Another tag scene to Metamorphosis. Other than timing, no relation to "Idiot" or "Doors".

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We drove for a long time. I wasn't tired and whenever I asked Sam if he was ready to stop for the night, he'd shake his head and mutter 'no', so we kept driving. Finally though, I decided we had to stop. We got ourselves some dinner - if that's what you call food at midnight - and found a motel. Sam stayed in the car while I got the room. If his eyes weren't open, I'd think he was sleeping. But I know - he's thinking.

Sammy would never survive hell - not because of the pain or the torture, but because the pain and the torture don't give you any time to think. And if Sam ever wasn't able to think, his head would explode. Really.

Anyway, sometimes I think he thinks too much. He thinks he's different. He thinks I'm scared. He thinks I think he's a freak. He said that - yelled that - at the side of the road. He's said it before, telling me at different times, "Don't look at me like that." I don't know why he thinks that I look at him like he's a freak.

Well, the other day probably didn't help, when I told him he was getting away from being human. But technically I didn't say he was a freak. There's a difference.

Yeah, like that matters, right?

So we're at the motel, going on 2am, each of us laying on our beds, watching some cheesy horror flick on the TV that only plays in black and white.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You awake?"

"No."

I want to tell Sammy that I don't think he's a freak, that I'll save him no matter what it takes, that no matter what, he comes before everything else. I want to tell him that, I need to tell him that. I need him to believe that.

I need him to believe it now.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

But I need more light to tell him. I switch on the lamp over my bed, then the lamp on the bedside table. It still doesn't feel like enough.

"Are you all right?" Sam sits up in bed and waits for me to answer him.

This isn't the hardest thing I'll ever have to tell him; I'm still working on that. I don't know that it's the absolute most important thing I've ever had to tell him. But right now it's the absolutely most important thing to me.

"I do not look at you like you're a freak. I don't." I start right in. "I don't know who put that in your head but it is just not true."

Sam looks away, watching me out of the corner of his eye. I hate when he does that. He's done that since he was a little kid, when he knows what I'm talking about but he doesn't want to answer, when he knows I'm not going to like the answer.

"Yeah, all right." He says.

"That is so not an answer."

"Do we have to do this now?"

"Yeah we do."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not going to have you go one more minute thinking I think you're a freak."

He could lay back down, tune me out, walk out of the room. He only sits there and his breathing gets heavier but there's no other reaction.

"Fine."

"Sam -."

"What? What do you want me to say?"

"That you believe me."

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, getting his 'snotty look' in place.

"Dean - man - I've seen the way you look at me. Ever since Dad told you that you might have to kill me - any little thing I do different and you look at me like you're waiting for me to sprout horns."

"I do not."

"Admit it Dean - you've said it more than once: I scare you. The demon blood, my abilities, what I might turn into. I scare you."

"I hate to disappoint you Sammy - there's a few things I'm scared of but you've never been one of them. Scared for you - yeah, definitely. Scared of you? Never."

"I don't blame you. I know you can't help feeling that way. I wonder sometimes how you can even fall asleep next to me, wondering what's gonna be there when you wake up."

Sammy's got this selective hearing that drives me crazy. Another habit he's had since he was a kid. I say 'no', he hears 'maybe'. I say 'maybe', he hears 'yes'. I say 'you're not a freak', he hears 'I'm afraid to close my eyes around you'.

"Dude - are you even hearing me? I do not think you're a freak."

Maybe I shouldn't have this discussion at 2am. I'm tired and I'm getting pissed. Especially when Sam says,

"I mean like you said - we don't even know if I'm human."

That's it. I've had enough. I'm on my feet before I realize, leaning over Sam, pushing my finger in his face.

"Shut up. SHUT. UP. Don't you talk about yourself that way, you hear me? YOU ARE NOT A FREAK."

I'm tired, I'm angry, I'm pissed and probably not entirely at Sam. But he's my only target right now.

"Yeah, you're an idiot, you're a know-it-all, you're a bossy, pushy, stubborn, geeky super-genius that I find it hard to keep up with sometimes, but YOU ARE NOT A FREAK."

I don't know what reaction I'm expecting, if Sam would yell at me, fight back, agree, disagree, or what. He's just staring at me like he's scared of me, leaning back away from me.

"Then why do I feel like a freak?" He asks and his voice is small.

"Because -." Because you were alone and I wasn't here to tell you otherwise. Because you're the one person you're most likely to think the worst of. Because I haven't told you otherwise.

I pull my hand out of his face and sit down on my bed. This is where we've had most of our conversations in our lifetime: in a motel room, on adjacent beds, pretty much dead-on facing each other.

"You're not a freak Sam. You never have been, you never will be. If anything..." But I don't finish that thought because I'm not ready to tell him yet how far from human I'd gone. If anything, I'm the freak.

"If anything what?"

"If anything, you're probably the most normal person there is."

