Sam sat down on the crumbling steps of the house they’d rented for the past six months, arms looped around his knees, his freakishly long legs stretched out so his feet hit the ground. He rested his chin on top of his knees as he watched through dark, unhappy eyes, his brother helping their dad pack the truck. Just by the number of bags and supplies going in, he could tell it was gonna be a long trip.

At this moment, he hated both of them. Dad couldn’t wait a couple of days before he hit the road, couldn’t keep his promise to take him somewhere special on his birthday. Unimportant things had a way from slipping from his dad's mind, when but when it came to identifying demons and knowing weapons, his mind was a steel trap. Sam couldn’t remember the last time they’d celebrated his birthday on the right day, but he remembered all the completely forgotten ones.

He blinked away the tears that threatened to come. So what if dad had just nodded when he’d tried to show him his report card? “Good job, son.” How the hell would he know? He hadn’t even looked and had carelessly let the paper fall on the floor as he strode outside. Guess it didn’t mean much that Sam had made up three months of missed school and ended up with straight A’s, even in his AP classes. Nah, that was nothing when he still couldn’t shoot as well as Dean had at his age, and didn’t show half his excitement at the prospect of hunting.

Sam made a face, looking back into the house where the scrap of paper still lay on the ground with the imprint of the sole of John’s or Dean’s boot. He felt like tearing the report card up into shreds, and he would... later, when he had the energy to get up. It was so freaking hot and sticky he thought he wanted to die. His hair was plastered to his forehead and he probably needed a cut.

His gaze went back to Dean who was laughing about something now. Usually, the sight of his brother laughing made him want to smile, but not today. He’d asked Dean if he could go camping with some of the other kids at school, but big brother had nixed that idea for no reason. None. It wasn’t as if Sam couldn’t take care of himself ten times better than any of the other kids who got to go. But no... when their dad was gone, Dean’s word was law.

He’d begged. He’d even gone so far as to suggest Dean take a couple days off or rearrange his work schedule and come with them to the lake. That way, he could keep an eye on him, if it had to be that way. Dean hadn’t budged. Yeah... so Sam was gonna be stuck here, in the heat, no air conditioning, nothing, just because Dean said ‘no.” Some way to spend summer vacation. Summer hell.

He heard his dad call, and refused to look up at first. The second time John Winchester barked his name, Sam’s face jerked toward him. He wouldn’t get up, not unless his dad made him. Instead, he merely gave a limp wave, even as his brother’s eyes drilled holes through him. Neither of the two men at the truck cared what he wanted or thought, so why should he care about what they thought? He had to fight a bit harder to ignore Dean, but he did it, refusing to look at him at all, just as he had since yesterday.

His brother was such a fucking girl sometimes, he swore Sam actually had PMS.

Dean threw a glare at the younger boy who was sitting on the front steps of their house fucking pouting. Fifteen years old, about to be sixteen in a few days, and playing up the whole teenaged angst thing to the fullest degree. It was really starting to piss Dean off.

Alright, so it sucked that Dad had to go away on a hunt a couple of days before his brother’s birthday. Fine. But it wasn’t as though their father was doing it just to piss off Sam. People were dying for fucks sake. Dad needed to get to Washington pronto. Dean would have gone with their father in a heartbeat to help out, but the job was probably going to take a month or so at least and Sam couldn’t be left for that long on his own.

The way his brother had been acting for the last day and a half though, Dean was highly tempted at the moment to jump in the truck with their Dad anyway.

As though Sam wasn’t pissed off enough at their Dad, Sam was pissed off at him too. All because Dean had said “no” to his brother going on some stupid camping trip. Sam had only asked him because the younger boy knew that if he’d asked their dad, then John would have said “no” too. Little manipulative shit. He hated when Sam tried to pull that on him. Yeah, Dean was somewhat of a pushover when it came to something his little brother really wanted, he’d bend over backwards to make it come true. Just like he’d managed to convince their father to stay in the area for six whole months, one of the longest stretches that they’d ever stayed in one place at a time. Just so his brother could finish out his school year and a few make up classes so that Sam wouldn’t have to repeat the grade again next year.

