The phone rang insistently, despite Sam's futile attempts to ignore it and put a pillow over his head. Last night fresh in his mind and in his dreams, he felt like crap... like he hadn't slept. Dammit, why couldn't Dean get the phone? He had to get up early for work anyway.

Forcing an eye open and lifting his head, he looked over at his brother's bed. Empty. Was it later than he thought? Was Dean gone? Then it hit him, Dean had probably never come home.

Right... it was okay for him to stay out all night without a ring of salt and protective spells. He wasn't gonna get the phone... it was probably Dean, feeling guilty or something. Let him. He fucking should.

The phone stopped for a few minutes, then started all over again. Cursing, he got off the bed, and instantly started to hop as the throbbing ache in his foot reminded him of his cut. Course that made Dean public enemy number one since it too was his damned fault.

Huffing under his breath, he picked up the phone. "What?" His crabby tone subsided the minute he was told there had been an accident. Dean ... Dean had been in a car accident. Sam felt like the earth had been cut out from under him. For a moment, he stuttered his questions, then pulled himself together. Winchester's didn't fall apart when shit went down.

Much calmer, he refused to answer their questions until they told him Dean's condition, and he could breath easier knowing his brother was banged up and had a concussion, but that he'd be fine. Then he muttered "No, dad's not here, and I don't have car." The voice on the other end was suggesting a taxi, but he hanged up.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, he was limping down the long hallway of the hospital, when he saw Dean emerge from a room. Seeing his brother's pallor, and the cuts and bruises on his face, Sam walked faster, hooking one arm over his brother's shoulder and putting his other hand on his back as he gave him a hug. Sure, he'd be pushed away and told Dean didn't do hugs, but it would be too late.

"You alright," he asked, almost meekly, speaking close to Dean's ear. "They said nothing's broken. Always knew you were hard-headed."

Dean woke up in the hospital.

That was bad enough, because if he had a list of places he’d rather fight a bunch of zombies than be, the hospital would be really damned close to the top. Of course what made it worse was he had also woken up with the worst fucking headache of his life. Though whether that was due to the alcohol or the concussion, the doctors helpfully informed him of, he wasn’t quite sure.

Thankfully his fake ID and his fake insurance card in his wallet both had the same name on it. Of course both would be pretty much useless to him after this because the cops were sure to slap Dean Miller with a DWI the first chance they got.

His dad was going to fucking kill him…

Dean had almost panicked for a moment when they told him they’d called his emergency contact before he remembered that Dad was away on a hunt. So maybe if he got the Impala out of impoundment and fixed up before his father got back, he’d be less dead meat. Since he wasn’t a minor (according to his fake ID) they had to let him check out of the hospital, even though the doctor wanted to keep him for another day for observation.

Fuck that, greedy money hungry bastards. His scans were all clean, he wasn’t bleeding into his brain, he wanted to go home, take a bottle of aspirin, and go to bed. Since he didn’t have his car, and couldn’t have driven it anyway, he asked them to call him a cab to take him home. The last thing Dean had expected when he walked out of his room was to almost literally run into Sam.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, wondering for a moment if he were hallucinating… again… and wondering if maybe the doctors were right and he should stick around for a little while. Then Sam was hugging him and he was too stunned to mutter up his normal “no-chick-flick” protests. Of course Sam pressed so close to him, the younger boy’s breath in his ear, made all kinds of thoughts and feelings Dean had no intention of examining right now churn around in his gut making him feel even more nauseous than he already was. Thankfully he felt too much like crap for any part of him to react… inappropriate.

“Ha ha.” Dean managed weakly at his brother’s lame joke, before grasping Sam’s shoulders and easing the younger boy away from him. His eyes taking in Sam’s worried face, the recent bruise on his jaw, and split lip. Guilt hitting him swiftly like a kick to the gut and he released his brother quickly, staring down at his shoes as though they had all the answers to the universe. Dean cleared his throat self consciously.

“I’m fine.” He finally answered the younger boy’s first question. Not sure what to say now, especially considering the last words he’d spoken to his brother… and even though he’d said all that, even though he’d smacked the younger boy hard enough to make him bleed, Sam was still here. How had he even gotten here without a car or anything? Dean felt about two inches tall at the moment.