"Pfft - yeah, right."

"Okay, the most stable person. All that you've been through, you just keep going. You don't whine or mope - much - or blame somebody else. You pick up and you keep going, even though you've been through stuff that would have driven other people insane."

"I haven't been through anything."

"What are you talking about?"

"I wasn't in hell."

That stops me a second. How can he say that?

"Yes you were. Every single day I was gone."

Sam doesn't answer me. He looks down and then away.

"Tell me I'm wrong Sammy. Tell me every single day wasn't a lifetime in hell for you." I don't want to dwell on that though; it's too close to what I don't want to talk about yet.

"You're not a freak. Why would I lie about that? Why would I say you're not if I thought you were?"

"Because."

I'm surprised that he thinks he has an answer. He's not supposed to have an answer. There is no answer.

"Because?"

"Because you lie to make me feel better. I know you do."

Well, that may have been true before but -

"I don't think that's been the case lately Sammy. I'm pretty sure I've been telling you the unvarnished truth since I came back." Okay, not about everything, but certainly about this.

"Then why lie to yourself? Why wouldn't you think I'm a freak?" Before I can answer that, he says, "Even Dad thought I was a freak." He says it like a challenge and a regret.

Is that what this is about? Not just what I think, but what Dad thought? What Dad would think?

"He didn't, Sammy. He didn't."

Sam doesn't look like he believes me, and for a split second I'm not sure I believe me either. You don't tell one son he might have to kill the other one because you think he's normal. But - though Dad was a lot of things, a hunter, a legend, an ass - what he was most of all was a Dad, a good Dad, and good Dads don't think their kids are freaks.

"Admit it Dean. All those years, all the fighting, all the anger - Dad hated me."

"Right. He wasted all that energy on somebody he hated. Y'ever fight like that with somebody you don't love? Don't you get it Sam? All those years Dad hunted Yellow Eyes, he wasn't just doing it for Mom, he was doing it for you too. Probably even more for you. I mean, yeah, he wanted to revenge Mom but that was also the perfect cover - grieving, driven husband."

"Cover for what?" Sam asks. He sounds confused but not disbelieving. I roll my eyes like he's a dim-bulb, but the truth is, this stuff is just coming to me as I'm saying it. I'd never thought of it this way before.

"Cover for you. Cover for the fact that hell wanted a piece of you. Which do you think Dad wanted other hunters to think? 'I'm hunting the demon that killed my wife,' or 'I'm hunting the demon that says it has plans for my son.'? Everything, all those years, all those hunts, the training, everything was to protect you. Even driving around constantly was part of it 'cause we both know it's harder to hit a moving target. Dad spent his life trying to shield you, to protect you, to save you. Now you think on that, you let that roll around and settle in that super-computer brain of yours and tell me again Dad thought you were a freak, that he hated you. 'Cause I gotta tell you Sammy, I'm just not seeing it."

He's staring at me like he wants to believe it but he can't believe it but he's trying to make himself believe it.

"Did Dad tell you that?"

"He didn't have to. It seems pretty obvious."

"Not to me."

"And that's how Dad wanted it. He'd rather you thought he was a jerk and focus on that than have you using all that energy and brain power to find out and fixate on what might or might not happen to you."

"Did Dad tell you that?"

"He didn't have to. Man - Sammy - Dad loved you. Ask anybody who's not you how much he loved you. He did not think you're a freak." I let that settle in a minute. "And neither do I. How could I?"

"Dad told you to kill me."

"Dad told me that if I couldn't save you, I might have to kill you. Now - knowing everything Dad went through to save you, knowing what I'll do to save you -." Nope, steering too close to my time down under again. "Sammy, I don't think you're a freak. All I want is for you to believe that."

He doesn't answer me, but he's got that 'really?' crinkle between his eyebrows.

"I know we've had a rough few days here, Sam. I know -." I know I've been a jerk, impatient, demanding, short-tempered. Being in hell and wanting to keep your little brother from going to hell can do that to a person. "Sammy, you can go on thinking you're a freak all you want. But don't accuse me of thinking it."

Finally - finally - he nods. "Yeah, okay. Yeah."

"And don't you think it either. Don't do that."

"You just said I could."

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind."

My anger is gone, exhaustion is finally catching up to me. I'll probably be able to sleep now but I'm not going to sleep and leave Sam sitting there, thinking about things.

"Is that true about Dad? What you said?"

What'd I tell you? Thinking.

"It's true."

He drops himself back into his bed and rolls himself under the covers. Before, before I went to hell, I would've been able to tell if Sam really believes me or if he's just humoring me. Now - he could be humoring me or he could just be thinking about what I told him.

I switch the lights off and the TV and lay back in my bed. I don't think Sam is a freak. I never thought he was a freak. When - if - I tell him what happened in hell, I hope he feels the same way about me.

The End.