Sam knew better to ask him about that dumb camping trip though. Camping for gods sake. As in out in the open where anything could attack at any time and there wasn’t any way to even put up any of the normal protections because of the stupid other kids that would be with Sam. Why are you putting a ring of salt around the campfire? Yeah, he’d just love to see what explanation his brother came up with. It was the same reason that their dad had never let Sam go to any sleepovers or shit when he was younger, and boy the temper tantrums that Sam had thrown on occasion.

Unfortunately, because Sam had decided to be sneaky and ask him and because Dean had said the same thing their Dad would have he was on Sam’s shit list as much as their father was. This was going to be a fucking fun summer alone with emo boy. Though maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Being pissed off at his little brother was a lot easier than... Dean shook those thoughts quickly out of his head before they could fully form. Concentrating on helping their father load up the truck. Doing his best to ignore the boy who was pointedly ignoring the both of them.

It didn’t take long, and when they were finished John clapped him on the shoulder.

“Alright, you know the drill. Call Bobby or Pastor Jim if there’s a problem. The credit card is for emergencies only. Look after your brother.” Their father said unnecessarily, the older man said the exact same thing every single time he left on a hunt, but Dean nodded anyway.

“Yes, sir.”

John called his youngest son’s name then, twice, to say goodbye to him and Dean frowned at the half-assed wave the younger boy gave their father. John merely sighed and shook his head, glancing at Dean and rolling his eyes a little. Dean bit the inside of his cheek but couldn’t stop from grinning a little. Sam’s little bouts of teenage melodrama had become something of a private joke between them.

Dean stepped back as John got into the truck and watched their father drive away, the dirt driveway kicking up quite a bit of dust, sticking uncomfortably to the sweat on his brow, and Dean coughed a little. The middle of summer in the middle of Georgia was not a fun place to be, not in the least. When the truck was finally out of sight, Dean turned around and started walking back to the house. Kicking at his little brother’s shoe as he passed and walked up the stairs to the front door.

“I’m making lunch. Get off your ass and come help.” Dean said as he opened the old screen door that was half way to falling off its hinges, letting it slam shut behind him.

Sam tried to kick back but missed, turning to glare at the screen door that shut behind him. He wasn’t hungry. It was too freakin’ hot to be hungry. And he wasn’t about to jump at Dean’s command, hell no.

Turning back, he stared ahead with unseeing eyes, making plans and dreaming of a future where there were no monsters around every corner, and he got to make his own fucking decision. A smile almost played on his mouth until he heard a truck pull up and saw it was a bunch of the guys from school, hanging off the truck,making cat calls and waving at him to come.

When the cloud of dust settled, his best friend, if you could call it that, shouted, “come on Sam, we still got room. My dad and uncle are coming.”

Sam stood up and looked through dark eyes at the driver, his friend’s dad, and the second car with his friend’s uncle and some other kids he didn’t recognize. He nodded toward the house and shrugged.

“Come on man, want me to talk to them?” Sam’s friend shouted.

“Nah.”

“Why not? We’ve got adults and—“

Sam shook his head again, “they’re paranoid freaks,” he said distinctly. “You could have an army and it wouldn’t mean shit.”

Seeing that he wasn’t about to budge, the cars revved their engines and took off, the calls and waves and rude remarks of this friends making Sam want to laugh or break something. This was his life. Always getting left behind.

Slowly, he turned and walked inside, picking the scrap of paper off the floor, and crumpling it in his hand. His eyes briefly met Dean’s and he could tell his brother heard and was pissed, but he didn’t give a shit. Tossing the paper into the trashcan, he moved away from the open kitchen and went to sit on the sofa, pulling his shirt off and tossing it on a distant chair like he was playing basketball.

Dean wasn’t too terribly surprised that Sam simply ignored him. Considering Sam had been ignoring him for the last day or so. That didn’t mean that it didn’t piss him off, and he might have slammed the cupboards and ancient fridge door a little harder than he needed to as he got out the bread, mayonnaise, and a can of tuna.

Should just let the little pain in the ass starve, Dean thought to himself but even as he thought that he was already taking out four slices of bread instead of just two for himself. Opening the can of tuna he mixed it with some of the mayonnaise in a bowl.

He was reaching into the fridge again for some celery and relish when he heard the trucks drive up outside, and looked out the window with a frown. Dean didn’t particularly like it when people came around their place, and he hadn’t been too pleased with Sam’s choice of “friends” in this little hick town either.