“They… called me a cab. To go home…” There, that was easy enough. Start with the obvious, anything to get them past standing here in the middle of the hospital corridor. Especially since standing upright was proving to be quite unpleasant at the moment. He was already starting to sway a little unsteadily on his feet. If he fell on his ass in the hall way they would never let him leave…

After he was gently pushed away and beforeDean spoke again, there was a moment of awkwardness. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist or really good at reading your older brother to know what he was thinking about at that moment. There was really nothing to be said. What happened, happened. Neither of them would apologize... they’d just act like it never happened, just like they did after many other blow ups.

Only this one was different. Dean had never hit him like that before, and Sam wasn’t likely to forget. Still... he knew he’d pushed Dean’s buttons, mom being his biggest one, so maybe he should have expected it.

When Dean mentioned the cab, Sam shook his head. “Nah, I got Jake’s cousin to drive me over. He just graduated and has a car. He’s in the front, gonna give us a ride home.

Sure he knew Dean didn’t like his redneck friends, but like they were any better than them? Besides, it was better than paying for a taxi, and even Dean would have to agree.

“Want a wheelchair?” he asked, jutting his jaw toward some chairs lined against the wall, and smirking at Dean’s reaction. Wordlessly, he put his shoulder under Dean’s arm and started to help him walk to the door. “So what happened? They said you hit a tree.” There was a note of disbelief in his voice, and he expected Dean to clarify their story. It was a hundred times more likely that Dean had plowed over a demon or something that had wrecked the car.

When Sam mentioned his friend’s cousin giving them a ride home Dean was really too tired to argue, so he merely nodded. Immediately regretting the movement of course, his neck and back were so fucking stiff he felt like he could barely move.

Dean might not like the kid his brother had been hanging around with but it wasn’t like they really had the extra cash to spare anyway, especially if he was going to be out of work for a few days. Fuck, he should have already been at work. He was sure Susan would understand, he had been unconscious at the fucking hospital after a car accident after all, but he needed this job and couldn’t afford to have her give it to someone else.

He gave the younger boy a sour look when Sam mentioned the wheelchairs. He wasn’t fucking crippled after all. But he didn’t brush off the younger boy’s help to the door either. Maybe that said something.

Dean sighed heavily when his brother asked him about the accident. There wasn’t any real point in lying to his brother. Right now Dean didn’t think he could come up with anything more convincing, or that Sam wouldn’t know immediately was a lie, and needle him about it endlessly until he told him the truth.

“I was drunk.” He said simply. Hoping his brother would save the lecture until after he’d had his bottle of aspirin and a nap.

“Drunk.” Sam flatly said, looking over to search Dean’s face. There wasn’t a hint of a joke or any indication he was hiding something, he just looked weary. “Dean, you know better. You could have—“

They were outside and Jake’s fool of a cousin was honking his horn like they were going to a party or something. Sighing, he gave Dean a look that said this wasn’t finished, then he tugged the door of the truck open. Favoring one foot, he got inside and scooted to the center, leaving room for Dean to get in next to him.

Country music.

Sam grinned as he looked at Dean’s pained expression. Not that he was enjoying it, but Dean liked to inflict some of his loud-assed music on him so it was fun seeing him having to take someone else’s crap.

“Toby, this is Dean. My brother.”

Toby looked Dean over. “He doesn’t look that tough for the hard ass you say he is.”

Sighing again, Sam just looked out the front window. It was gonna be a long drive.

Dean grimaced a little in pain at the loud honking horn and almost changed his mind about the whole taxi versus them getting a ride home with this moron. But Sam didn’t really give him much of a choice, getting into the truck and leaving him to follow.

The entire drive Dean remained silent, staring out the passenger side window and tuning out the idiot driving as he tuned out the music, if you could even call that crap music. More like torture for the auditory senses. He rested his head against the glass, keeping himself pressed as close to the door as he could so he and Sam weren’t touching. He also made sure to keep his breaths shallow, so he wouldn’t… smell… his brother.

Which just sounded really stupid but all of his senses seemed hyper aware of the younger boy right now, and he couldn’t turn them off, so he ignored them as best he could. Unfortunately not looking at Sam, not touching Sam, not smelling Sam, did nothing to stop the memories of his dream from torturing him. He still remembered how beautiful Sam had looked writhing on his lap. He still remembered the taste of the younger boy’s lips and flesh. He still remembered the sounds of his brother’s moans and the feel of his bare skin beneath his hands…

When they finally got home the truck was barely stopped before Dean opened the door and got out, heading straight for the front door as fast as he could without even an offer of thanks for the ride. After letting himself inside the house Dean went straight for the medicine cabinet and downed about five aspirin at once.

