straight A's. Not to dad. It didn't matter that Sam got the lead in the school play, Dad didn't go and see it anyways. The kid had been so excited too… I never did ask him why he never performed in another one.

I remember when I began to agree with Dad. When I was the most fed up with him how I would curse him under my breath and sometimes even right to his face.

"Why can't you just… do something right for once? Ya know? Maybe then you wouldn't—"

I would always catch myself from continuing. Losing my temper didn't mean I lost all sense. But it always felt like the rest was left hanging there, unsaid in the air between us.

Maybe then you wouldn't be such a burden. Maybe then Dad would be happy for once. Maybe then you wouldn't be my responsibility anymore.

I never meant a word of it, most of the time.

Things are starting to make a lot more sense, now that Sam is four feet tall again. It's almost as if all the suppressed memories from our childhood are bubbling to the surface, and I can finally see it from the perspective of a grown man, not some biased child. In truth, these last couple of days I've began to understand the man Sam is now better than I would have ever thought possible. I've began to realize how each and every stone that was piled up on top of him throughout his life has made him this tortured soul who has to live every day with a mountain on his back that just keeps getting bigger. I've began to finally see that I haven't helped him bare that weight in a really long time.

And I've started to remember something, too. Something long forgotten lying just underneath the surface. Every time I try to get close enough to see what it is, the memory slips away. But I know that it's important. I know that it is the pinnacle of whatever the hell is happening here, and as soon as I can get to it, everything will fall into place. I just wish I knew how.

-GNS-

AN2: And there it is! Spring break starts next week so sadly the chances of there being an update are slim… So sorry! :( In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope the wait for the next one doesn't hurt too bad. Once again I love hearing from you guys, I really do appreciate your input. Also, thanks to all of you who commented on the last chapter including: Cinderella55, Nalana88, sunshine102897, Sari Dark, Ezaki, catlover2976, and Eruthiawen Luin. Thanks so much for your continued support!