Archive of Our Own ^beta

“What’s wrong?”

Sam looked over to his older brother. They’d both been silent for so long that he’d almost forgotten Dean was there. But of course Dean would be the one to break the silence, he’d always been the loud one.

“I dunno.” Sam shrugged. “Nothin.”

Dean sighed and pulled Sam’s book down, getting up in his face. “Don’t give me that crap, Sammy.”

“Hey! You’re gonna wrinkle the pages, Dean.”

“Yeah?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Well tell me what’s wrong and I’ll leave you alone.”

“I told you. Nothing’s wrong.” Sam scowled.

Dean stared at him with an irritating ‘I’m not buying it’ look.

“I’m just mad.” Sam huffed, he knew he wouldn’t get any peace and quiet until he gave Dean what he wanted. Might as well get it over with. “Dad’s just been gone so much and it’s annoying. Wasn’t he supposed to get groceries like a week ago?”

“Probably. I haven’t kept track.” Dean finally backed away, leaned back against the arm of the couch. They sat across from each other, feet up on the cushions of the worn old couch. “There really nothing in the kitchen?”

“Checked. There’s nothing.”

“Why don’t we go instead?” Dean suggested.

“It’s late, if he came home before we did we’d get in so much trouble. Besides, I don’t have any money.” Sam opened up his book again, trying to find the spot he’d left off on. “Do you?”

“Nope.” The older Winchester gave a sheepish grin. “I used the last of my money when I went to the movies with Amanda.”

“Dean!” Sam groaned.

He raised his hands up in surrender. “It's not my fault that there's a pretty blonde at school! Just by the look on her face I could tell she was practically begging to go out with the Dean Machine.”

“Ew, don’t call yourself that ever again.” Sam wrinkled his nose.

Dean rolled his eyes and kicked him lightly. “You just say that because you’re jealous. Sammy, I could teach you how to get every girl in your little 7th grade class hanging on your every word but noooo. Too busy studying.”

“Because I care-“ Sam slammed his book closed, unable to focus with Dean poking at him every few minutes. “-about my grades! I’m gonna go to college and I’m gonna get out of here.”

Dean gave him a look.

“What?” Sam questioned.

“You really think so?” And there was something about Dean’s expression that made Sam regret the bite in his words. “I mean, you’ve still got a few years till you need to be thinking about that sort of thing. A lot of stuff can change between then and now.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Just stuff.”

The two of them fell back into silence for a while. Neither made an effort to leave. There was more to be said that neither of them wanted to bring up.

Sam stared at the ugly orange design on the couch, his fingers tracing the swirly pattern.

“Dad’ll miss you if you go.” Dean mumbled finally.

Sam scoffed. “He doesn’t act like he will.”

“But he will.” His brother’s voice was quiet. “I know he will.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Sam’s gaze finally lifted up towards Dean. “Why’s dad gotta leave all the time?”

Dean’s green eyes softened, like he had been expecting a question along those lines. Like he pitied Sam for not understanding, and Sam hated that look. “He just needs space sometimes. He needs time. After mom…”

“It’s been years. He’s had his time, he’s had his space.”

“I know.” Dean sighed. “Grieving just takes a lot.”

“You’re always so understanding when it comes to him.” Sam said through clenched teeth. “I don’t get it. He doesn’t come home after work, he goes drinking or just out, like he wants to be anywhere but here with us, and then when he finally does come home he just ignores us!”

“I’m not saying he’s right!” Dean argued.

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m just saying you should cut him some slack!” His brother shouted.

Sam fell silent for a third time, tears pricking the edges of his eyes. They couldn’t ever talk about dad and not get into an argument. It wasn’t what he wanted though. He didn’t want to fight, not with Dean at least. Dean hadn’t done anything wrong. It was John that he wanted to just scream at.

He gripped the book in his hands, fingers trembling, and got to his feet. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

As Sam walked past his brother he could see the hurt look on Dean's face. He didn’t think Dean had wanted it to end in a fight either.

He left, going down the hall and towards his bedroom at the very end. But he couldn’t help but stop in front of John’s bedroom first.

He didn’t remember his mother very well. He had stared at her pictures for hours trying to memorize it before John could take them all down. He thought she looked like Dean. Maybe that was why John could never look Dean in the eyes.

The one and only thing he could remember about her was standing in that doorway as she took her final breath. The sickness John had never truly explained to him— because back then he was too young to understand and when Sam eventually did get older it apparently hurt too much to bring it up— finally winning the battle. He remembered that suffocating feeling where everything just felt wrong, and it haunted his nightmares, along with the sound of his father’s sobs. It was all a blurry outline, just the feeling and the echoing noises. The only part he could recall clearly was Dean standing beside him. His brother had wrapped his arm around him protectively, holding him tight.

“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy.” Dean had whispered. Sam had barely heard his brother’s words over the sounds of his father’s cries. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

Sam let out a deep breath and continued down the hall to his bedroom.

That was how it’d been ever since. Dean had been there for him, his father hadn’t.

Dean had helped him learn how to ride a bike, taught him how to do his homework (more like sat there and suffered through it with him, Dean never had been very good at math), and he’d been the one to make cooking meals more than just a chore. It was all Dean. Never John.