“I’m going to bed.” Dean told his brother simply when he heard the back door open but didn’t look at the younger boy as he headed down the hall to their father’s room. Unfortunately the house their Dad had rented wasn’t big enough for them to have separate rooms, but when John was away it was pretty much a given Dean would be taking over the extra room for himself.

He’d call work later… Dean decided as he collapsed face down on the bed with a groan. Hoping sleep would claim him quickly.

Even though he chatted with Toby, the drive back was extremely uncomfortable for Sam since his brother was being an unsociable douche bag. He ignored Toby’s questions and basically pretended neither of them were in the car with him. Sam scrutinized his face, and for once, he could get no reading on what Dean was thinking. Maybe he was still angry. Yeah, he probably blamed him for getting drunk, getting the car wrecked and his license probably pulled.

When they got there, Dean shot out of the car like a bat out of hell, without even a freakin’ ‘thank you.’ Embarrassed, Sam got out and did his own thanking. “Told you he’s an asshole,” he aid with a shrug, as if that explained everything.

Toby was thick skinned and just gave the thumbs up, honking as he hightailed it out of there, kicking up a bunch of dust.

Sam was still coughing when he got inside just in time for Dean to announce he was gonna go rest. Waiting a few minutes, he followed Dean to their dad’s room and opened the door. “I called your boss. She said to just call her tonight and let her know if you’ll be in tomorrow.” There was a long silence, and Sam started to leave, thinking Dean had slid into a bad mood or he was asleep, though he doubted it.

Dean heard the door of their father’s room open and groaned almost inaudibly into the pillow. God damn it, why couldn’t Sam just give him a little break? Couldn’t the younger boy could go back to torturing him after he’d slept off the worst of this fucking hangover/concussion? He was only asking for a few hours of peace and quiet, was that really too much to ask?

He was a little bit surprised when the younger boy didn’t launch into his aborted lecture regarding the idiocy of drunk driving and how he could have gotten himself killed instead of just his head banged bad enough to have a really fucking hot dream about having sex with his baby brother… Instead telling him he’d already called his job, that he apparently still had after all, and he should call his boss later on if he was well enough to show up tomorrow.

Dean was so stunned he wasn’t exactly sure what to say, and he just laid there for a moment, wondering if he was hallucinating again, until he heard the floor board creek signaling that the younger boy was going to leave.

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean finally spoke, hopefully loud enough for the other boy to hear even though he didn’t lift his head from the pillow. Not wanting his brother to see the telltale wetness in his eyes from the sudden emotion that welled up inside of him threatening to choke him.

Sam nodded. "Call me if you need anything." He left the door slightly ajar and headed to the living room. About to flop down onto the sofa, he saw the bloodied mess he'd left, not that he'd forgotten... his foot still throbbed with pain.

Bringing the dust bin, he took care of all the glass. Then he used a wet cloth to rub the blood stains out of the wooden floor. Crap, a pinkish tinge remained because he'd left it there too long and it had sunk into the wood. Getting some hydrogen peroxide, Sam worked on it some more, scrubbing mindlessly.

Only his mind was working too hard, on the events that lead to his accident. He kept reviewing what he'd said to Dean, right before big brother popped him and his world turned on its axis. He'd seen Dean as a lot of things in his life time. Caretaker. Big brother. Protector. Dad's asshole second. Friend. The one person he would trust to be at his back at all times. But never enemy. Never someone who'd hit him in anger like that. He'd seen a flash in his brother's eyes, like he hadn't wanted to stop. And it made Sam sick, because he didn't want to believe it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see that he'd deserved it. God he so wanted to talk it out with Dean, cause he didn't know what to do now. He'd been ready to hit the road today, he still might later, he told himself. But not while Dean was recovering. He had to make sure his brother was okay, before he left him.

As the day progressed and got hotter, Sam became more restless. He'd taken water and aspiring to Dean a couple of times, but there had been no conversation. Whether Dean was in pain from the alcohol or accident, he wasn't saying.

After watching some t.v., and taking a book out to the porch and reading for a while, Sam realized he was getting hungry. There wasn't much in the cabinets or fridge, not even cereal. Well there was cereal, but he'd finished the milk.

Pulling himself up, he went inside and changed the bandages on his foot, then shoved it back into sneakers. Taking a quick look into Dean's room, he left quietly, grabbing a twenty out of his brother's wallet.

