For R, who started it all
This was my first SPN fic!

Quite Contrary
K Hanna Korossy

They sat on the pawnshop floor for a long minute, just breathing. Sam stared at the dim light reflecting off the shards of mirror all around them, as hypnotized by their dull gleam as he had been by his evil twin in the mirror. It had been Mary in disguise, but it had felt like his dark side, especially with the secret it knew.

Dean was already sitting up, cautious amidst all the glass but his strength clearly returned. Sam just felt more exhausted from the moment's rest, though, and his attempt to follow left him sagging against his brother's shoulder, eyes shutting on their own.

Dean sighed, dropped an arm around his shoulder, and patted it. "I know what you mean." Sam smiled wanly into his jacket. For all his lack of regrets about going to school, he'd missed his brother.

"Come on, let's get out of here before they charge us for all this." Dean's arm slid down his back and under Sam's own arms, pulling him upward. He went with a groan, body aching almost as much as whatever Bloody Mary had done to his eyes. He wobbled, half upright, but Dean's hold was solid and Sam made it to his feet. Just like a few minutes before, his arm was pulled over Dean's shoulder and they limped out of the store together.

The two unconscious security guards on the ground outside made Sam wince. The more officers and feds they tangled with, the farther away law school seemed. But even as he could feel Dean's tension, waiting for the inevitable complaint, Sam swallowed it. His brother had been hurrying to get back to him, an impatience that had saved his life, and he wasn't about to fuss. They'd be leaving town again soon, anyway. The thought ratcheted up his weariness.

Dean had relaxed again by the time they reached the car, and he eased Sam into the passenger seat carefully, no comment forthcoming for once about blood on the upholstery. Even the door was shut gingerly after him, and Sam leaned against it with a long, exhaled breath. The familiar smell of the car, the give of old-fashioned springs under the seat, everything about it seemed particularly soothing tonight to his weary body. Then Dean climbed in on the other side, his hand resting warmly on the nape of Sam's neck for a moment before he started the car. As if the missing piece to his contentment had fallen into place, Sam slipped into a doze after that.

The engine going silent woke him before Dean's quiet "Sam" did. He blinked, confused for a minute in the glare of the motel lights. Oh, right, Charlie.

"I'll wait here," he murmured.

"Don't you think the bed would be more comfortable?" Dean countered lightly. It wasn't really a question, just his way of saying they were staying for the night.

Sam rolled his head tiredly against the window. "Dean…the cops…"

"…are expecting us to get out of Dodge. They're not gonna be checking the local motels. Besides, anybody sees you like this and they will stop us." His brother was already climbing out of the car, conversation over. Sam didn't feel like arguing, anyway. His body longed for a soft bed and pillow and, nightmares permitting, a good night's sleep. Besides, after a four-year hiatus, Dean knew this stuff better than he did. Had always known it better than he did, come to think of it. If he said the cops would be casting the net wide, he was probably right.

Sam's door was unexpectedly jerked open, Dean's hand immediately replacing the steel and glass in propping him up before he fell out into the parking lot. A soft snort, part amusement, part tension-relief, and Sam's arm was back around his brother's shoulders, leaning on him just like he'd leaned in the past.

God, he was tired. His body was slow to respond, his movements out-of-synch and heavy. Hewas heavy, but with all the things Dean complained about, he never gave him grief about that. Sam huffed a laugh at the picture they probably made, which earned him a gentle jab in the ribs. "You're not spacing out on me, are you?"

He shook his head against Dean's shoulder, and tried to keep his eyes from closing.

Dean wrestled the door open and they stepped into the pitch-black room together. Everything glass was still covered, and that was fine with Sam. He didn't care if he never saw his reflection again. Dean flicked the small light on by the door, and they both paused to take in the sight of the shrouded room and Charlie stretched out on the far bed, asleep, her arm over her face.

Dean made a face—that was Sam's—but he moved with silent care to his own to sit Sam down on the edge. And then catch him as he started to tilt, sitting him sternly straight again. "We've gotta clean you up first—no blood on the blankets, remember? Then you can lie down, okay? Sam?"

He nodded, tired to the bone but willing to stay there indefinitely if Dean thought it was that important. He swayed briefly when his brother let him go but stayed upright, drifting where he sat.

Warm water roused him briefly. The soft scratch of a threadbare motel washcloth on his face—blood on the towels was okay but not on the bedclothes?—and the intent look of concentration on Dean's face. Sam was still waiting for the inevitable questions about what had happened in the pawn shop, about his secret, but they weren't coming, at least not that night. Dean had to know Sam's exhaustion would work in his favor, leaving him too tired to censor himself, but he wasn't taking advantage. Dean, who took every advantage he could and then some. That was somehow comforting, too, like the feel of the warm water and the glow of the yellow light by the door.

He must've finally been blood-free enough for Dean's satisfaction because his brother moved down to pull off his sneakers. "I can do that," Sam protested drowsily, not making a move.

"Shut up, Sam," came the mild answer.

If he hadn't been so tired, he might have uttered an aggrieved sigh at that.

His jacket followed, before Dean pulled the covers back and gave him a gentle shove onto his side. Then he just stood there, waiting for something Sam didn't understand, before finally rolling his eyes and reaching down to lift Sam's feet up after. Oh. He'd forgotten about that. The soft bed had instantly clouded his thinking.

The blankets were pulled up to his shoulder, then, half-asleep, he listened as Dean sloughed off his outer clothes—they had a guest, after all—and briefly washed up. He turned the light off as he came back out into the room, and a moment later climbed in on the far side of Sam's bed.

"Good night, little brother." It was a mere whisper in the dark before Dean turned onto his side away from Sam and fell silent.

And before he dropped off completely into deep sleep, Sam thought that there was a nickname from his childhood he didn't mind so much, after all.

The End