They were trouble. Not the kind of trouble that Dean could usually find if he put his mind to it, but still trouble. That one boy in particular Dean had a feeling was one of the reasons why Sam had been even more stubborn than usual over the last few months. Always trying to buck their dad’s authority and get away with shit that he normally would have never even thought to ask. Like this stupid camping trip.

Dean glared hard at the back of his little brother’s head during the exchange, if Sam jumped in that truck he would grab his damn gun and shoot out the tires if he had to. But Sam didn’t. Even though his angry description of his family left a bad taste in Dean’s mouth.

Dean turned back to his task, chopping up the celery with probably a lot more enthusiasm than was required. Throwing a glare at the younger boy when Sam finally decided to grace him with his presence.

He watched his brother throw away his report card and his fist tightened a little around the knife in his hand. He knew Sam had gotten all A’s, again. He didn’t even need to see it to know. He’d watched as the younger boy tried to show it to their father on his way out, a rather dumb move on Sam’s part when he knew their dad was distracted. Now Sam was throwing it away, without bothering to show it to him like he normally did. As always lately, whatever Sam was pissed off at their dad about, by extension that meant Sam was pissed off at him for the same thing.

His displeased glare followed Sam into the living room and he watched the younger boy peel off his sweat soaked t-shirt, sprawling out on the couch in nothing but his shorts. Sam had been doing that a lot lately too. As the thermometer creeped up towards and past a hundred degrees Sam wore less and less during the day. Right now his cut off jean shorts were riding low on his thighs and his lightly tanned skin was covered with a fine sheen of sweat making Dean’s throat suddenly feel very dry.

Dean tore his eyes away from his fifteen year old brother and dumped the celery into the bowl, mixed it up, and dropped a good portion onto each of the slices of bread. But by the time he was cutting each sandwich in half he realized he wasn’t even hungry anymore, thanks to Sam. Though if it was because he was so pissed off at his little brother or because of the walking wet dream the younger boy was turning into lately Dean didn’t know.

With a curse Dean threw both sandwiches onto a plate and slammed it down on the table. He was out the back door again a second later, letting the screen door slam behind him once more as he stalked around the house towards the garage. Trying to ignore the tightness in his jeans and the foul thoughts in his brain that made him feel like the worst fucking pervert in the world because they were directed towards the last person in the world they should be.

He opened up the garage door and the blast of heat that smacked him in the face made it a little difficult to breathe, fuck it had to be a hundred and twenty degrees in there, but he’d rather spend the afternoon getting baked alive under the hood of the Impala than to deal with his pissy little brother or his perverted unwanted thoughts. Penance and avoidance at the same time, worked for him.

"Excuse me for living," Sam muttered, surprised and bewildered by Dean's odd behavior. He'd done exactly what they wanted. Stayed home, imprisoned in his own house. What the fuck else did they want from him?

As soon as he heard the garage door, he rolled his eyes. In this heat, Dean couldn't play with his car for more than a few minutes. Reaching for a sandwich, even though he'd vowed not to eat, he settled back against the sofa and took a bite.

Before he knew it, he'd polished off the sandwich and was reaching for the second one. Weird that Dean made him two of them. How did Dean know he'd be this hungry? Changing the channel, he tried to get comfortable despite the oppressive heat.

A couple of hours later, he woke up with a start when the volume on the t.v. spiked. Frowning, he lowered the volume, but his eyes were glued on the news report. How long had Dean been in that hot garage? He looked at the clock... holy crap!

Scrambling to get his shoes on, he busted out of the house and practically ran toward the garage. It was only when he was close that he slowed down. Opening the garage door, he looked around and there was Dean, tinkering with the Impala. One look at Dean's flushed face, and the sweat dripping down his forehead, Sam wondered whether their dad took Dean's brain with him.

One hand on the door frame, he cleared his throat. "People are dying from heat strokes." When he knew he had Dean's attention, he also muttered under his breath. "Not the smart ones who got away from the heat and went places, like the lake."

Dean was under the hood of the impala, humming along with the tape deck blaring over on the work bench in the corner. The window was open and the fan was on, but all it did was seem to circulate the hot air around in the room rather than offer any relief. He concentrated fully on his work and his baby, and doing his best to distract himself from how fucking hot it was.