Another moment later, he was bicycling away toward town. At least the sun would set on his way back and it would be a little cooler. Who was he kidding, it would be just as hot but the sun wouldn't beat down on him.

Dean had slept for most of the day. He woke up a few times when Sam came into the room to bring him some aspirin (bless him) and water, staying awake only long enough to swallow down the pills before passing out again. At some point during the day he’d taken off his shirt and didn’t even bother getting underneath the light sheet because it was so fucking hot. The heat making him feel nauseous, even more so than just from the concussion and hangover, and he might have gotten up to throw up a few times too, but he didn’t really remember.

It was approaching evening now, Dean could tell by the slant of the light coming through the window falling across his sweaty back. He didn’t feel quite as sick as before, thank god. He must have slept off most of the effects of the hangover, though his head still pounded fiercely from the concussion.

Aspirin… definitely more aspirin was needed. Sam hadn’t brought him any for a while, the younger boy must have gotten tired of playing nurse maid for his pathetic older brother.

Dean groaned softly as he pushed himself up from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. After relieving himself, taking a few more painkillers, and brushing the foulness from his teeth he felt marginally more human. He made his way into the kitchen then, remembering he had to call his boss he did. Reassuring the middle aged woman that he was fine, nothing broken, and yes he’d be into work tomorrow. Dean knew he couldn’t afford to be out of work, especially now. Since he’d probably have to pay to get the Impala out of impoundment or something as well as feeding his brother. Maybe he could work extra hours for the next few days to make up for the time he lost today…

Speaking of Sam, his brother was probably hungry. Damn it, he needed to go grocery shopping, which was going to be pretty tough to do without a fucking car. But he thought there might be a package of frozen hot dogs in the fridge and a can of beans left under the counter. Unless Sam already finished them off. Guess he should make sure his brother hadn’t already eaten before he cooked anything, he wasn’t feeling up to eating anything himself so if Sam had there wasn’t much point.

“Sammy?” He called and frowned slightly when he didn’t get an answer. Not like Sam wouldn’t hear him, the house wasn’t that big. Dean didn’t hear the television on in the living room but he checked there anyway in case his brother was reading (the geek) or taking a nap, then he checked outside on the porch knowing it was another of the younger boy’s favorite spots to read. Lastly he checked their room, what was normally their room but now Sam’s while Dad was gone, and froze in the doorway. Sam wasn’t there, but when his eyes fell on the clothes strewn about and the packed duffle by the bed Dean felt himself go cold.

He’d told Sam to get out… to leave… yesterday… He hadn’t meant it, he’d been angry, pissed… hurt… by what his brother had said. But he hadn’t meant it, he didn’t want Sam to go, he loved that boy more than anything despite what a pain in the ass he could be. He never thought Sam would actually leave… even if Sam did hate him…

“Sam!” Dean ran back to the back door, throwing it open, and called his brother’s name desperately a few more times. God damn it. Dad was going to kill him… if Dean didn’t do it himself… and he didn’t even have a car and couldn’t go looking for Sam. Dean took a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down. Sam’s bag had still been in his room, which meant the younger boy hadn’t actually left, he’d just gone out, right? Sam wasn’t dumb enough to just take off with only the shirt on his back. God damn him, he was going to kill that brat for taking off without telling him. He didn’t care if the boy was almost sixteen, he was going to take him over his knee the minute he stepped through that door… if he came back…

Feeling sick, like he just might throw up again, Dean went back into the house and collapsed on the sofa in the living room, burying his face in his hands. Hot tears burning his eyes and his throat tight with despair.

“Please come back… Sammy…”

It was a long hot ride, so once he got to town, Sam was more than happy to hang out for a little while and relax. He’d cooled off in the grocery store, taking his time as he picked up a few necessities, milk being the most important, but he wasn’t going to overload himself since he was biking it. After wasting as much time as he could ‘using’ the stores air conditioning services, he walked out and crossed the street to the diner.

He ran into some school friends and sat and had a coke with them. They were swapping stories about what they’d done or would do over summer vacation and when they turned to him, he just gave an unsmiling shrug. “Nothing planned.”

Yeah, how lame did that sound? It wasn’t always gonna be this way, he told himself. One day he’d have real plans, the kind you could share with people. Someday he wouldn’t have to lie about why no one could come over, why group homework had to be done in the library or at someone else’s home. He changed the topic, and then was a bit surprised at home many of them didn’t plan on taking the SATs. Their parents wanted them to, but they couldn’t be bothered. He gave a semi bitter laugh. Life sucked.