When Sam got to his room he sat on his twin bed and sighed. He looked over to the clock on his nightstand, but it was only 8:30. Too early to go to sleep, too late to do anything else. He rubbed his thumb over the thin wrinkled paperback in his hands, suddenly feeling completely disinterested in the idea of continuing.

He fell backwards, spreading out across the mattress as he lay on the worn covers. He didn’t really feel like doing anything at all.

There was an empty hole in his stomach and Sam wasn’t sure if it was guilt, hunger, stress, or just the ever present numbness that seemed to seep into his bones since his mother died.

He told Dean he was going to bed, but he never really decided what he actually wanted to do. He just laid on his back until eventually his body decided for him. The next time he remembered looking at the clock it had been a little past 10:40 and at that point his eyelids were finally starting to get heavy.

Sam was half asleep when he felt someone pulling a blanket up over him. “Sorry for raising my voice.” Dean whispered, his tone almost melancholic. “G’night Sammy.”

*****

The next day Sam woke up to his alarm with a tired groan.

“Time to get ready for school, Sammy.” Dean was there too for some reason, ruffling his hair as Sam turned off the alarm. Dean was already dressed for the day. “Hurry up so we can get lunch together real quick.” He said as he made his way towards the kitchen.

Sam got up and grumbled at Dean for not closing the door as he left while he changed into jeans and a T-shirt, pulling a hoodie over his head afterwards to hide his embarrassing old purple shirt. They hadn’t done laundry in a while.

He noticed his blanket had fallen to the floor at some point during the night, so he folded it neatly and draped it across the bottom of the bed. He hadn’t slept under the covers, so there wasn’t much else he needed to do.

As he pulled on his brown sneakers he heard a quiet knock on the door. “You awake, Sam?”

That was John Winchester's voice. Usually he was gone for work before they left for school. “Yeah, I’m awake.” He replied, not sure how else to respond. Him and John didn’t talk much.

Apparently that was all the man needed to hear, because the next moment Sam could hear footsteps walking away.

Sam frowned in confusion but continued putting on his shoes and shoved all his school books in his backpack. He knew he still needed to pack his lunch, but there wasn’t really anything left in the kitchen so he wasn’t sure what they’d be able to scrape together.

When he finally made his way to the kitchen he found Dean standing at the counter with both their lunches already packed and ready to go.

“What’s this for?” Sam asked, he could hear the impala outside getting started up as John made his way to work.

“Just felt like it. Woke up early.” Dean shrugged. Sam knew that it was something more than that, maybe he felt guilty about the fight they had.

“Well, thanks.” He gave his older brother a half-smile, still not exactly sure how to take the gesture.

Before either of them could say anything else there was the sound of the rusty old school bus stopping out front. Sam quickly grabbed his lunch and they both headed for the door.

Sam got on the bus first, Dean close behind him. Dean had always thought it wasn’t very cool to take the bus but they only had the one car, and John drove it to work. Of course they could always walk, but they never woke up early enough for that. It was far enough that the bus was the quickest way.

Dean always sat next to him though, and Sam was thankful for that. Every now and then he wondered if Dean wished he could go sit with someone older and more impressive but he guessed all the older kids got to drive themselves. The bus they always rode didn’t have any of the pretty girls or senior guys. Most of them had their own cars. It seemed like everyone else had a dad or grandparent that was willing to at least chip in or maybe even pay for the entirety of their kids first vehicle. That is, everyone but the Winchesters.

As he sat and looked out the window, Sam wondered if John would ever let Dean get his own car. Maybe if Dean was lucky he’d get the Impala. Sam doubted it, but it seemed like it might be pretty epic to have his big brother drive him to school in the sleek black Chevy.

*****

While Sam always liked school, it was more about the classes than the actual place or the people. He knew Dean liked the time in between classes when he could flirt with girls and mess around in the hallways with the guys who were actually his age. It was his time to socialize.

Sam always hated those times though. He tried his best not to let Dean know, because he didn’t want his older brother to sacrifice one of his only chances to have fun just to stick around with his little brother. Would probably ruin his cool-guy reputation anyways. Besides, they hardly saw each other at school, and Dean having to walk across the building to where Sam’s classes were would be more inconvenient than anything else.

The worst part of it for Sam though was when the other kids would pick on him. Some of his stuff would disappear, or some stupid kid with an ugly grin would trip him, or ‘accidentally’ slap the books out of his hands. Most of the time it didn’t get too bad, but every now and then there would be a group who were just begging for any excuse to pick a fight.

During lunch Sam made the mistake of leaving his lunch bag alone for a few minutes while he filled up his water. When he came back and opened it up, there was nothing inside.

Someone stole his lunch. Because of course they did.

He looked around, trying to spot who might’ve done it. There was a big group of boys at a table close by, all laughing. One glanced over to him with a mean smile.

Sam just sighed and sat down at the table by himself. He’d just wait till he got home to eat lunch then. That was, if there was anything left in the cabinets. He’d figure out something.

He put his head in his hands and gazed out the big windows. There were little birds hopping around on the grass. To pass the time, and to ignore his empty stomach, he imagined the little dancing birds having conversations. He wondered what the animals would talk about, if they were able. Would they ask each other about the weather? Would they gossip behind the others backs? He thought that even if they did, they’d be a lot nicer than the kids at school.