Not to mention forget about Sam and their Dad and the never ending feud he was constantly being dragged in the middle of. Forget about his teenage brother’s outbursts and angry mood swings that were growing increasingly harder to live with, how Sam’s eyes no longer looked up to him or admired him, but only seemed to ever look at him with scorn now. To forget about his own sick perverted thoughts that seemed to race around in his brain unbidden every time he looked at his little brother, thoughts that he hadn’t been able to deny ever since he realized his “little” brother wasn’t so little anymore, catching glimpses of the beautiful young man Sam was becoming....

He’d been doing a good job of it too, forgetting, denying, ignoring. So good in fact he completely lost track of how long he’d been out here, avoiding Sam and everything else. At least until the garage door opened and Dean looked up to the cause of most of his misery lately, standing there in his cut off shorts, old ratty sneakers without socks, and nothing else.

The twitch he felt in his groin watching a drop of sweat drip down from Sam’s hairline, down his neck and chest and over a nipple, put him right back into the foul mood he’d been trying so hard to forget ever since he came out here. Sam’s words, not so much about heatstroke but the ones after. Muttered too soft for Dean to hear but he didn’t need to from the expression of contempt on his brother’s face had Dean scowling.

“Yeah, I’d bet you’d fucking love that, if I just dropped dead out here. Sorry to disappoint you. Go away, Sam.” Dean snapped before he bent back under the hood of the car, ignoring his brother’s presence.

Gripping the frame, Sam frowned and stared at his brother. He knew Dean too well not to read him, not to see that despite his effort to look relaxed, he was tense... coiled as if ready to strike something. That made him wonder if Dean developed superhero hearing and knew what he’d said.

He stood there a while longer, undecided. Dean was clearly done with him, he’d told him to leave. But Sam knew it was dangerously hot in the garage, even if Dean was in tip top shape and wasn’t about to keel over like the old people on t.v. And of course he didn’t want Dean to die, he just wanted him to be reasonable... to stop parroting their dad like he knew everything.

Another drop of sweat rolled down his back and he just knew that if it was this hot in the doorway, Dean had to be dying. Letting out a sigh, he walked over and looked under the hood then at his brother’s face, even if Dean was acting like it took all his powers of concentration to mess with his car. “Finish later. Split a beer with me?”

Yeah, he knew he was under age, but so was Dean and he got no flack for opening the beers in the fridge. It wasn’t that he even liked the taste of beer, but this would either draw Dean out of the garage, start a fight, or both. He wanted Dean out of the extreme heat, and didn’t shirk from a fight, so one way or the other, he was gonna get his way with this.

Dean ignored his brother completely when Sam came over to stand beside him. Keeping his eyes glued to the engine he was working on under the hood and not his pain in the ass brother. His pain in the ass little brother who either didn’t know or didn’t care that the last thing he should be doing was pushing Dean’s buttons right now. Sam had ignored him just fine for the last couple of days and now all of a sudden he wouldn’t go away? What the fuck?!

Dean twisted the wrench in his hand a little more sharply than he needed to, and then gave a small mental apology to his baby. Sam’s “innocent” request, as though he hadn’t been making Dean’s life hell for the last few days… or years if you counted all of Dean’s horribly perverting musings about his little brother in various states of undress… finally making him glare up at the younger boy.

“Sorry, but this paranoid freak is busy. I have to finish this so I can go to work tomorrow so I can feed your sorry ass while Dad is gone.” Dean snapped, wincing a little even as the words left his mouth, but he turned his attention back to the car. Away from his half naked little brother before he could mutter the apology already burning on his tongue. The apology that he really didn’t feel like giving Sam right now.

Sam inhaled sharply, his face jerking up at the unexpected blow below the belt. Dean could be mean when he wanted and call him names, he could deal with that since he did a lot of that himself. They both gave as good as they got. But this was different, it made him sound like a freakin’ user, like a hanger on... like Dean wouldn’t have to work the job he hated if it weren’t for him. Worse, it made him feel like he was trapping Dean, weighing him down when his brother would much rather go with their dad.

His throat constricted. He swallowed over the bitter lump and just nodded, as if in agreement. “You said no to the paper route, but I’ll do something over the summer,” he said tightly. That had been a shouting match too, with Dean saying he needed to study and not waste time trying to earn a few bucks. As if he couldn’t do both. Sam knew Dean didn’t want him going all over town, that’s what the real issue had been.

