The creaking floorboards underneath his rapidly pacing feet squealed in aging protest as Dean stomped his angry, cyclical way over them. He had seen some things in his time, both earthly and unearthly, but the stunt his little brother had just pulled, beat them all.

To the less than dulcet soundtrack of the floorboards now roaring in warning, he continued his agitated bout of directionless activity. His mind faltered under the weight of the barrage of thoughts bustling around it, and his stomach clenched in the battle of conflicting emotions.

Relief flooded through him intermittently, followed closely by a dose of admittedly frightening anger.

He needed to calm the hell down, and whether the wooden floor structure liked it or not, pacing had always helped.

What didn't help…. What really didn't help, was that the cause of his ire sat so freaking nonchalantly in the chair opposite him, texting absentmindedly on that goddamned phone.

The kid clearly had either absolutely no idea, or simply neither care nor consideration, for the danger he'd put himself in. Staring with a biting force at the top of his brothers tousled mop of hair, Dean felt himself continue to vibrate with rage, tempered only by gratitude that the geek was ok.

He could be organising his little brother's funeral right now, and Sam was acting as if he'd just forgotten to gas up the car, and that he, Dean, was completely over reacting.

He gave no indication that he understood the fact that running off, half cocked, unarmed on a wild goose chase that was only tentatively connected to Jess' death was something that might cause concern.

Serious concern.

Dean's eyes flashed once more as he remembered the horror of waking up to that hurriedly scribbled note, and his brother's empty bed.

He had told Sam that he would go with him and see if that lead, though he seriously doubted it, would come to any fruition. He had told him that they needed to come up with a more organised plan that merely running headlong into something they knew very little about.

For once, he had been the perfect poster boy for restraint, and it was then that the college boy decided to go all rebellion wild on him?

Looking over once again in the midst of his pacing at Sam's supremely unconcerned poise, he resisted with great difficulty the urge to shake him into next week.

Taking a deep breath, he realised he was nowhere near calm enough to deal with the situation with any kind of rationality. If he'd learned anything from his father's and Sam's relationship, it was that the kid did not react all that well to raised voices and clipped tones.

The pacing wasn't doing the job.

He needed air.

Lots of air.

Grabbing his jacket, he strode across the room and felt his jaw clench with raw irritation when Sam merely arched a distinctly unperturbed brow in his direction.

Dropping down to level eye contact, he crouched in front of his little brother and not for the first time, wondered how they'd gotten this far without him killing him in cold blood.

"I need to calm down," he growled, keeping his anger at bay as best as he possibly could, "you wait here for me to get back. You do not leave this goddamned room. Do you understand?"

His young brother merely mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "whatever…take as long as you like."

Before dropping his head unceremoniously back down to his phone.

In a clear dismissal.

Biting his tongue and closing his eyes in now rather wearied anger, Dean stood and shrugged on his jacket before striding smartly out of their motel room door.

The balmy breeze hit him head on, and he drank it in deeply. Throwing his hands in his pockets, he set off grudgingly towards the town centre.

Their current investigation had landed them in the smallest of small towns, and curious looks from locals caught him at every angle. Not in the mood to flash his charming smile at even the prettiest of girls, he kept his head down and tried to walk off his remaining ire.

Its like talking to a brick wall he thought helplessly, stepping smartly out of the way of an oncoming tractor.

The kid just didn't listen. He never had. He had bucked against their father, and now, with their father still AWOL, it seemed that he, Dean, was picking up the slack.

His throat constricted as he thought of the dishevelled state that Sam had arrived back in. His mussed up hair, his grazed cheek…his look of raw and unhidden fear.

He couldn't recount what he had experienced with any authority, it wasn't something he knew on sight and it wasn't something documented in their father's journal.

How he got away, he also couldn't say. Through borderline chattering teeth he had worked brokenly through an explanation that gave rise to more questions than answers.

The…thing, whatever it was….had simply stopped giving chase as he had stumbled haphazardly, utterly unarmed through unfamiliar wild terrain.

Dean's brow furrowed further as he had recalled how Sam had begun to pull his cloak of indifference over him as the shock had worn off. His anger riled once more as he remembered how the belligerent attitude had come to the surface as his little brother had seen through his own relief right through to the anger that laid closely under the skin.

Ignoring yet another incredulous look from a local merchant, he stomped his way down some kind of scenic walk, his mind whirring almost painfully, only tempered with the knowledge that at least the kid was safe and accounted for.

For the moment anyway.

…but back in the sparsely decorated motel room, another mind was whirring with equal bouts of anger and relief.

Sam was fed up.

He was well and truly fed up.

He didn't want this life. He had been thrown into it before he could even walk or talk, and dragged without care or consideration through its crazy realms as he'd grown.

He just wanted to be normal.

Was that really too much to ask?

He threw his phone down angrily as he recalled the infuriated look on his brother's face as he had burned holes in the floor with his stupid pacing.

He wasn't their father.

He didn't have the right to freaking lecture him like that.

It was bad enough trying to get it through to their MIA father that he didn't freaking want to be a hunter. Now, he had to contend with his equally bull headed brother.

Stretching out in the armchair, he ran an exasperated hand over his face.

He could be at Stanford right now. He could be living a normal life, full of normal things.

But no…he was once again essentially homeless, living from flea bitten motel to motel with an overbearing, know it all brother.

He didn't need Dean to tell him how to run his life.

He'd done just fine in doing that in the years that his brother and father had practically ignored his existence. Scorned him for daring to have the audacity of being drawn to some semblance of normalcy.

The raw emotional build up that was now beginning to thunder through him chose to ignore all the times that they'd called, and he'd ignored them.

He suddenly found himself on his feet, retracing his brother's agitated footsteps. The unprocessed grief and guilt he still felt over Jess' death engulfed him in that moment.

The bile rose in his throat as he remembered her pretty smile, her trusting eyes.

He had all but dragged her into his screwed up, messed up world. Omission was as good as a lie right?

The tentative plan he'd come up with suddenly rattled around his brain, and he looked around the room. The car keys glistened in the unused ashtray, and he started towards them. Dean had obviously removed them from their stupid hiding place when he'd driven over town looking for him.

His face contorted into a scowl as he recalled the cause of his unarmed state.

If his stupid brother hadn't basically locked away their arsenal, he might have had a shot at taking that…thing down.

Hesitating for a fraction of a second at Dean's probable reaction, his face suddenly darkened.

Scooping up the keys of the car, and their entire tool inventory, he shrugged on a jacket of his own.

Wrenching the door open, he spied his cell on the armchair and made the conscious decision to leave it there.

Hovering on the doorstep for a moment, Dean's face flashed in his minds' eye.

The angry "screw him," was spoken to no one in particular as the door slammed shut, aged wood in supreme danger of splintering at the hinges with the force used.

A local farmer's eyes widened in disgust, and a head was shaken in disproval, as an odd looking car suddenly screeched loudly out of the local, and barely open, motel.

These damn out of town kids…..

…..

TBC

…..

A/N: Ok, so first ever Supernatural fic. I've been badgered by friends to watch the series for like forever, but I've always put it off because it didn't really seem like something I'd like. How wrong I was! Already hooked.

Obviously I'm seasons and seasons behind, and this fic is based off my interpretations of the first season (nearly done binging it), so for people who are on Season 11 etc, this may seem outdated etc.

Anyways, a little bit nervous as I've never written for this fandom before, so please let me know what you guys think!

-Inks