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It was funny how your back pack seemed to get heavier and heavier as the hours passed. But Sam knew he had to put as much distance as he could between himself and the motel room, before Dad and Dean got back. Walking along the side of the road, he stuck his thumb out each time he saw a car, hoping someone would give him a lift.
~*~
It wasn't that Dean was mad. He should be, coming back from a hunt to find their motel room empty of both Sam and all this brother’s belongings, but he wasn't.
He was just… hurt. Deep, heart-aching hurt that his brother was so desperate to get away from them that he would pull this.
He cruised the streets, keeping an eye out. He was planning on going by every bus stop and train station in a five mile radius, hoping he could catch Sam before the jerky kid got too far.
He squinted in the low glow of the streetlights, finally seeing a shadowy figure walking down the sidewalk. A suspiciously Sam-like shadowy figure.
He frowned when he saw Sam stick his thumb out, hitching for a ride.
"Damn it, Sam, I thought I taught you better than that, you idiot," he growled, pulling the car over and leaning across the seat to push the passenger side door open.
"You’re gonna get yourself killed," he barked out, "Get the fucking car, Sam."
~*~
He heard the Impala before it came to a halt next to him, and prayed it wasn't dad driving. Just how the heck had they gotten back so quickly?
And then the door swung open and Dean was yelling at him in his ‘dad’ voice. Sam’s stomach muscles tightened. He might be glad it wasn't dad, but he didn't want to face Dean either.
For a second, he thought about running. But the thought was fleeting. Dean would come after him and it would just be worse.
In a super low voice, he whispered, almost like a prayer, “can’t you just say you never saw me?” His eyes stung with unshed tears, but he stubbornly held them back.
~*~
Dean heard Sam’s quiet plea, and he clenched his jaw at the sound of Sam’s desperation.
He hated seeing his brother like this. He’d rather carve his own heart out than see Sam so twisted up and hurting, and he vowed then and there he’d do anything he could to fix this.
"I won’t tell you again," he said sternly, just needing Sam to get the in damn car, "Come on, Sam, we need to talk."
~*~
Sam clenched his jaw, his eyes filling with rebellion. But who was he fooling. He was good and stuck. There wasn't any getting away from this, and he was gonna have to face the music.
Practically throwing his back pack down on the chair between them, he climbed in and pulled the door shut. ”Congratulations, Dean. You hunted me down just like those things you hunt. Dad’ll be so proud.”
The words were bitter in his mouth. He didn't want t hurt Dean, not really. But when things got like this, he had to lash out. And right now, it was Dean who was taking him back and the only available target of his anger.
~*~
"Shut the fuck up, Sam," Dean snapped at Sam’s childish remark. He hated when Sam got like this, all surly and bratty like the whole damn world had done him wrong.
Please, for the love of God, tell me I was not this angsty when I was that age, he thought irritably, pulling the car back onto the empty street.
They rode in tense silence for a few minutes as Dean tried to cool his temper, somehow not putting it past Sam to jump out of a moving car and sprint off if Dean couldn't control his smart mouth. He needed to be a fucking grown-up about this, dammit.
"So what was your master plan, Sam?" he asked coolly, "Offer blow jobs to random strangers so they’d drive your sorry ass across the country, huh? Or just wait to get murdered by some psycho in the back seat of a Honda?"
So much for Dean keeping his mouth in check. Dammit, this boy drove him crazy.
~*~
He’d expected the ‘shut up,’ maybe even deserved it. Didn't mean he wasn't steaming, resenting it. This, his life. He steadfastly looked out the window, refusing to say another word, or to acknowledge Dean. He was good at ignoring.
Only Dean’s harshness broke through, causing Sam to physically shrink from his brother and plaster himself against the door. His hand brushed against the door handle. If they weren't going so fast…
He knew better than to answer Dean’s questions. Instead, he turned his brother’s words on him. ”What about you, Dean? What’s your master plan? You plan to cuff me to the bed, tie me up, baby sit me 24/7? How’re you gonna make this stick?” he demanded, already mentally preparing to run again, when there was a better opportunity.
~*~
"Goddammit, Sam," Dean growled, smacking his palm on the steering wheel and foot pushing the gas pedal a little harder in his agitation.
He clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath and tightening his hands on the Impala’s wheel until his knuckles turned white.
"I shouldn't have to," he finally ground out, "You should have the fucking guts to talk to me, instead of sneaking off like a fucking coward."
Dean swallowed hard, finally looking over to the side at his brother. His heart ached with the way Sam was pressed against the door, like he couldn't get far enough away from Dean.
"You hate us that much," Dean shook his head, shifting in his seat and making a conscious effort to loosen his grip on the wheel, "You hate us that fucking much…"
~*~
The sound of Dean’s palm banging the steering wheel startled Sam. He watched as Dean’s expression hardened and his knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. He’d gotten to Dean, and a part of Sam felt victorious over it. But his victory was short-lived.