His fingers curled around the metal frame around the engine of the car. “You know, you’re not as trapped as you think. You could do what you want. Leave... take off, hunt even,” he shrugged. “Most of the chains you’re wearing, they’re not real, they’re in your head. You hate this town, you hate this place... your job, just get in your car and drive. The world will still survive.”

The thought of Dean driving off and leaving him at the ramshackle house made his eyes sting a little, but no way he wanted to be the reason Dean hated his life. He’d thought about this a lot, for himself. He knew they expected him to graduate then become a hunter... live for it. Their expectations had been a weight on him, until he figured out that he’d be at an age where he didn’t have to listen. That he could take off to college. Dad would survive. Dean would survive. The world would survive.

Licking his lips, he took another step back, then turned away so Dean wouldn’t see the tear slip out his eyes. “You won’t get to pick between escape or suffering at work, if you die of heatstroke.” He headed out, practically running and kicking himself for having come after Dean in the first place. But deep down inside, he knew he’d do it again, even knowing what was coming.

Dean pretended not to hear what Sam was saying. He pretended not to notice the strain in his little brother’s voice as he said it. Refused to show just how much guilt he felt for saying what he had. For hurting Sam’s feelings like he obviously had. He refused to show how much it hurt as Sam expertly returned the favor.

He wasn’t “trapped”. It had never been a hardship for him, taking care of his little brother while their father was away. Sure, maybe he hated working at that god damned video store. Maybe he hated spending a good portion of the day rewinding tapes, and keeping stupid kids from going back into the porno section. But that was life. Sometimes you just had to suck it up and deal.

He worked between hunts so that he could help his dad with the expenses, to take a little bit of the pressure off the older man. He worked to help feed Sam, and himself, pay some bills, provide just a little bit better than their tight budget normally allowed. Like ice cream on a hot day, or new shoes so Sam could try out for track.

He’d never felt trapped by that. He gladly accepted his responsibility. To his father. To Sam. To their family. The thought of leaving had never even crossed his mind. This was his life. Their life. Saving people. Hunting things. The family business, as their dad called it. Maybe he did hate this little hick town they were crashing in for the moment. Maybe he hated this house where the roof leaked badly when it rained too hard. But he wasn’t chained here, he stayed willingly. He didn’t hate his life… though his brother obviously did.

The past couple of years Sam had been hinting as much. Always arguing with Dad. Arguing with him less but more recently, especially if Dean ever dared to agree with their father about something. His brother had been trying more and more to blow off his training. Claiming schoolwork or wanting to play basketball or soccer or go on fucking camping trips into the woods with his friends. Things that just weren’t practical or downright dangerous. Asking for things Sam knew their father would say “no” to and then pitching a fit when their dad did.

Dean had hoped it was just normal teenage angst and rebellion, Dean had gone through it himself, though to a much lesser degree. He understood Sam’s frustration, for the most part, but now… He couldn’t help but wonder if it had a lot more to do with just hormones, too much fucking testosterone poisoning his little brother’s brain. Maybe Sam really did hate their father like he acted more and more frequently. Maybe Sam really did hate him…

Dean blinked, telling himself the stinging in his eyes was just from the sweat dripping down his face. When Dean finally looked up, Sam was gone. Probably long gone. Dean stayed out in the garage another half hour or so, because he really did need to finish what he’d been working on or he’d have to walk to town tomorrow. When he finally left the garage it was still hot as ever even though the sun had started to set into the horizon.

He walked slowly up the creaking back porch stairs and into the kitchen. Grabbing a towel hanging on the fridge door and wetting it with cold water from the sink, running it over his flushed face and the back of his neck a few times. Then he went back to the fridge, opened it, and grabbed two beers out. He crossed the hallway to the living room and flopped down on the couch. He didn’t look at his brother but held out the cold bottle by the neck to the younger boy in a silent peace offering.