Eventually he found himself outside, listening to the birds talk to each other. It was warm out in the sun, but the wind blew enough to make it bearable, even nice. He sat out on the outskirts of the huge field past some kids were playing football and where there were a few trees shading the area. The grass was nice and soft, and the birds would jump closer and closer the longer he stayed still and quiet. He could hear their chirpy voices.

He thought he could avoid any trouble if he kept to himself, but the next thing he knew all the birds were flying away as a group of kids stomped up to him.

“What are you doing?” A boy asked, he was one of the kids from earlier who had sat at the table and laughed at him. The rest of his group stood behind him, ready to back up their leader.

“You scared away the birds.” Sam scowled.

“I don’t see any birds.” He chuckled.

“Are you deaf?” Sam snapped back, “I just said you scared them away.”

The kid frowned. “You shouldn’t talk to me like that, freak.” And Sam knew he was right, even if the other boy didn’t have his gang to back him up, the kid was practically towering over him.

“How about you leave me alone or my brother will come and rip your lungs out.” Sam stood up. He tried not to make it obvious that he was stretching himself to look as tall as he was able, in a feeble attempt to seem even slightly threatening. It didn’t help much. He’d always been smaller than most of the other kids.

“Oh no guys, his brother’s gonna come and take us on.” The boy turned to his friends and gave a hideous laugh before turning back to Sam, rolling his eyes and scoffing. “What are you, five? How about you man up and take me yourself? Go on, I’ll even let you take the first swing.”

Sam kept his mouth shut, knowing he should avoid as much trouble as he could. He didn’t want to make any more enemies than necessary. After all, it was that exact type of kid who could make school a living hell for him.

“Just leave me alone.” He pushed the group apart from the middle, breaking away to go back inside, but his foot caught on one of their shoes and he went crashing to the ground.

“Going somewhere?”

The next thing he knew there was a fist flying towards his face. And then another. Before he could do anything the group was surrounding him.

“You better stop before my brother shows up!” He shouted, trying not to let the fear seep into his tone. He fought to break free, kicking and squirming, but then he got a boot to the chest, and then it was a mess of arms and legs and all Sam could do was curl in a ball to protect himself and try not to cry. “My brother will save me!” He said, and he was sure they didn’t hear him. He didn’t know if he was glad about that or not.

“My brother will save me.”

Sam wasn’t sure if he had passed out or what had happened, because the next thing he knew the group was gone but there was still someone standing over him. He couldn’t tell who though, with his vision going in and out of focus.

He looked off to the side, and the birds were back, dancing and talking to one another.

“Hey, Sammy- can you look at me, please.” When Dean’s voice greeted him, there was a wave of relief.

“Dean.” He leaned into his older brother, attempting to give him a big hug.

“Hey, woah, can you sit up for me?” Dean sounded really concerned, and Sam hated seeing his brother that way so he tried to follow the instructions as best he could.

“Sammy, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Dean’s hand came into focus a bit slowly but he wasn’t seeing double. “Three. I’m okay, Dean.”

“If I said I was holding up twelve, would you believe me?” Dean tried to joke, but it fell flat with the clear worry in his voice. Sam put a hand to his head, to try and relieve the pounding. His older brother stared at him with a guilty expression. “Sorry Sammy, I should’ve gotten here sooner.”

“It’s okay.” Sam groaned as Dean helped him to his feet. When the world spun a little, he reached out and grasped Dean’s jacket. His brain was still throbbing beneath his skull.

“How are you feeling?” Dean hovered just a little closer.

“Head just hurts.” Sam tried to hide behind his shaggy bangs. He knew if he looked up at his brother then he wouldn’t be able to stop the tears from coming. “I kinda just wanna go home.”

“Do you wanna call dad?” Dean asked unhelpfully.

“No.”

“What, do you want to walk home?” Dean huffed. After a few seconds of consideration, Sam nodded. “What! I wasn’t being serious, Sam. It’ll take a good half hour to walk home, and I don’t think that’s a good idea after what just happened. If you really wanna go home then I think it’d be better to just call dad.”

“I don’t wanna call dad, I just wanna go home!” Sam argued, his eyes stinging as tears started to well up in his eyes against his will. He just wanted to lay in his bed with the lights off by himself for a while. If John got a call in the middle of the day from the school asking him to come pick up his whiny kid, he’d simply say ‘no.’ Or worse, John would come pick him up and Sam would get a lecture that turned into a fight that turned into the typical ‘I’m disappointed in you’ speech, that always ended in a screaming match, and then he’d lock himself in his room sobbing until he just couldn’t anymore. His day had already been crappy, there was no reason to add anymore misery to the mix.

Somehow, Dean was able to see how upset the very thought of John picking him up made him. Usually he was blind in all things John-related, but instead his big brother’s eyes softened. “Okay, Sammy. I’ll walk you home.”

Sam could only nod again, his throat tight from trying not to cry. Suddenly he was just so unreasonably grateful for his stupid annoying sibling. Even if he didn’t have anyone else in the world, he’d always have Dean.

“Cmon big guy, let’s go.” Dean said as he took Sam’s arm to lead him in the direction of the house.

It took more than a few blocks before Sam was able to swallow the lump in his throat and say anything. Until then, Dean was chatting up a storm. His brother talked and talked about anything and everything, and even though Sam’s head felt like it had been bashed in with a rock, he was thankful. Dean always knew how to lighten the mood, how to make him feel better.

