A/N: This is sort of a sequel to Magic Lies In The Little Things. I recommend you read that story first... Not obligatory though! Thanks for all those kind reviews...

Marshmallows are Magic

by RoweenaC

The wind bustled softly through the underbrush, caressing his bare arms and making the tiny hairs there stand up, sending a chill down his spine. Dean rubbed against the cool, freckled skin. Fall wouldn't be long now. The nights were growing colder. He shook his head thinking about how he had been robbed of a whole summer and the benefits of it. Watching pretty girls in too small tops, sitting outside and drinking a beer on the hood of the Impala in the evenings, having barbecues, hell, maybe even jumping into the ocean on a sizzling hot day. Not that he had been able to do the latter frequently. Water wraiths, angry spirits of drowned people or sea monsters had mostly been the reasons for Dean to jump into lakes, rivers and the sea. His anger rose thinking about being prevented from the mere possibility to do all these things.

His eyes, however, never left the merrily crackling fire in front of him. Dean's thoughts turned back to the last time he had been happy in a place much like this. It had been many years ago. Uncountable hunts ago. Endless grief and pain ago. Before his dad had died, before Sam had been stabbed to death by that sonuvabitch GI Joe and before he had bought it himself. A thin smile lifted the corners of his mouth in remembrance. Not a genuine smile, let alone a smirk. A mere shadow of his usual million kilowatt smile.

He just hadn't been in the mood for that lately either. All this going to hell, being ripped to pieces by a freaking hell hound and only to be pulled out of hell to serve as a willful warrior of the ... "Lord Almighty". Go figure! It had robbed him of his usual snark.

That had all been a little too scary. A little too weird. Even by Winchester standards. A shore leave, that was what he needed now. He fucking deserved it! If not only to rest physically, then at least to be able to wrap his mind around the twists and turns his life had taken on lately. Seriously, Dean was glad to be back up and running, back in the game. And he felt a little ungrateful, sure. But why the hell did it always have to hurt that much. A barking sound escaped his dry lips at that. No, not that. He wasn't going to turn into a wuss, now. Dean Winchester could handle pain and torture. But seeing Sammy's sad eyes, the way his face turned blank, empty of all emotion when they touched the topic of the time Dean had been away. That hurt because he couldn't help his brother, couldn't protect him from that pain.

Closing his eyes against the almost uncomfortable, overwhelming heat of the flames, he sighed deeply.

This was a major chick-flick moment. He chuckled and was actually glad that Sam didn't witness this whole emo trip of his. Field day for Sammy. Though, maybe not that much anymore. Sam had changed. For better or for worse Dean was incapable of saying. And Sam was keeping something from him. Keeping secrets. Too many secrets had come between them lately. Dean had his share of things he didn't want Sam to know about, too. Freaking employee of the Creator.

Jeez, it had all been so easy, so clear the last time he had been in the forest, all those years ago. As a teenager nobody questioned anything you did. Well, they did. But for other reasons. Even though Dean had been forced to grow up too soon he still had been able to get away with shitty decisions sometimes. People tend to blame puberty for ill advised deeds. Growing up meant being responsible. Taking the blame. For Dean it had always meant taking the blame. Sucking it up. Back then, he had been happy. Sitting around the campfire with Sam at his side, roasting marshmallows, telling each other ghost stories. Not for practice, just as normal teenagers. That had been fun.

Rolling his shoulders he stretched and stood up.

All of a sudden, he regretted that Sam wasn't there with him and before he knew it his hand had fished the cell phone from his pocket. Dean stopped short in his tracks, right thumb hovering over the speed dial button when the sound of a cracking? twig reached his ears. He froze, hunter senses picking up the tiniest movements and noises. Quickly yet quietly, he moved away from the fire to hide in the shadows, away from the halo the flames were painting. Slinking backwards, his foot became entangled in the upturned root of an old oak tree and Dean lost his balance. He tripped, twisting his right ankle and fell painfully, breathtakingly down to the ground, his back hitting the oak tree's trunk hard, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped and his hands closed protectively around the rapidly swelling joint. Mouthing a few of his most treasured expletives, Dean's right hand reluctantly let go of the foot and patted his sore back.

Great. Just awesome. He swore silently when his fingers smeared the sticky, warm liquid coating his skin. Reflexes of a cat. My ass. Real smooth. His gun was still tucked in the waistband of his jeans yet covered in blood, now. He tore at the grip and winced when the metal came in contact with the newest addition to the scars mapping his life as a hunter.

'Not a scar to boast about', Dean noted sourly. 'Freaking fell on my ass. Like a civilian.' Berating himself he cleaned the gun roughly with his favorite LedZep shirt, he scowled once more and pushed himself up. Shivering from the surprisingly fierce pain – it was a sprained ankle, for crying out loud - as much as from the quickly cooling blood on his back, he rose to full height and squinted at the fireside. A dark shape sneaked around the sphere of light, always keeping out of its unveiling abilities. Turning its head this way and that, it seemed to search for the person who had lit that little blaze. Biting hard down on his bottom lip, Dean attempted to put his full weight on the sprained ankle. He winced again but didn't waver. Lifting his gun to eye level, he silently approached the sneaky silhouette and aimed at its head. The moment he inhaled to yell at the intruder, the opponent turned, gun raised up high and finger tensing at the trigger. Dean exhaled, sweat pouring down his face as he realized who was standing there.

