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Sam stood in front of the shelves staring, idly scratching the back of his head. He looked down at the small canvas tote bag in his hand and decided it was impossible. There was just no way. He couldn’t. No way.
They’d been in the same place for six months now, one of the rare times they’d stayed put for a while. The cheap apartment they’d rented was remarkably nice, practically a palace compared to where they usually holed up. And the small town had a huge thrift store with shelves upon shelves of books - a quarter apiece for paperbacks.
The small bedroom he and Dean shared had a built-in bookshelf taking up half of one of the walls, and over the past six months, Sam had filled it with the exception of one section Dean had claimed for himself. Every time Dad or Dean slipped him a five or ten dollar bill for spending money - Sam didn’t get an allowance like regular kids, there usually wasn’t enough, but they’d give him a little money whenever they could - Sam found himself back at the thrift store piling more books into a beat up handbasket that he’d haul up to the register and still have money left over for sodas and packs of spearmint gum.
He’d read nearly all of the books over the summer, sometimes devouring one a day. Dean had been teasing him unmercifully about it, calling him nerd and geek every other sentence; then he’d turn around and demand Sam turn a light on when dusk settled in, ‘can’t have you ruining your eyes, buddy,’ he’d say before clicking on a lamp and giving him a playful shove to the head. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so - content - for so long. But that was about over now.
Dad had gotten back from his latest hunt, had announced last night they’d be heading west tomorrow, to get packed up and cleaned up. Sam was annoyed with moving again, as usual, that wasn’t ever going to change. He’d grumbled and pissed and moaned about it - he couldn’t help it, really - until Dad had threatened him with no reading for a month unless he shut up. He shut up pretty quick.
The real problem came this morning when Dad had wandered into their bedroom and seen the shelves of books Sam had collected. Then came the questions about how Sam got all the books - ’25 cents each, Dad, really’ - and how he’d found time to read all that and still keep up with his training - ‘I haven’t read them all yet’ (and I’ll never admit that Dean lets me skip training a lot when you’re gone) - and then the worst, most horrible words Sam had ever heard: “Sorry, Sam, you can’t bring them with you, there’s just not enough room in the car.”
Books had always been an arguing point between Sam and Dad, ever since Sam learned to read. There had been tears when he was little, Sam sobbing in Dean’s arms in the back seat of the Impala as they headed out of town more than once, his heart broken at having to leave his favorite stories behind. Over the years, the rules about books had sorted themselves out, and Sam had accepted it. He could keep five books in his duffel, plus the one he was currently reading, unless they were headed to Bobby’s where he had a shelf all his own in the guest room - he could keep as many books there as he could fit on the shelf, though he still had to weed them out when it got too full. And Dean always managed to take Sam to the local library first thing whenever they stopped someplace new so he could get a card. Sam kept the stack of library cards in his backpack, just in case they ever hit the same town twice, which they never seemed to do.
“Dad...please?” Sam pleaded after the ultimatum. He stood there, wringing his hands in the sleeves of his hoodie, trying to keep the five-year-old tantrum he could feel building in his gut from coming to the surface because that never ended well with Dad. He just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them all behind.
“No, Sam. We can’t be hauling a library around with us, you know that. You’re just going to have to let them go. Don’t know why you wasted your money on them in the first place.”
“It’s not a waste of money! Not to me!” Sam’s voice had gotten louder, near yelling because, once again, Dad just didn’t get it . Didn’t get that Sam wasn’t like him, wasn’t all-consumed with the hunt, didn’t care about revenge or demons or ghosts or shapeshifters. All Sam cared about was - not this . All Sam cared about was escaping this , getting lost in a book so he could forget about this .
“Watch your attitude Sam,” Dad said, pointing a stern finger in Sam’s face just as Dean skirted around them and left the room. “You can take five in your bag, the rest stay behind, and that’s final.”
“But…”
“No, Sam!”
“Guys,” Dean interjected, standing in the doorway. He held up a canvas tote bag, emblazoned with the town library’s logo, that had been shoved in the back of the hall closet when they moved in, left behind by the last tenants. “Compromise, okay? Sam can fill this with books, the rest stay. Okay?”
Dean looked between his brother and his father, Sam looking resigned but accepting, it was better than nothing, and Dad looking - well, pissed off because once again Dean had stepped in to defend his brother, undermining his authority but not enough that he could say no, which just really pissed him off that much more, but in the end it was better than fighting so he always relented.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Okay,” Dean said, tossing the bag at Sam.
It was better than nothing, and Sam was grateful for Dean stepping in and getting him at least this much. But the bag was so small, and there were so many books. Sam sighed, eyes glancing over the rows of books. ‘Maybe I can get all the ones I haven’t read yet to fit,’ Sam thought, and he started pulling them out, tossing them on the bed. He shoved the always-allowed five into his duffel and looked over the rest. He slumped down onto the bed and started shoving books in the tote bag, twisting and turning them, trying to make more fit.
Sam had finally resigned himself to leaving behind the last dozen or so and was shoving his clothes into his duffel when Dean came in. Sam could feel Dean’s eyes on his back, watching as he packed. A few seconds later, Dean was at his side, hand scooping up half of the books left on his bed. Sam turned around to see Dean walking across the room with them. His mouth dropped as he watched Dean shove the books in his own duffel, down underneath his clothes, then raise his index finger to his lips with a glance toward the door with Dad on the other side.
Sam smiled, then turned back to packing. As much as he loved books and needed to have them around, having a big brother like Dean was always going to be better.