After a while, the steady stream of nonsense coming out of Dean’s mouth started to slow down and he would look over to Sam with worried glances. “You wanna sit down and take a break?”

“No, I just want to get there as fast as possible.” Sam looked down at his feet as he kicked a rock along the sidewalk with them.

“You feel okay though?”

“Just achey.” He sighed. “And my head still hurts. ’m gonna wake up in the morning covered in bruises.”

“Let me know if you start to feel weird though, okay? Like broken bones or anything concussion related.”

“Okay.” Sam tried to think of another topic to get Dean started on so his brother would stop pestering him. “Has Amanda started ignoring you yet?”

“Nope, she’s still all over me.” Dean grinned, and Sam knew it had been the correct choice. “She said that she wants me to hang out again with her, Becky, and Jeremiah. I told her I’d think about it but I’m probably just gonna turn her down.”

“Why?”

“Cause she wanted to meet at her place on Saturday and I’ve heard stories about her dad. I don’t want to go anywhere near that place, especially if Mr Harris is going to be there. Besides, I went out with her last weekend, I thought we’d go do something together instead.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t know. Don’t really care. I just don’t want Amanda to think we’re official or anything. Just because I think her blue eyes are pretty does not mean I’m ready for any of that ‘committed boyfriend’ crap. I don’t like her that much.”

Sam let him go on about his issues with commitment and how unfun of a concept it was for a while before he started to tune it out. He continued kicking the stone in front of him, content with the little game to try and keep his mind off his aching body. Then his stone thumped against something.

A bird. A dead bird.

Sam stopped and crouched down to look at the delicate little thing, its eyes foggy and dry. Its brown peppered feathers were so small.

He looked around, trying to see if there were any other birds around. Were her friends going to miss her? Did she have any baby chicks waiting in their nest for her to return with their food? If there was, would they starve to death? He wondered if the dead songbird had liked to perch outside a stranger's house and would sing them good morning. Surely there was someone that would mourn her absence.

Or maybe she was alone. Maybe she lay there dead and there wasn’t a single person or creature out there that even noticed, or maybe they did but simply didn’t care.

“Sammy, you okay?” Dean must’ve finally noticed he had stopped.

“’S dead.” Sam frowned, his lip quivering a little.

“Yeah, it is.” He sounded confused.

“What do you think happens to birds when they die?”

“They go to little birdie heaven where they wear top hats and have tea parties. I don’t know man.” Dean huffed.

“Do you think animals can feel like humans do?”

“No. Maybe they can in some shape or form, but not in the same ways as humans. Why are you so concerned about some bird?”

“I don’t know.” Sam frowned, he didn’t know why the small lifeless creature hurt him so deeply. Each feather was still so perfectly in place, it’s beak barely parted like it could still be singing, but somehow it was still so blatantly obvious that it was dead. It was so stiff, so still. What was it about sleep and death that made the two so similar but so easy to differentiate? Was it because there was no soul left in its eyes? He guessed he had never realized how visible life itself was.

“C'mon Sammy.” Dean offered him a hand to help him up. “We’re almost home, let’s not stop now.”

The rest of the walk home, Sam listened to the birds mourn.

*****

They barely got to enjoy the calm afternoon. Dean went digging around the kitchen but Sam knew there was nothing there but half a pack of beer and the ketchup, mustard, and salad dressing that were all most likely empty anyways. Maybe there was a moldy tortilla in there somewhere, which sounded about equally as delicious as drinking mustard.

Sam went straight to his room, not bothering to turn on the lights, in fact he was glad they were off, his head was still pounding. He might’ve fallen asleep, he wasn’t sure. He remembered laying his head on his pillow and then the next second he was opening his eyes because of the familiar rattle of the Impala out front. It seemed like no time at all had passed, but at the same time an eternity. He was too tired to even think about why John might be home so early. He usually didn’t come home when it was still light outside.

He was just about to close his eyes again when the front door slammed open. “Sam!” John shouted from the entryway. Sam shot out of bed and nearly jumped out of his skin.

Cautiously, he tiptoed down the hallway to his father. “Yeah?” He answered weakly.

John’s glare could have burned down a whole city. “Do you wanna tell me why I got a call from the school saying you vanished halfway through the day?”

Sam tried his best to keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t help himself. “I didn’t feel very good so I walked home.”

“And you didn’t tell any of your teachers? Not a single person? You realize there were people wanting to call the police, right?” John said incredulously. “Sam, what were you thinking! Are you trying to cause as much trouble as possible? Is that it? Because I really don’t understand what could have possibly been going on in that thick head of yours!”

“Sorry, I didn’t think it would be a big deal! I just didn’t wanna call and bother you at the garage to come pick me up, I thought I could handle it!” Sam‘s voice slowly got louder the angrier he became, trying to prove to John that he wouldn’t crumble under any circumstances.

“Well you know what? I think this little stunt of yours has caused three times as much trouble, so how about next time you use your head and talk to a teacher! If you pull something like that again, I’m going to have some loud mouth moron calling the authorities thinking you’ve run away because I’m some trashy parent and you're gonna be put in some rat infested boys home! Is that what you want?”

Sam’s whole body felt like it was on fire, and his head felt like it would split into a million pieces. “Maybe I would rather be sleeping with the rats than have to put up with you.” He muttered, almost daring John to have heard him but also praying he didn’t because he knew there would be major consequences.