For a long time, he stared at the t.v. screen but wasn’t watching or listening. Stuff just simmered and boiled inside him, the way it seemed to so much lately. Worry. About his stubborn ass of a brother who’d rather give himself heatstroke than admit staying in the stifling heat of the garage was stupid as hell. Guilt. Until now, he hadn’t... not for one second... thought of all the trouble he was to Dean. That if it weren’t for him, Dean could be out there hunting at dad’s side instead of working to ‘feed his sorry ass.’ Anger. Who the hell had asked for this life anyway? Dad was out of control, and he’d pretty much brainwashed Dean, and now the two of them would be ganging up on him. He could just imagine the fights that were to come. But he was right, and they were wrong. He had a right to choose a normal life. If they didn’t like it, they could suck it up. Or they could try to be normal, freakin’ do their own thing but accept him the way he was, let him go to college.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely registered the opening and closing of the door. It was the water that had him turning to look through the door to the hallway. At least he wasn’t dead, there was that.

Then Dean came in and gave him a beer. “Whole one... for me?” He looked up and grabbed it before Dean could change his mind. “Thanks,” he muttered, a bit unsurely as Dean went back to ignoring him.

Licking his lips, he put the bottle against his mouth and wedged his strong lower teeth between the cap and the bottle. Biting down, he jerked the bottle upward and had the cap off and spit it onto the coffee table.

The store near the school had soda’s with caps on them and when there was a big crowd of students, you’d have to wait in line for the opener. Unless you learned this trick from Jake. He’d learned that, and a lot more from Jake, but he tried to keep his mind off his friend, who was now probably setting up camp near a nice lake. He could think of nothing more fun than swimming at night at the moment.

He lifted the bottle again to his mouth and took a drink, his face screwing up a little. He didn’t hate beer, but he didn’t love it either. Stealing a glance at Dean, he tried to emulate him, taking another couple of mouthfuls and looking like he was enjoying it.

Dean merely shrugged at Sam’s surprise that he was giving him a whole beer for himself. It wasn’t like it was going to stunt the boy’s growth or anything. Little bastard was almost as tall as him now and he was only fifteen. Though that wasn’t the real reason why Dean had gotten them two beers instead of one to share as Sam had suggested. It was because Dean wasn’t sure how he would… react… putting his lips around the same bottle as Sam, maybe even able to taste a little bit of his brother there every time he took a drink.

The older boy glanced at Sam as his little brother used his teeth to open the bottle and rolled his eyes.

“You’re going to break a fucking tooth doing that shit.” He said before looking away again, using the bottle opener he’d brought with him and tossing the cap onto the table next to Sam’s. Making sure not to look at Sam as his brother drank, wrapping his lips around the lip of the cold perspiring glass. He tried not to at least, but even not looking he could still see Sam from his peripheral vision.

He was glad his face was already flushed, and took a long drink of the cold beer to cool himself down. He chewed on his lower lip a moment, pretending to watch the boring ass news show for a while before he leaned over his brother and snatched the remote away from him. Flipping through channels even as he started talking.

“Maybe we can drive up to the lake on my day off.” Dean said as though it was the most casual thing in the world, quickly adding for clarification. “For the afternoon.” There was no fucking way they were staying there overnight, but if it would make Sam happy…

Sam made a sound of disagreement. He was ten times more likely to break a fucking tooth fighting monsters than he was on a bottle cap. Knowing it would lead to another fight, one that he didn’t want or need right now, he kept his thoughts to himself.

His gaze moved between the t.v. and Dean and back. “If we get a long enough cable, we could hook up to the neighbors.” They’d done that when they stayed at apartments, gotten free cable. Helped when he had long hours of boredom when his dad and brother went out on a hunt and didn’t take him, and yet they expected him to stay prisoner inside. You’d think he was made of freakin’ china.

He was about to take a drink when Dean mentioned going to the lake. A smile lit Sam’s eyes as he practically dove from his chair to the sofa, bouncing up against Dean. “That would be awesome. Jake and the others’ll still be there. They have extra tents... he told me.” Yeah, he knew Dean wouldn’t like it, but he had to try. “It’ll be fun... no different from sleeping in the car, and we’ve done that hundreds of times,” he added a bit defensively, seeing Dean’s eyes narrow.

The little spark of happiness he felt in his own chest seeing the smile light up his little brother’s face like a neon sign was unfortunately short lived. It wasn’t the part where Sam’s first thought was being able to spend time with his “friends” who would still be up at the lake, rather than with his brother who was willing to drive him all the fucking way there just to make Sam happy. Though, ok fine, that did sting a bit. It was the fact that even after he’d said they were only going to be going up there for the afternoon, Sam immediately launched into a campaign trying to convince him to spend the night up there with Sam’s fucking friends. As though Dean hadn’t just made a big friggen compromise willing to take his little brother up there at all.

