Summary: Dean and Sam are sure they've got each other all figured out, but neither understands how to stop the past from shaping the present. Will they take the strength they use to fight demons and use it to heal themselves and each other?
Characters: Dean and Sam and lot of extras, point of view switches.
Author's Notes: This is my first Supernatural fanfic... and I promise it's going somewhere! This is set at an undetermined point in the canon timeline, and the hunt is fictional - I might get around to writing it out though when I'm done with this.
Disclaimer: I own no characters or bits and pieces of Supernatural, except in my head.
Worry & Care
Faith is not without worry or care - faith is fear that has said a prayer. - Author Unknown
Chapter One
"Oh, to be Dean the Magnificent." thought Sam.
He was sitting in a grungy, dim diner on the side of a little state highway in the middle of nearly nowhere. Sam and Dean were in between jobs. Driving just to drive, on the way to someplace, sooner or later. Sam leaned back in his chair and watched his older brother flirt with the waitress as she stood blushing behind the counter. It seemed to Sam that Dean had always been confident, and that confidence never wavered - whether he was fighting ghosts or fishing for a little female companionship.
The waitress laughed, and Dean leaned on the counter and reached out, casually putting his hand over hers. Sam rolled his eyes as he watched Dean use the Bashful Sensitive Smile and pull his hand back. Dean stood up straight and crossed his arms over his chest, and Sam saw the waitress walk right into Dean's trap. She moved around the counter in an instant to stand inches from Dean, her hand on his arm. Dean smiled the Magnificent Smile and the waitress took her order pad and pen from her pocket. Sam shook his head as Dean sauntered back to the booth, biting the folded slip of paper with the waitress' phone number in his grin.
"You don't mind if I go out for awhile tonight, do you Sammy?"
"Of course not," said Sam "I'd hate to keep you from earning your babysitting money."
"Hey - I asked, she's legal." Dean shot back.
"Sure." said Sam shortly, deciding he didn't really wasn't up to having this conversation with his brother tonight.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, Dean, nothing."
"You have something to say about my entertainment choices, Sammy-boy?" pushed Dean, the edge of challenge soft and sharp in his voice. Sam could tell Dean was ready for a fight, and it wasn't like there was really anyone else for him to fight with (that wouldn't lead to an arrest anyway).
They'd left Indiana and the strange disappearances (also known as supernatural spelunker-nappings) at the Wyandotte Caves in Harrison-Crawford State Forest behind, about forty-eight hours earlier. They'd been sore and weary and had ordered in pizza as soon as they reached the StarNight Motel. They each finished a large pepperoni (Dean's with pineapple, Sam's with mushrooms) and slept until dawn.
This was what they always did. Leave the hunt site, drive until the adrenaline finally began to wind down and Dean started to swerve and Sam hollered that it wasn't demons that were gonna do them in. They ate in their room, even if that meant whatever was left in the backseat of the Impala. They slept, often in whatever they were wearing, bloody or not.
Morning was quiet between them, and the post-hunt pattern continued. Showers, fuel and breakfast from the gas station nearest the on-ramp. Still no real conversation, and no discussion of destination. Just running, decompressing, re-stabilizing.
They drove until it got dark (so longer in the Summer than in Winter), Sam driving briefly after lunch (Dean was a sucker for good digestive nap), and when they stopped for the night, they ate out. Then they parted ways until morning. Each had a cleansing ritual of his own.
After months of traveling with his brother again, fighting the good fight, killing nasty things, Sam's understanding of what went on in Dean's brain hadn't been significantly expanded. He had grown up enough to realize that in those last few years before he had. left "home", he had been supremely sorry for himself and exceedingly focused on his own misery. Yet he struggled even now to push back the waves of terror and frustration, to live what was and not let what he longed for kill him - one way or another.
He knew himself better now than he had five years ago, but truthfully that wasn't saying much. John Winchester had never given his sons permission to feel or to understand why they had to do what they did. Neither Sam nor Dean had ever had the luxury of putting the two together - feelings and reasons - to create an emotional life that made much sense. They worked, they ran, they did it again. Their father had been clear for as long as Sam could remember that hunters of evil didn't get paid leave - not to think, not to feel, not for a funeral. You were in, or you were out. Dean stayed because he couldn't bear to think about the alternative. Sam had left them because he couldn't stop thinking about it.
Sam had taken two psychology courses in college but they weren't near enough training to unravel someone whose guts were as tightly wound as his brother's. Sometimes, Sam thought Dean's relationships with women (if you could call them that), were simply about frustration being released - the work they did was hard and stressful, and Sam's own outlet (he had a library card from nearly every town they'd stopped in) clearly didn't work for Dean.
Sometimes Sam wondered if Dean's shortened time with their mother had given him a weird hang-up that kept him from really getting close to a woman. And sometimes he wondered if his brother was just a jerk. An arrogant (yes), insensitive (often), chauvinistic jerk, who really did subscribe to "use 'em and lose 'em". That last one didn't ring completely true for a reason the younger brother couldn't put his finger on. Sam was sure there were other possible explanations, but he usually fell asleep before he could hash out more than his first three theories.
Sam sighed as Dean started in again.
"You know it's not like you couldn't find somebody to hook up with if you wanted to - and if not, I might be willing to share." Dean smirked nastily.
"Thanks but no thanks - I think I'll turn in early tonight." Sam replied, trying to keep his tone even. "It's actually easier to fall asleep when you're not snoring in the next bed."
"I don't snore." muttered Dean darkly as he took out his wallet and added a bigger tip to the money Sam had already put on the table. A little more butter for the waitress.
They stood and Dean motioned Sam toward the door, indicating with a nod of his head that he'd follow after he… said his goodbyes.
Sam waited in the Impala for seventeen minutes, watching Dean flirt and fondle the waitress. He sighed again, and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He opened them as he heard the bell on the diner door jingle, just in time to see Dean flash his prey the You Just Wait - I Am So Worth It Smile and head for the car.
"So, I'll drop you off and see you much, much, later, Dude." Dean's self-satisfied tone matched his expression. "You don't need to wait up this time Sammy. Really."
"I wasn't waiting up for you, you idiot!" Sam snapped. "It was a good book. Not everything in the universe is about you, Dean."
"Well, you could've fooled me." Said Dean with a laugh that wasn't meant to be funny. "I get tired of your attitude, Sam" he went on tightly, "I don't need your permission to have a good time - hey, I don't need your permission for anything baby brother."
"I never said you did!" shrieked Sam, his blood pressure and his voice rising. How did Dean manage to make him feel ten years old in ten seconds flat! He heard himself continue the argument with his brother, Sam trying to explain, Dean trying to maim, and suddenly Sam felt completely deflated. He shut his mouth and turned to the window.
"You have your hobbies, I have mine." Dean said, knowing he was getting the last word in. "Now get out." He pulled to a stop in front of their motel room, refusing to look at his brother. "I told you to get out of my car, Sam. We're done."
Sam's rage was ready to spill and he was afraid if he moved a muscle he wouldn't be able to keep himself from slugging Dean, hard.
"Sam." The only thing that scared the younger Winchester more than his own rage was that of his brother and what he heard in Dean's voice pulled him into action. He was out of the car in a second but not fast enough to escape Dean's final dig - "Go read yourself a bedtime story like a good little Sammy-boy."