“What did you just say to me?” John scoffed.

Sam shook his head, unwilling to repeat himself. His heart leapt in his throat.

“You ungrateful brat.” John said between clenched teeth, and Sam could see his father’s hands curling into a fist, and he braced himself, trying to stand his ground for when the blow eventually came. “Go to your room.” John ordered. When Sam didn’t move —out of shock rather than defiance— John shouted again. “Go to your room, Sam! Right now!”

Quickly he scampered back to his room, not needing to test John’s mercy a second longer in fear he might change his mind. He could feel his whole body shaking and he wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline or pure panic. Maybe both.

When he got to his room he crawled into bed and wrapped the covers around himself tightly. The more he curled in on himself the more he felt like his insides would just combust. He was terrified that if he made a single sound then John might just come in and take it back, letting out all of his unfiltered rage.

His heart dropped into his stomach when the sound of the door opening caught his attention. But when he turned around, it wasn’t John, it was Dean.

“Dean.” Sam whispered with relief.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean stood by the door with his arms crossed uncomfortably and his voice softer than Sam had ever heard it.

Sam nodded slowly, trying not to make his head hurt any worse than it already did.

Dean came over and sat at the foot of Sam’s bed. “I’m sorry.”

“What for? You didn’t do anything.” Sam sniffed, trying not to start crying just yet. Not until Dean left.

“Just, sorry.” Dean shrugged. “I tried talking to him, but he’s still mad. I think you should probably stay here for a while.”

“Haven’t eaten since yesterday, Dee. I’m hungry.” He couldn’t help the few tears that slipped past at that so he hid his face under the covers.

“I know, I’m sorry. But maybe since he’s actually home he’ll notice that there’s nothing in the kitchen and go grab some groceries.”

“Maybe.” Sam doubted it.

“Listen Sammy, dad’s just stressed cause he didn’t know where you went. I think you freaked him out. I know he can be scary and unreasonable sometimes, but he means well.”

“Seriously?” Sam pushed back the blankets in order to scowl at Dean. “You’re still defending him? Where’s the line Dean? At what point are you gonna realize that he’s not just a bad parent but a bad person too?”

“He’s not perfect, but you’ve gotta look at this through his eyes too. He’s still grieving, he’s going through a lot. You aren’t the center of the universe, people can feel emotions that you don’t understand.”

“That’s not grieving! That’s called neglecting your children until you get frustrated about something, and then taking your anger out on them!”

“People grieve in different ways, Sam.”

“He has no right to grieve anymore.” Sam gripped his blanket so tightly that his knuckles were whiter than his notebook paper, and his voice was hoarse. “He has no right to take out his bottled up emotions on us. He should’ve dealt with his issues years ago, it’s been long enough now that he needs to get over it.”

“Really? Because you still are.” Dean looked at him with an unreadable stare.

“I’m not grieving over mom.” Sam frowned. “I can’t even really remember her, why would I?”

“You don’t have to know someone to grieve for them.” Dean scooted a little closer. “You’re still grieving too, Sammy, and that’s okay.”

“I’m not!”

“Then why don’t you talk to anyone at school? We’ve lived here all our lives and you haven’t made a single friend. You lock yourself in your room for hours doing nothing, when we go out it’s like you can hardly let yourself enjoy anything.”

Sam was taken aback for a few seconds. “That still doesn’t justify-“

“I never said it did.”

Quiet consumed the room for a while as they both processed what the other had said. Finally Sam spoke up. “Don’t you ever get tired of this?” He glared at the ugly carpet, not daring to look into his brother’s eyes. “Don’t you ever wish that something would change? Dad doesn’t even acknowledge your existence half the time, and the only time he’ll willingly talk to me is when he’s screaming at me like I’m some breathing mistake.”

Dean sighed. “Sometimes I think about just packing up a bag and taking the nearest bus to Bobby’s place, but I know it’s not fair to dad. He’s doing this all on his own, and to leave him like that isn’t right.”

“He’s left us plenty of times, it’d just be a taste of his own medicine.” Sam stayed quiet for a while, waiting for Dean to throw some other argument out but he never did. “How come he never yells at you? Why is it always me?” Finally he looked up to his brother with his final question. Sam knew why, though. Dean had his mother’s face.

Dean's gaze fell on him with a sad expression. “Dad’s hard on you because he loves you. He just wants what's best for you.” He shook his head, and Sam would’ve argued more if it hadn’t been for the look in Dean’s eye. He just seemed so tired. “It’s been a long day.” Dean said as he got to his feet. “I’ll let you know if dad’s mood changes any.”

Sam nodded. “Okay. Thanks Dean.” And he really did mean it. He didn’t feel like his chest would explode or he’d cry himself to sleep anymore. Now he was just exhausted. He lay back down on his bed, trying to get comfortable in the mound of blankets. But before Dean could leave the room, he had to ask, “Dean, do you think we could skip school tomorrow?”

Dean turned to him and smiled softly. “We’ll see.”

That was a good enough answer for him.

*****

Somehow, Sam convinced his dad to let him stay home the next day. It probably had something to do with the black eye he discovered that morning when he looked in the mirror. He had quite a few other bruises littered across his body too, but most of them weren’t visible. Dean had been furious when he saw them, saying he’d chase the kids who’d done it right out of the state.