Give him an inch, the little prick tries to take a mile. That’s what Sam was all about lately, and frankly, Dean was getting really fucking tired of it.

“Are you fucking retarded or something? I just said we’d be going up there for the afternoon, that’s it.” Dean said, giving his brother the no nonsense don’t argue with me glare that Dean had learned from their Dad, and he knew that was just going to piss off his little brother even more.

“No different huh? Forget that the trunk of the car is filled with an arsenal? How about all the protective spells and shit Dad has carved into all the groves of the windows and doors? You going to put a circle of salt up around your tent before you go to sleep? I’d like to see you try to explain that one to your ‘friends’.”

Sam recoiled at the criticism. They didn't think he ever got anything right. Sure, Dean was more encouraging, maybe a little less hard on him when they practiced or went on a real hunt, but it was an act. Inside, this was how he felt. 'Little Sammy' knew nothing, had to be told what to do, when and how.

He sat back, and took a longer pull of beer than he had before, trying to control the emotions seething inside him, boiling... when all he'd wanted was a peaceful moment and maybe a fun weekend. Taking a couple more swigs, Sam tried to hold it in, not to explode, not to tell it like it was, but he couldn't... just couldn't.

He pointed at Dean with the head of his beer bottle. "You're turning into mini-dad. Used to have fun, break the rules. Now it's all about the stupid rules. Everything is can't. Can't do this, can't do that, too dangerous, too in the open, not enough wards, or a waste of time because we're not practicing or killing things... dad!" he emphasized, his eyes raking over his brother.

"You make me feel like I'm nuts... like I'm the crazy one, but I'm not... you are, both of you," he nodded. "There are bad things out there, okay... I get that. But you know, reason we see so much of it is your fault... you and dad's. What do you think happens when you go out there and hunt them all the time, huh? You attract them right back, that's what."

Lifting his bottle to his lips he took another long drink, and felt like his tension was melting away even when he didn't want it to, no... he had to let Dean know how they made him feel. "People, regular people, they go out at night, they go camping, they get to do things after school that really mean something, things that don't have anything to do with shooting or cutting or ... surviving. You know why? Because they live their lives. And yeah, sometimes they get hurt by what's out there, but we already have been hurt by it. Lightning already struck the Winchesters, okay? Not gonna happen over and over again. Mom's gone... both of you have to get over that, get over trying to get revenge or whatever. We're not getting her back, and this... what we do... it brings the monsters us. That's why we have to put salt around the house and freakin' spells in the groove of the car windows... That's not normal Dean. That's crazy... and I'm not," he shook his head. "I'm not crazy, and I won't let you or him try to tell me I am. I won't."

Hot tears started to streak down his cheeks. He wiped at them, angry at himself. "I just wanna be normal... why can't you let me? Why?"

There were a lot of times he felt like he just wanted to strangle Sam for picking fights with Dad and just doing everything in his power to make life as miserable as possible for this family. There were a lot of times when Dean felt like beating the shit out of his smart mouthed little brother, especially in the recent months.

This was the first time he actually followed through with that desire however.

Dean saw red. Sam had gone too far. Way too fucking far. If Sam wanted to criticize him, call him crazy, paranoid, hate him, blame him for all of his little brother’s misery, fine. If Sam wanted to mouth off about Dad, talk shit about their father and how much he hated their life that was Sam’s problem. But the little fucking bastard didn’t get to say a fucking word about their mom. The mom that Dean barely remembered anymore and Sam never even got to know because she had been murdered by some evil son of a bitch… and Sam didn’t even fucking care…

Dean barely realized he was on his feet, and barely managed to uncurl his fist at the last second so it was only the flat of his palm that cracked loudly across the younger boy’s face. He knew guilt would hit him hard and fast later for hitting Sam, but right now he didn’t give a damn.

“Fuck you, you ungrateful little shit!” Dean yelled, standing over the younger boy, his whole body practically vibrating with fury, with the desire to give Sam more than just a fucking bloody nose or bruised lip. Maybe if he bruised up that too fucking pretty face enough maybe he would stop looking at Sam. Maybe if he split those too full lips, then he wouldn’t want to kiss them anymore.