One of the girls mentioned a party in a few days, and he just nodded but knew he probably wouldn’t go. If he stayed, Dean would find ten reasons why he shouldn’t be out at night and remind him that school events were different. Right, well maybe he wouldn’t tell Dean. Maybe he’d go.

That was when he saw that it was getting dark. “Gotta go,” he got up and waved at them, then went to the counter to pick up two sandwiches and a soup. He made sure they packed them well and put them in a double plastic wrap, before heading out and putting all his bags over the handlebars of his bike.

Yeah… he looked like a dork. Hoping his friends hadn’t seen him, he took off, pedaling as fast as he could, despite the burning sensation under one foot. It was cooler now, but the air was still warm and sticky, and the exercise had him covered in a sheen of sweat by the time he got home and hopped off, pushing the bike up against the porch wall.

The light on the porch was on so Dean had to be up, or had been at some point. He pushed the front door open and stepped inside. “Dean?” He took a couple more steps and saw his brother laying on the sofa. “I got dinner. You want soup or sandwich, or is that a dumb question?” Depending on the answer, he’d know how his brother was doing, but the fact that he was out of the bedroom meant he was on the mend.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there on the couch before he forced himself to move. Forced himself to do something “productive” rather than sit and wallow in guilt and misery.

First thing was first, he made a few calls, called in every favor he could, used up most of what little he had in his bank account in a check over the phone to pay the fine to get his car out of impoundment, and arranged for the Impala to be dropped off at the local garage. He had a friend at the garage so he’d be able to keep it there, though Dean couldn’t afford to have it fixed, he’d have to do it himself, which wasn’t a bad thing except until he could he’d be without a car and that meant walking everywhere.

Next thing, even though he really fucking didn’t want to right now, he called their father knowing the older man would expect an update from him. Of course Dean had lied out his ass, telling the older man that everything was fine, no trouble at all. Either he’d gotten a lot better at lying to his father than he realized or his dad was just too distracted by the hunt right now to notice it. Whichever reason Dean was glad for it when his father didn’t ask him any questions, giving him only the typical “take care of your brother” line before hanging up.

Dean had run to the bathroom and thrown up again after the phone call.

The next few hours Dean had spent curled up on the couch, waiting. Feeling sick in body, heart, and soul. Every time he thought he heard a noise outside he’d gotten up and rushed to the door, expecting, hoping, it was Sam… every time he returned to the couch feeling just a little more sick. What if Sam didn’t come home? What if his brother really had decided to simply leave, even with nothing more than the clothes on his back… Did Sam really hate him so much? What if he did…

Dean wasn’t sure exactly when he’d fallen asleep, passed out was more like it, but he woke up to the sound of his brother’s voice and for a moment he really thought the younger boy standing in front of him was just a dream. He stared at his brother mutely for a few minutes before he slowly pushed himself up into a more or less sitting position.

“Where the fuck were you?” Dean was a little surprised how soft and rough his voice sounded to his own ears, rather than the angry shout he’d almost expected the question to come out as.

“In town. Got some food,” Sam answered, with a shrug, looking at Dean, really looking at him. It was as if there was some secret message that Dean was trying to convey, but if there was, he didn’t get it. One thing he was pretty certain about was that despite the language, Dean wasn’t angry right this moment.

When Dean didn’t say anything immediately, he put his hand out to touch Dean’s forehead. He was warm and clammy, but then it was so freakin’ hot. “You’re kind of flushed, maybe you should hit the shower, cool off. Even if you don’t have a fever, you’ll feel better. I’ve been doing it all day… could it be hotter?” He rolled his eyes, and walked away to put the milk and ice cream in the fridge. For a few moments, he let the cold air from the fridge cool him off, but he couldn’t stand there all night.

When he got back, he took his burger out of the bag, and then put the sandwich and soup out in front of Dean. “I got some milk and ice cream,” he said as he dug into his pocket and brought out Dean’s change, and put it on the table too. “Took a twenty from your wallet,” his eyes searched Dean’s again to see if that was okay. Usually, he wouldn’t have a second thought about it, but lately, Dean had been acting strange and had been all over his case about everything. Maybe he should have skipped the ice cream, but it had been on sale.

A little tense with worry, he went to the other side of the coffee table and dropped down to the ground, toeing his shoes off and crossing his long legs. Maybe if they got through just one night with no arguments, maybe things would go back to normal. Maybe.