John left for work without saying much, but Sam did notice that the kitchen had been restocked at some point while he’d been sleeping. He made a feast the second his father walked out the door.

Dean stayed with him, saying that it was his job to look over his little brother, so he needed to be there to make sure Sam didn’t do anything stupid. Sam knew it was more likely that he just wanted to get Friday off school for a long weekend, but he didn’t mind.

They sat and watched a movie for a while, Dean laughing way too loud at every joke and Sam tried not to spit his water out at Dean’s dumb impressions. It seemed like Dean’s goal was the opposite though, it was almost like he wanted to get a face full of spit-water.

Eventually he decided to go out to the backyard with his book. It was supposed to be relaxing, but the longer he sat there the more the silent the air around him started to feel uncomfortable and constricting. It was too quiet to read. So he looked out at the small tree that had somehow stayed alive in their pitiful backyard. There were little grey birds jumping in the branches.

He watched them all talk to each other for a while before deciding to head back inside to see what Dean was up to.

For some reason he admitted to Dean that he couldn’t quite concentrate enough to finish the book and Dean told him to read it out loud. They spend the rest of the day completely entranced by the story, Sam made each character have their own funny voice and Dean acted out the scenes with more drama than half of Hollywood.

They ended the day with another movie as they waited for John to come home. It was late when Sam realized he had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the tv. The last time he’d checked the clock it had been past 1:00am and it felt like he’d been asleep for a while. A few hours at least. The sound of John finally coming home was what woke him. The man stumbled in like a true drunk and made his way down the hall to his bedroom.

Sam didn’t bother going to his bed. He just lay and stared at the places his father had spilled whatever had been in his bottle onto the rug, wondering if there would ever be a day where he could just grow wings and fly away like all the songbirds. Or maybe he could just go wherever the bird he’d found on the sidewalk had gone. Either way.

Eventually he fell back asleep.

*****

Sam woke up late that Saturday morning to find a blanket draped over him. He looked around, searching for Dean.

“Dean?” Sam rubbed his eyes and winced when he accidentally touched his bruise.

After giving himself a moment to sit there to simply exist, and then another moment to stretch and pop almost every bone in his back after a night on the rickety old couch, he got up to find his brother.

Right as Sam rounded the corner he almost plowed right into him. “Dean? What’re you doing?”

“Took a shower, why?”

Sam shrugged, he wasn’t sure why he asked. Dean’s hair was still wet, and he had a towel wrapped around his neck with fresh clean clothes on. “Are you going out with Amanda today?”

“Nah, I told you I would turn her down, remember?” Dean walked past him and opened the fridge. “I thought we could walk around town and do something fun.”

“Like what? We don’t exactly have any money.”

“You don’t need money to have fun with me, Sammy boy.” Dean grinned. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“I don’t know, what do we have?” Sam came over and stuck his head under Dean's arm so he could see. “Maybe we could make eggs.”

“Sounds good.”

“Have you seen dad?” Sam asked curiously. “Or is he working over the weekend?”

“I haven’t seen him but he might be here. Don’t know.”

“Okay.” Sam grabbed the eggs and a pan. As they made themselves fried eggs, Sam peeked around the corners, hoping John wouldn’t show up.

“If you want I can go get ready so we can head out.” Sam offered as he put his plate in the sink.

Dean gave him a thumbs up so Sam ran to the shower. In no time Sam was out and dressed with damp hair falling into his eyes.

“You ready?” Dean asked as he put on his leather jacket.

“Yeah, what’s the plan?” Sam pulled on his sneakers. “Please don’t tell me you’re planning on doing anything illegal.”

“Nope, not today. I thought we could walk around for a bit and then maybe go to the library.”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “Really!”

“Sure, as long as you don’t nerd out too much. I can’t be seen with nerds.” Dean winked.

“I promise.” Sam nodded eagerly. His brother never willingly went to the library with him.

“Okay then cowboy, let’s go.” Dean chuckled. Sam darted out the door, excited for what felt like the first time in forever. “Hey, slow down!” Dean called. “There’s no need to run, we aren’t in any hurry.”

“Okay, okay.” Sam rolled his eyes. He wasn’t even running, he was just walking a little faster than normal.

They walked past all the houses in the neighborhood, Dean having something to say about each and every house, either about their poor taste in landscaping or some bit of drama he had learned about the resident.

Mrs Wilson in the green house with white trimming was a hardcore cat lady. She had around fifteen. Mr and Mrs Smith in the brown brick house were about to get a divorce all because he had a secret kid that she didn’t know about. The next house was a dark blue and black with angel statues littered across the lawn and Dean laughed, saying he’d taken one and put it in the house next door's backyard. Apparently the two homeowners had been fighting ever since.

The list just continued the more houses they passed, a story for almost every house. Sam listened in fascination, amazed that Dean was able to find out even one of those stories.

A while later they walked by an old diner. Dean chuckled to himself. “This is where I took Sadie Hammen right before she moved to California.” Sam nodded, he was sure he’d heard that story at some point. Then Dean pointed to the Pharmacy across the street. “And over there is where I fought her boyfriend after he saw me kiss her on the way out.”

“Dean!” Sam said incredulously.

“It was just a parting gift.” Dean raised his hands in surrender with a big stupid grin on his face. “Wanted her to have something to remember me by. Oh, and I asked Chrissy Owens out over there.” He pointed to the coffee shop down the road.