His stomach roiled at the fact Dean thought he hated him. Dean knew him best, so how could he even think that? Did he really believe it? Sam would have liked to think it was just part of their battle of words, but when his brother looked at him, he didn't only see the anger. He saw vulnerability.
Shame washed over him. But it was complicated, because there was also resentment there. If he didn't love Dean, if he didn't know Dean would do anything for him, then Sam would be freer. He wouldn't worry about Dean being alone. He would shout at him, tell him the vilest lies he could think of, to make Dean hate him and let him go.
But that wasn't how it was between them.
He swallowed over the painful lump in his throat. ”I don’t hate you, Dean. I hate my life. I hate that I had a dog for two days but had to give it up because you and dad were getting back. I hate living like a paranoid freak, making excuses for why kids can’t come to my place, making promises and not getting to keep ‘em because dad moves us.” His voice rose as he listed the things that he hated, and it was only the tip of the iceberg. ”You know what my homeroom teacher asked? She asked whether my parents would rather have the ‘my child is an honor roll student’ or the ‘my kid aced calculus’ bumper sticker. I told her my dad would rather get the ‘my kid can throw his dagger farther,’ sticker, and she laughed. She said ‘or spit farther.’ Thing is, she thought it was a joke. It’s not. It’s my life Dean, and it’s a fucking nightmare.” To his shame, his voice cracked.
~*~
"I know, Sammy," Dean whispered, looking over at Sam for as long as he dared keep his eyes off the road, "I know, ok? It’s shitty. You deserve better."
Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat, thinking about all the times through the years that he’d pleaded in secret with their father to just let Sam stay to be in that play, or participate in that spelling bee, or finish that soccer season. He kept his own private campaign on behalf of his brother, wanting to give him everything he could, and tried to keep Sam as unaware of his battles as possible. Sam deserved the world, but he didn't have to be witness to the war Dean fought to give it to him.
"But that doesn't mean you can cut and run. Where were you gonna go? You think I want you roughing it on the street or something? I’d rather die than see you do that to yourself, Sam, come on, you’re more than that."
Dean saw a sign for the highway and took it, needing them to be on the open road for a little while. Whatever it was that was going on with Sam, they needed to talk it out, right here and now, before they even thought about going back to dad.
~*~
"You know why you think that Dean? Cause dad brainwashes us into thinking everyone is bad. There’s a monster in every corner, and no one’s gonna help you except you, ever." Sam looked out the window for a long moment. "Good things do happen to people. To normal people. What makes you so damned sure there isn't a family out there who’d give up a little room for help around the house, or tutoring or something? Or a store run by a really old person who’d hire you and let you stay there nights? Or that you couldn't find a friend with cool parents who lets their kid bring friends over to crash for as long as they want.”
It was the stuff of his fantasies. Scenarios he’d made up in his mind as he planned for that day he’d run. ”We find abandoned places all the time, all the time Dean. You don’t think I could do that?” He raised his chin.
~*~
Dean listened to Sam’s hopeful fantasies, wishing for a moment that he could have optimism like that. That his world view wasn't so terribly skewed and polluted by the messed up crap he’d seen as a hunter.
"You don’t think I could do that?"
"Sam, I am not doubting you, ok?" Dean said placatingly, merging into the flow of traffic and trying to figure out how to explain himself, "I know you could tough it on your own, alright? I know you’re a smart kid, but you’re still a kid.”
Dean took a deep breath and held it in for a second before letting it out in a puff of frustration, “You’d drive me fucking crazy, you know that? You out somewhere on your own, squatting in some old house or bunking with some strangers. I’d lose my damn mind worrying about you all the time. I know you like to think the best of people, Sammy, but I wouldn't be able to do anything but imagine the worst.”
He looked over at Sam, just wanting so desperately for his thick-skulled baby brother to understand how central he was to Dean’s life. How him running off and trying to carve out some semblance of “normal” would knock Dean’s world off its axis.
~*~
What he saw in Dean’s eyes scared him. He’d knew all along, had always known, he kept Dean together. That Dean needed him more than their dad ever had. And yeah, Sam loved Dean with all his heart, but he saw more clearly than Dean. He was Dean’s chains, as surely as Dean was his.
Shoving the backpack onto the floor, he scooted next to Dean, twisting slightly and putting his head on his chest, one hand on his far shoulder. He hugged him as best he could, his throat tightening, because he knew, he knew he couldn't do this to Dean.
"Then come with me," he whispered, more fantasies. Dean would never leave dad. "Let’s keep driving, just you and me. We’ll find a place, make it ours. We don’t have to move around. We don’t have to be hunters," he said, his tears coming freely now, and barely able to hold back a sob. Because he knew, he knew Dean would never break free, not even with Sam helping him.
~*~
Dean took his right hand off the steering wheel the moment Sam started to move closer, wrapping his arm around his brother’s shoulders and letting him press his head to Dean’s chest.
"Oh Sammy," Dean whispered despairingly at Sam’s desperate plea, feeling his eyes fill immediately with tears. He bit his bottom lip, fighting to hold them back as he searched for an exit before his blurry vision got them both killed.