Dean found he had no response to the simple reply and shrug that Sam gave him. He found himself wanting to both wring the younger boy’s neck for going out without telling him and scaring the shit out of him to wanting to hug his brother as tightly as he possibly could and beg Sam to promise not to leave. The packed duffel he’d found in their room of course still fresh in his mind.

Maybe it was best then that his brother’s next action, leaning forward and pressing his hand against his forehead, stunned him both motionless and silent. Of course recalling the… dream… he’d had after the accident. Sam’s hands touching his face, cleaning the cuts, taking care of him when it was usually the other way around, and then climbing into his lap all soft skin and slender muscles…

Dean jerked, pulling back from the younger boy’s touch like it burned him, in a delayed reaction. Snapping himself out of the memory and he was glad that he was already flushed and didn’t have to explain it. Not like he could, not like he ever would.

When Sam returned from the kitchen and put some food and his money down on the table in front of him Dean simply stared at it, saying nothing. He just didn’t know what to say. Sam’s silence and brooding anger over the last few days, his scalding insults about him and their family, the younger boy’s uncaring words about their mother, it was all so fresh in his mind despite how he’d tried to drown it out with alcohol last night. So was how he’d hit his brother, and the dream… Sam begging him to make it better, practically begging for his kisses, his touches, moaning and rocking in his lap, rubbing his hard dick against his stomach…

And his brother was sitting across the table from him now, completely oblivious to Dean’s turmoil and filthy thoughts. It was easier not to look at Sam, so he wouldn’t see that split lip and bruise and remember how Sam had tasted. It was easier to get up, mumbling something about a shower, as he stumbled out of their living room and down the hall to the bathroom than to be in Sam’s presence right now. Ignoring the food Sam had bought for him, not like he would be able to keep any of it down anyway, and ignoring his brother’s eyes following him.

Watching Dean get up abruptly, barely saying a word to him since he’d entered the room, Sam felt a familiar tensing in his belly. His brother’s censure and disapproval often made him feel just like this, only right now, he had no clue what he’d done wrong. Was it taking the money? Was it the icecream. Was it just existing?

He took another bite of his burger but the edge of his hunger was gone. And so was the light in his eyes. Nothing he did lately was good enough. Nothing. And everything he said was wrong. Had he changed that much? Or was Dean just tired of him.

Dropping his food, he rocked back, thinking of the things Dean had said in the garage last night. And later, worse things. Wanting him gone. His eyes going a bit moist, but he vowed not to cry, and turned the t.v. on instead, loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

It worked for a time, but as nearly forty-five minutes passed, he got up. He practically stormed to the bathroom, knocked once, and walked inside. “Dean, you alright?” he asked, unceremoniously pulling the shower curtain partly aside and seeing him standing there under the water.

Sam practically winced at the realization Dean was fine. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked bluntly, unable to hold back the painful question. “I don’t know what I did wrong, I don’t Dean. But it had to be pretty bad cause the way you look at me...” He ran his hand through his hair, then stepped away, taking in his brother’s face one last time.

Dean didn’t waste any time getting into the shower. The cold water wasn’t all that good for his aching muscles he found out, but it worked well enough for clearing his head and also taking care of the less than desirable reactions of his body that had sprung up just from being in Sam’s presence. Before he’d nearly always felt half hard whenever his little brother was around, now with that damned dream fresh in his mind…

He wasn’t sure how long he stood underneath the icy spray, refusing to turn the temperature up even a little. He was shivering, his teeth practically aching with the cold, and Dean knew it was almost dangerous cooling down his body this quickly from the temperature it had been at before but he didn’t really care right now.

That was about when Sam knocked on the bathroom door, but Dean refused to answer. Not to his great surprise the younger boy opened the door and came in anyway but before he could yell at Sam to get the fuck out his brother was yanking aside the shower curtain and Dean could only stand there, soaking wet, shivering, and buck naked staring at the younger boy with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape.

Did he want him to leave? Don’t know what he did wrong? Like all of this was his fault?!

Dean closed his mouth and his eyes turned hard, his earlier misery and fear quickly sparking over to anger. So Sam wanted him to spell out what was wrong? Fine.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong. Everything is peachy. Not like you refused to speak to me for days. Not like you’re constantly telling me how much you hate your life, me, and Dad. Not like you told me you don’t give a damn about our mother. Not like I went into your room and saw your packed bag and thought you were gone. How the hell do you want me to look at you?”