“You really have gone out with every girl in town.” Sam let out a huff, trying to stop himself from laughing.

“It’s more like they’ve all gone out with me.” Dean was trying a little too hard at a nonchalant cool-guy shrug. “Most of them approached me first.”

“Yeah, like I believe that.”

Dean hit his hand over his heart like he’d been stabbed. “Your doubt wounds me, Sammy- Oh!” And Dean’s short attention span was already moving onto something else. He motioned to the local theater. “I climbed up to the roof and jumped from building to building with Zeke and a few other guys. It was insane, felt like Batman.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh. Even if Dean was a little crazy, he really did believe he had the coolest big brother to walk the planet.

They made it to the library in record time, or maybe it was Dean's nonsensical babbling that made it seem like no time had passed at all. They walked up the steps, Dean leading the way, and Sam hardly containing his excitement. They hadn’t gone out to the library together in a long time.

He spent hours looking through all the books, trying to decide which ones he should pick. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find a book, it was that he was having trouble narrowing it down. Dean went off at some point to probably play some dumb game on the computers or maybe look at car magazines, Sam didn’t really know.

He was halfway through the third chapter of a book —he told himself he would start it so he could decide if he wanted to take it or not but then got sucked into the story and hadn’t been able to stop— when Dean tapped him on the shoulder. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I think I got it.” He nodded, showing off the ones he had decided on. “You think these are good?”

“Yup.” Dean chuckled. “Looks great, Dr Nerd.”

Sam shoved him in the side. “I’m serious!”

“Okay, okay!” Dean playfully shoved him back in return. “Looks great, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes but smiled back before heading towards the counter at the front.

“Just these.” He told the lady with long rectangular glasses that rested on the tip of her nose. She really did look like a librarian from the movies.

The older lady nodded and scanned them all. “Are you not here with your parents sweetie?” She asked, looking a little concerned.

“No ma’am.” He frowned, a little offended that he seemed like just some kid that needed to be babysat. “I’m thirteen, I can handle myself. Besides, I’m not alone, I'm with my brother.” He pointed behind him, where Dean had been standing.

There was no one there.

He turned around fully, scanning the place for his brother. There weren’t many people in the place in general, but his brother was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m sure he’s in the bathroom.” Sam told her, not really paying attention to what the lady had to say anymore.

She eventually gave him his books back and he thanked her quickly before going to search for Dean. He walked around the shelves, calling his brother’s name as he went.

His brother was nowhere to be seen. Where would he be? He was right behind Sam just a second before. Each moment that passed, Sam’s heart pounded harder in his chest.

Right as he was about to open the door to the bathroom, Dean came walking out.

“Dean.” Sam nearly wilted with relief. He hadn’t even realized how tense he had become.

“Yeah, what’s up?” He replied, completely oblivious to Sam’s rising panic.

“I turned around and you were gone.” Sam gripped his books tightly. He didn’t know why it had freaked him out so much. “Don’t leave me alone like that, you scared me.”

It didn’t look like Dean really understood what Sam was trying to say, and to be fair, Sam didn’t really know either. Dean just stared at him with that confused expression, trying to seek out answers. “Sorry, Sam. I’ll make sure and tell you next time. You got all your books?”

“Yeah.” Sam bit his lip, feeling hot and embarrassed about acting like that in front of Dean.

“Okay then big guy, do you wanna go somewhere else or should we just go home?” Dean was able to move on immediately, and for that Sam was thankful.

“Uh, I don’t think there’s anywhere else to go.” Sam answered. “I mean, nowhere we have money for.”

“Okay, home it is.” Dean agreed cheerfully, leading Sam towards the exit. “Maybe we can make Mac and cheese when we get back or something. Oh, and watch a movie.”

“Do you think dad’ll be back?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe. Maybe he’ll want to watch it with us.”

“I doubt it.” Sam huffed.

When Sam pushed the door open Dean stopped short. “Crap, I forgot my jacket by the couches.” He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back Sammy, wait right here and I’ll be right out.”

“Okay-“ but Dean was already making his way towards the back of the library.

He sighed and stepped outside, walking to the bottom of the stairs and sitting on the last step with his books in his hands.

Sam looked around, it wasn’t very busy for a Saturday afternoon. It was a bit surprising. There were a few cars here and there, but not many. There were only two or three people walking on the sidewalks.

A blond girl was standing not too far away with a pink ruffled dress on. It looked like she was waiting on someone to pick her up. At first he didn’t really pay much attention to her but then he realized he recognized her from school.

“Amanda?”

She turned her head around, wavy curls bouncing as she did. “Can I help you?”

“Sorry, no. I just recognized you from school.” He nervously adjusted the books in his hands. “I’m Sam, I’m Dean’s brother.”

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Dean…”

“Winchester?” Sam filled in.

“Sorry, is he in one of my classes?” She asked sheepishly.

“Yeah, he- well, he said he took you to the movies last weekend?” Sam told her, the more he spoke the more he was certain that his ears were turning red.

“No, I’m sorry, you must have the wrong person.” She gave a polite smile. Her brown eyes were apologetic and sincere.

“Amanda Harris?” He couldn’t help but confirm.

“Yes, but I don’t know a Dean, I’m sorry.” She shook her head, then she caught sight of a shiny white car that was pulling up to the library, coming to a stop. “This is my ride, it was nice to meet you though Sam.” Amanda gave a small wave goodbye as she got into the car.