He chose the first one he saw and took it, getting off the exit and pulling down a side street in some random town barely 10 minutes from where they’d started.
Dean put her in park awkwardly with his left hand, and pulled Sam closer, pressing his lips to his brother’s hair and still trying to keep his tears in check.
"You know we can’t do that," he said quietly, reaching up with his other hand and cupping the back of Sam’s head, wishing he could take all of Sam’s pain into himself through touch alone.
"Dad needs us," he continued, softly, "He’s already lost mom, we can’t make him lose us too. We can’t do that to him."
~*~
Can’t. Dad needs us. That there was the end of the argument. Sam could come up with a dozen ways that they could find a place for themselves, but he couldn't come up with even one that would take care of dad too. And Dean would rather cut off his arm then make either of them miserable.
Stuck.
Sam held tighter, squeezing his eyes closed, trying to turn off the water works. There was no point in dragging this out or tearing Dean apart. They were who they were.
"M'kay," he mumbled, wiping his face against Dean’s jacket before slowly pulling away. Using the heels of his hands, he got rid of the last streaks of his tears, and then met Dean’s eyes. His brother’s eyes held unshed tears. "M’sorry, Dean."
He was sorry for the pain he’d caused, but not for anything else. Maybe one day he’d pave the way for Dean to follow him. Maybe.
"So," he gave a sniff. "Did you kill it? Whatever you were after?"
~*~
Dean reacted to Sam’s arms tightening around him, stroking his brother’s hair and laying his cheek on the top of Sam’s head. This sucked. From beginning to end, this whole situation sucked, and he was so angry for a moment (at dad, the job, at the world) that he shut his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself.
Then Sam was pulling back, wiping his tears on Dean’s jacket, the little punk, and Dean couldn't hold on to his anger with the way Sam was looking at him; miserable and sad and trying to hide it behind his hands as he rubbed the rest of his tears away.
"So," Sam sniffed, and Dean hated witnessing this; his brother locking himself away in front of his very eyes, putting on a brave front for Dean, "Did you kill it? Whatever you were after?"
"Yeah," Dean croaked after a moment, then cleared his throat and looked away, "Of course we did. Piece of cake."
He put on a small smile as he looked back to his brother, reaching out on impulse and touching his face. He patted Sam’s cheek encouragingly, hoping the simple gesture (and inadequate, so damn inadequate) would be enough to convey everything he really wanted to say. I love you, I’m sorry, I wish I could give you the world, Sammy, you have to know that…
"We ok, little brother?" he asked, shifting in his seat and putting the car back into drive, then looking back to Sam, "I’ll talk to dad first, when we get back. If you want."
~*~
"We’re always ok, Dean." Sam ran a hand through his hair. He wished they were home and in bed. That this whole day hadn't happened. That Dean was just running his hand over Sam’s back or through his hair, like he did sometimes, when Sam was having trouble getting to sleep. Or was having issues that were too big for Dean to solve.
As they drove the last few miles, he watched Dean’s profile. Deep down, in his heart, and in these moments when Dean allowed him glimpses of what was behind that happy mask he usually wore, Sam knew Dean suffered as badly as Sam. That Dean had dreams too, for himself, maybe for both of them. Dreams that would never come true. He got a little choked up again. This time for his big brother.
When the pulled up in front of the motel, he saw the curtains move. His dad was waiting for them.
"Dean." He grabbed Dean’s arm, and looked at him. "You don’t have to talk to him for me. You don’t have to be in the middle. You didn't make this mess." His brother would think Sam meant that Sam made the mess, but Sam meant their dad.
~*~
"I know, Sammy," Dean shrugged, "I just figured I’d, you know, talk him down from a yelling spree. Make sure he knows that we had a talk and this isn't going to happen again, right?"
Dean thumped Sam reassuringly on the chest, taking it upon himself to grab Sam’s bag from the floor and opening the car door.
"Up to you, Sammy," he said as he got out, hauling Sam’s bag onto his shoulder with one hand and closing the door behind him with the other.
He turned and winked at Sam through the windshield as he walked toward the motel room. He was not looking forward to the next few hours, as there was no doubt in his mind that their father was not going to take Sam’s little adventure well. Even if his brother did let Dean take the first blast.
You better appreciate how much I love you, you little idiot, Dean thought as their father opened the motel door.
~*~
He should have run after Dean, pushed past him, and walked inside to face the music. But he didn't. Old habits died hard, no matter how hard you tried to kick them, or to grow out of them. So he let his brother play mediator. Take the first flames of his father’s anger. Be his shield, like he’d always been.
But Sam vowed. One day he’d be Dean’s shield, his protector. One day he’d show his brother how to walk out of this hell they called a hunter’s life. He’d help Dean find the normal life he craved, but never admitted to.
Finally opening his door, he got out. Shoulders hunched, head bowed down as he looked at the ground, he walked towards the door, internally railing against the shouting he heard coming from their motel room.
The End