"What the...?"

"Dean? Jeez, you scared the crap outta me! I thought a wendigo or something was sneaking up on me."

"Dude, you need to work on those stealth abilities of yours. I heard you a mile off."

"Well, I didn't expect to find a monster lurking here. I just came to keep you company. And look what I brought for the occasion!" Sam grinned happily while his free hand rummaged in his pocket and retrieved a bag of ... marshmallows.

"And by the way, stealth you might be good at, bro', but smooth is something else. What's with that ankle?" Sam's eyebrows flew up and he pointed, marshmallows dangling in front of him, at Dean's futile effort to mask the injury. "You fell on your ass?"

Dean groaned in annoyance. Not only did he fall. His kid brother was there to witness his predicament and had the nerve to gloat. The night was getting worse and worse. He wished he had stayed at the motel room, watching the umptienth rerun of X-Files.

"Zip it, Sammy. I'm not in the mood." Dean bellowed at Sam, who quickly threw the marshmallows towards the fire and stepped closer to him. The harsh tone meant Dean was in pain. Sam knew that as well as the sound of his own voice. He held out a hand to his older brother and smiled encouragingly. "Here, grab a hand."

Reluctantly, Dean stashed away his weapon consciously avoiding contact with the wound on his back and accepted Sam's offer to help. Sam's eyes caught on the blood stains on his brother's right hand.

"Dean. What happened?" Suddenly it was there. The hurt, the pain. Worry laced Sam's words and Dean was reminded of the last words Sam had screamed when the hell hound had terminated every faint hope of evading the deal.

"'M fine, Sammy. Quit worrying. I'm okay. It's just a scratch. Cut myself on that friggin' tree. That's all." Dean barely resisted the urge to pull his hand out of his brother's firm grip. That would be worse than yelling at him. It would tear Sam's heart into shreds... again.

"Lemme see it and I'll judge if it is bad or not." Sam ordered and pulled at his sibling's hand. His voice always took on a John Winchester tone if he tried to put some sense into his self sacrificing brother. Dean knew he would yield to Sam's stare in the end. He could never deny him anything once those puppy-dogs caught his gaze. So, to shorten his inevitable embarrassment he gave in.

Leading Dean to the fire, Sam barely controlled the shivers in his limbs and desperately hoped Dean wouldn't notice them. Seeing the blood on his hero brother's hand had brought it all back in the blink of an eye. The carefully packed away injuries his heart had suffered that night in June. Helplessly witnessing the massacre Dean had been subjected to. The empty look in his usually blazing green eyes. Those memories had been meticulously hidden away and yet they had triggered his effort to find Ruby and learn about his demonic potentials. To prevent something like that to ever happen again. EVER. TO ANYONE. And still, he had only let Dean out of his sight for an hour to find him bleeding again.

Crap. Was this ever going to end at all? All the pain, the hurt. And then the clear worry in his big brother's eyes. Worry to hide his injuries, to make it easier for little Sammy. Sam felt rage boiling in him like a sulfurous mud well, bubbling under the surface, indicating an impending volcanic had changed. Or that was what he had thought until now. Had evolved into a hunter, a fierce enemy of evil. Widely feared and yet again he felt like 'Sammy Winchester, helpless and needy', now.

He stopped short of raging at his brother for turning him into that hated, detested excuse for a man. Swallowing hard, he let Dean settle down near the warmth of the fire and crouched down behind him, wincing at the amount of blood soaking his brother's LedZep T-shirt. Gingerly peeling away the fabric, Sam braced himself.

'Not that bad.' It was true. A superficial cut, yet all this blood made it seem far worse than it was. It would need a few stitches. Sam considered taking Dean back to the motel to administer the needed dressings but rejected that idea immediately. It would mean a lot of persuading on his part and a lot of cussing on Dean's part. Not really something to look forward to.

Initially, he had come here to join his brother and reiterate a childhood memory he had found crossing his mind earlier. That night in the forest with the marshmallows. That had been such a wonderful experience, like a vacation from the insanity unfolding around the boys. Memorable. Still, after all those years of suffering, it had filled Sam's heart with a warm, snug feeling. On a hunch he had bought a bag of the sugary normality at the vending machine outside and walked up here into the dark forest... to find his brother hurt and bleeding. What they needed now was a little bit of rest. Shore leave, a possibility to forget and to bond again after those awful, terrible, long four months.

"We can take care of that later. It'll need stitching. You were right tho'. It's not that bad.... Now, what about those unhealthy, purely chemical goodies I brought. Want some?"

Dean took his brother's cue and grinned agreeing. He knew this was a peace offering. A moment to breathe. To pause. To go back and enjoy each other's company. 'He did it again. My kid brother. Always cheering me up with his goofy ideas. Marshmallows are magic.'

Ends.