“You know what? Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want! Go out with your fucking ‘friends’! Go out fucking camping! Get out! Go get yourself gutted, or burned, or liquefied like the rest of the normal people out there! I don’t fucking care!” Dean practically screamed, launching his half full bottle of beer at the wall above Sam’s head before stalking back into the kitchen, grabbing his car keys off the shelf, and slamming the screen door so hard this time that one of the hinges actually came off.

A few seconds later he was in his car, one of his old classic rock tapes he knew Sam hated blaring at a deafening level as he peeled out of the garage, tires kicking up a mountain of dust on their dirt driveway as he floored it to the main road. Never once looking back.

His mind made sluggish by the liquor, Sam watched as if in slow motion, the broad sweep of Dean’s hand before the heavy slap landed, sending his head to the side and his face into the back of the couch. His soft cry split the air at the unexpected violence from his own brother, as his nerveless fingers lost their grip on the bottle. It tumbled, caught the edge of the old coffee table and shattered before it hit the ground.

A dull roar filled his ears followed a blinding flash of pain, and making it almost impossible for him to understand what Dean was shouting at him. He’d hit him... Dean had struck him for real, like he was one of the things they hunted and killed. He’d drawn blood, and he wasn’t sorry. Sam could practically see Dean shaking with anger and hate, looking at him in a way he never had before.

He was used to the anger and frustration... common expressions in his brother’s eyes lately, but the hate... that ripped him up but good on the inside. He tried to keep the tears in, tried but failed to prevent himself from raising his arm in a protective motion in case the second blow followed.

And then it was over, his ears still ringing with Dean’s last hateful words. Get out he’d shouted, and Sam knew Dean meant it. Earlier he’d finally told the truth about being trapped ‘feeding him.’ Now this. Still dazed, he wiped his hand over his lip and wasn’t surprised at the blood in his palm. He’d tasted and smelled it, and now he his lip was stinging, reminding him again of the pain his brother had inflicted.

Fine he’d go. The only reason he’d stuck around before was Dean. Even though his brother could treat him like shit, most of the time, he hadn’t. Sam knew Dean had gone beyond the call of duty to make things okay for him when their dad was gone, that he’d tried to play both mom and dad, that he’d protected him in ways he might never even really understand. He’d been there for him. And all of that tied them together, and deep down, even though Dean had been the protector, Sam knew Dean needed him too. That they had a connection between them, a history, even the ability to almost read each other, something that Sam wasn’t sure that Dean was ready to let go of yet, or ever. He hadn’t run away because he thought he could slowly break the news to Dean that one day he’d be gone, just to college, but he’d be gone.

He glanced at the door. Dean had just made the decision easier. He’d shown Sam that everything Sam thought he knew about Dean had been a lie. His brother didn’t need him. He was just doing his ‘duty’ by their dad, and couldn’t wait to get rid of him.

Mentally, he made a list of all the things he would need to pack, then got up and took a determined step. Pain, sharper than Dean’s blow had him shouting and hopping to the other sofa, and dropping down. By the time he peeled his thinly soled sneakers off, there was blood all over the floor.

The thick piece of class that had sliced him had fallen off but there was a smaller one lodged in right next to the crescent shaped cut in the middle of his foot. Gritting his teeth and clamping down on the sound of pain, he gripped its edge and slowly eased it out, tears flowing as he started to curse and blamed Dean. Now he couldn’t fucking ride his bike and get the hell away from here. From them. From him.

That last thought, something that would never have crossed his mind hurt him in places deep inside his heart. Pulling up from the couch, he headed for the bedroom, completely uncaring of the trail he was leaving as he tried not to step in a way that would hurt more.

In the room, he went ahead and packed, because it would give him something to do. And it made him feel like he was proactively doing something. He wasn’t anyones doormat or punching bag, and he wasn’t the chain around their neck either. Fuck that. Fuck that and the tears that wouldn’t stop.

He tossed his bag pack next to his bed, then staggered slightly to the bathroom. He dropped his jeans shorts to the ground but kept his boxers on. Numb, he walked into a cold shower, letting the water wash the sweat and blood off him. He didn’t soap up, or dry off. Instead, he just walked back to his bed and flopped down on it cross-wise, laying on his stomach, and torturing himself with his thoughts until oblivion claimed him.