Dean is lying on his bed, reading an issue of Sports Illustrated his mom didn't know he had. The sounds of Sam coming home, running into his room, and slamming his bedroom door shut ruining his plans.

"Why are girls so fucking stupid!?" he hears Sam scream, the sound traveling down the Jack and Jill bathroom, followed immediately by Sam's radio blasting whatever junk emo band he was currently obsessed with.

"Keep it down, brat!"

"Shut the fuck up, Dean!"

Tossing the forbidden magazine behind his bed, Dean immediately crossed through the bathroom into Sam's room, finding him on his bed. "What the hell did you say to me?"

"Get out!" Sam jumped up, trying to push Dean back through the door, but Dean was determined to stand his ground.

"You don't get to talk to me like that, you bitch!"

"You're the bitch, bitch! Now just leave me alone!"

Sam gave one more hard shove, giving Dean the incentive to tackle him on the ground; which is easy to do when you're the captain of the boys' varsity wrestling team and your little brother is half your size.

Sam wiggled his way free, escaping to the hallway. He pushed himself up, only for Dean to come over the top of him and push him back down.

Sam let out a blood-curdling scream.

"Dean?"

Dean moaned into his pillow. "What time is it?"

"Seven," Lisa answered. Sitting on the bed next to him, she ran a finger down Dean's shirt. "You were making a lot of noises in your sleep," she teased playfully. "What were you dreaming about?"

Unable to take the hint in his semi-conscious state, Dean answered: "The time Sam broke his arm."

Lisa blushed in embarrassment. "Oh. You mean the time he jumped off the garage as Batman on Halloween?"

"No. The time I pushed him down in the hallway." Dean admitted. "It was when we were in high school. He had a really bad crush on this girl and it was really fucking with him. He didn't know what to do about it and would take it out on me and one day I was sick of it. So I pushed him on the ground and he landed on his arm wrong."

Lisa made a face. "You told me he broke it at soccer practice."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, cause I didn't want you to think I was a dick."

"So, why do you think you were dreaming about that?"

"Because I feel guilty," Dean answered quietly. "I was such an asshole to him growing up. We hated each other but I never wanted anything bad to happen to him, you know? And now he's in the hospital and I feel like it's my fault for not being a better brother to him."

Lisa laid down on the bed next to him, curling her arms around his. She wiped Dean's face with one of her hands. Dean didn't even notice he started crying. "So start being a better brother to him."

"Alright!" Dean said, throwing open the front door and carrying in a bunch of bags. "I got the groceries, his prescription, and-" Dean stopped in his tracks when he saw Sam sitting at the kitchen table by himself, pouting. "What are you doing here? I thought they were getting you later."

Sam sighed. "The doctors released me this morning."

Dean set the bags down on the counter and started unloading groceries. "Soooo where are Mom and Dad?"

"Getting lunch," Sam explained. "They dropped me off so I could shower and rest." Sam stood up from the table and walked behind the kitchen counter. He pointed to a lockbox. "Did you know about this?"

Dean turned around, spotting the lockbox on the counter. "No. The hell is it?"

Sam stomped his foot in annoyance. "Mom asked Dad to lock up everything in the house that I could use to hurt myself for 'safe keeping'." Sam held up his hands and made air quotes. "No knives, no pills. I have to wait for them to come home so I can take fucking Tylenol."

"Well, that's-" Dean had to bite his tongue from saying the wrong thing. Truth is, his parents probably were in the right to lock everything up. "I mean... you're not, uh... you're not doing any of that, are you? Or planning to?"

Sam scoffed. "Fuck no!" he screamed, sounding hurt.

Dean immediately felt bad for asking. "Sam-"

"You know, I was so excited to finally come back home and have things go back to normal but if everything is going to be like this, I will go fucking crazy!" Sam rambled.

Fuck the groceries. Dean crossed over to Sam, grabbing onto his shoulders. "Hey," he said quietly, "I'm sure it's only for a little bit, okay? Mom said the doctors are still playing with your new meds so I'm sure this is all part of the adjustment period. Once things start to settle, I'm sure Mom and Dad will back off and they'll get rid of the lockboxes."

Sam started to pout again. He looked like he was six, after Mom had scolded him and said he was not having ice cream for dinner.

"Want me to take a look at it?" Dean asked, half joking. "See if I can't crack this case open?"

Sam snorted. "Don't break it."

"I'm not gonna break it!" Dean said, waving him off. "Let's see... four-digit combo... 1983." Jiggle. "1979." Jiggle. "1975." Jiggle jiggle.

Sam smiled in amusement. "Do you really think they're stupid enough to use something we would know?"

Dean shushed him. "1234." Jiggle. "Alright, we're going all the way back. 0001." Jiggle jiggle.

Sam started laughing. Genuinely. He forgot all about how he's supposed to be pissed at the lockbox.

Dean smiled to himself. Asshole big brothers don't make little brothers laugh now, do they?

"What are you two doing?"

Both boys turned around, hands behind their backs, biting their lips; like two little kids getting caught in the act.

"Nothing!"

Mary shook her head. "You better step away from that before your father sees you trying to break in."

"Sam needed Tylenol!" Dean argued, trying to justify his part. "I was just trying to be a good big brother and get it for him!"

"Mm hmm," Mary hummed. She walked over to the lockbox, turning it away from the boys and shielding the code from their eyes. She opened it, grabbing the bottle of Tylenol and handing it to Sam. He opened the bottle, shook out two pills, and handed it back to his mom. Mary tossed the bottle back in the lockbox, snapping it shut and relocking it. "I promise this won't be forever," she assured her youngest. "It's a random set of numbers. You'll never be able to guess."

"Do I get to know?" Dean asked, trying to fight back the biggest grin.

"No."

"HA!"

"WHAT!?"

Later that night, Sam came down for a snack. Turns out the groceries Dean picked up were all of Sam's favorites. He excitedly helped himself to the bagels, popping one in the toaster. He grabbed the container of peanut butter down from the pantry... only to realize he didn't have a knife to spread it with.

Sam sheepishly shuffled into the living room, spotting his parents sitting on the couch watching tv.

"Yes, Sam?" his mom asked.

Sam felt dumb, rocking back and forth on his feet. "I'm making toast," he announced like he was three, "and I need a knife."

Mary turned towards John. "Your turn."

John groaned as he stood up off the couch and followed Sam into the kitchen. John unlocked the lockbox and handed a butterknife to Sam. Sam quickly spread the peanut butter on his bagel, washed the knife, and handed it back to his dad. He was about to go back upstairs when John suddenly wrapped his arms around his shoulders and squeezed tightly. Sam let it happen, gently putting his hands on his dad's back.

"It's good to have you home," John whispered. He quickly released, running his hand down his face and returning to the living room. "By the way, I hate that fucking box as much as you do so I don't even want to hear it!"

Sam smiled. He picked up his bagel and went back to his room. Maybe this won't be so bad.

coffeeaddict13