Sam flinched at the attack. Dean had no idea how much he could hurt him just with his disapproval, just with a look. But when he put stuff into words, it was so much worse. Almost as bad as the physical blow he’d dealt. Didn’t he know that? Didn’t he realize it? His brother had always read him so well, didn’t he care? Was he doing this to him on purpose? Did he think that just because he was younger, he’d take everything that was meted out?

“Not like I have anyone else to tell around here. Not like you didn’t tell me you’re tired of working to feed me. Not like you didn’t tell me to get the hell out.” He shouted right back, in the same sarcastic tone, but wasn’t gonna mention mom, or how out of control Dean had been when he struck him.

His throat constricted, his eyes stung with unshed tears. “I should’a gone last night... I would have.” Staggering blindly back, he found the door handle and walked out, leaving the door wide open. Dean was right, he hated his life right now. The one thing that had made it bearable was gone. His brother.

Stalking right past the uneaten food, he went to his room and grabbed his back pack. He looked at the stack of books by his bed, then turned away from them, from everything that was home. Back in the living room, he grabbed the change Dean had left on the table. Wasn’t very much, but it was better than going without a dime on him.

Glancing one last time toward the bathroom, he walked out the door, slamming the screen door shut behind him. Stomach churning, almost aching, he walked out of the yard and headed down the lonely road.

He hadn’t gone too far, when he got to a bus stop and sat down, tears now streaming down his face. His brother, his own brother was treating him like he was shit. He didn’t take crap from his dad, he wasn’t gonna from Dean. Didn’t expect it from him.

He kept wiping his cheeks with the heel of his hand, but there was always more wetness and it bugged the heck out of him. He wasn’t a kid anymore, he shouldn’t be crying. He needed to man up. He needed to develop a thick skin, to not care what they thought, what Dean thought. Pulling his feet up onto the bench, he put his arms around his knees and rested his head. His face stuck to his knees, but the heat didn’t bother him now... he had other things to think about.

Sam hadn’t denied any of it. He hadn’t denied that he hated their father. He hadn’t denied that he hated Dean. He hadn’t denied that he didn’t give a rats ass about their mom that had been killed. He simply threw it in his face what he’d said about working to feed Sam, which he had never said he was tired of, which he’d never considered a hardship, but he’d just been angry at Sam for the boy’s childish attitude regarding that stupid camping trip when Dean had more important things to worry about. Like taking care of his brother and keeping him safe.

Then Sam went on to further flay him alive reminding him of how he’d told Sam to “get out”, something he’d said in a fit of anger because Sam had pushed all his buttons and then some, provoking him to the point where he’d actually hit the younger boy. Of course he hadn’t meant it. The terror he’d felt when he thought Sam had left earlier was proof enough of that. And as though Dean wasn’t ripping himself up inside with guilt over what happened yesterday… his brother went on to confirm he had been fully ready to leave, last night…

Why hadn’t he? Did it even matter now?

It would have been far kinder if Sam had simply ripped open his chest and tore out his heart with his bare hands and stomped on it. He wished Sam had.

Then Sam did leave. He walked out of the bathroom and Dean fell back against the shower wall, the only thing holding him up by that point. When he heard the front screen door slam that wasn’t even enough anymore and he slid down the wall to collapse on the cold tile floor. Not that he really felt the cold anymore.

Every part of his being wanted to run after the younger boy. Wanted to grab him and shake sense into him. To yell at him to stop acting like a fucking idiot. To yell at him to stop acting so fucking selfish, he wasn’t the only one who had it tough, he wasn’t the only one who made sacrifices, for the job, for their family, they all did, even dad. Another part of him wanted to fall on his knees in front of the younger boy, beg Sam for forgiveness, promise his brother anything he wanted as long as he didn’t leave. Instead he simply sat there. Sam had made himself very clear. Sam hated him. Hated everything about their life. Didn’t want to stay, what could Dean possibly say then, what could he possibly promise that would change his mind?

Absolutely nothing. He couldn’t change Dad. He couldn’t change himself. He couldn’t change his life. He’d done everything in his power his whole life to take care of that boy and try to make him happy, but that wasn’t good enough anymore. It obviously never had been. So Dean merely sat there, like the useless thing he was, wondering if it was possible to die of hypothermia in a heat wave. Not that he really cared. The icy cold water raining over him rinsing his silent tears down the drain.