Sam stood there for a few seconds while he watched the car drive away.

What did she mean she didn’t know Dean? Dean had said they went to the movies, that she’d even invited him to her house. How could she not know who he was?

A bird landed on the railing to the stairs. It chirped at him.

Something wasn’t right.

Had Dean been lying to him? Why would he do that, why would Dean lie? Why would he make something like that up? Was it to impress Sam? To make Sam think he was cool? Why?

Something wasn’t right. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

Something’s wrong. The bird chirped.

Dean had said something about Amanda’s blue eyes.

Her eyes had been brown.

Sam sprinted back towards the theater, towards the dinner and the Pharmacy. His books were left abandoned on the stairs, completely forgotten.

“Something’s wrong!” Birds sang. “Something’s wrong, something’s wrong!”

He just needed to ask their neighbors. He needed to ask if Dean's story was true. If he really did take one of the angels from the lawn of the blue house. He could ask. He could see. Was Mrs Wilson from the green house with white trimming really a cat lady? He could ask. There was no reason he needed to wonder, he could just ask.

“Just ask!” Birds were swarming him, screaming at him, so he picked up his pace, running faster towards their neighborhood. Surely then the birds would stop.

Where did Dean go?

As Sam arrived at the edge of the neighborhood he came to a sudden stop. He’d just left Dean at the library, that’s all.

It was okay. It was fine. He’d explain it all to Dean after he was finished. And then Dean would have some stupid explanation that would fix everything and make everything right again and then it’d all go back to normal.

He made his way to the front steps of the dark blue house, angels littering the yard. He rang the doorbell.

There was someone saying something and rustling behind the door before it opened.

A tall dark headed man looked a little confused. “Hi there, can I help you?”

“Are these your angels?” Sam asked stiffly.

The birds were making his ears ring.

“Oh, those are my grandmas.” He laughed. “She’s inside, did you want me to go get her?”

“Have the neighbors ever taken one?”

“One of the angels? Not that I know of…” The man frowned. “Is one of them missing?”

“No.” His eyes darted everywhere but the man’s face. “Thank you. Sorry.” Sam said as he turned and ran as fast as he could, suddenly unable to ask any more questions.

He went to the green house with the white trim. Mrs Wilson’s house. Crazy cat lady. Before he could even knock on the door there was a dog barking from inside.

“Liar!” The birds shrieked. “Liar, liar, liar!”

“He’s not a liar.” Sam backed away from the door. His throat felt like it was going to close up and his eyes stung. “He isn’t. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

Where was Dean? Where was he?

The birds were laughing at him and he hated it, he wanted Dean, he wanted his brother.

Sam tried to make it back home, he did, but eventually his feet got too heavy so he sat down on the sidewalk. He was just a few houses away but he couldn’t make it. He couldn’t.

He thought if he sat there long enough maybe Dean would come to get him. Dean always came to get him.

He could picture his brother’s face in his head. It was like all the times he sat in his bed and tried to remember his mother’s face. But- Dean shared his mom’s face, so he couldn’t forget. He’d never forget.

There was a picture of her that used to hang in the hallway of her laughing and her blue eyes crinkled with joy.

Blue? Were they blue? But Dean’s eyes weren’t blue, his were green, right? Or were they blue like his mother’s?

He couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember?

The birds were laughing at him again.

And the next thing he knew he was crying. He was sitting in the middle of the sidewalk curled up in a ball, letting out deep uncontrollable sobs because the birds were so loud and why wasn’t Dean there?

There was a hand on his shoulder, and birds went silent. “Sam!” Sam looked up and Dean's face was swimming into view. Blue eyes wide with concern. “What the hell, I came out of the library and you were gone! Are you okay?”

Sam let out a shaky breath. “Dean?”

The birds stopped.

“Yeah, I’m right here, Sammy. What happened? Are you okay?” Dean looked totally freaked out and Sam doesn’t blame him.

“Where did you go?” Sam tried to hold in a humiliating sob, and ended up just sniffling instead. “You said you wouldn’t leave me, you said!” He didn't even care that he sounded like a five year old.

“I just went to get my jacket, Sam. Remember?” Dean rubbed Sam’s back gently. “I told you I was going to be right back.”

“Dean, why doesn’t dad ever yell at you?”

Dean’s face fell, eyebrows pinched together in a concerned frown. “What? Sam, you’re freaking me out. First you run off on your own and then I find you on the sidewalk crying and now this? What’s going on?”

“Why, Dean! Tell me!” Sam gripped Dean’s jacket then, desperate and wild. “Does he hate me that much? Tell me it’s because he hates me.”

“Dad doesn’t hate you, Sammy.” Dean’s face was serious, eyes locked onto Sam’s to make sure Sam knew he was telling the truth.

“Then why?”

There was something miserable about Dean’s face. Dean knew. Dean knew and he just wouldn’t tell him. “You need to ask dad.”

“I don’t wanna ask dad.”

“But you need to. If you want to know, you need to.”

“What if I don’t want to know anymore?”

“That’s up to you.” Dean nodded.

Sam’s eyes started to sting again and he leaned over to hug his brother before he could start crying anymore than he already had.

“You would never lie to me.” Sam says, it’s a statement, not a question. He couldn’t bear to know the answer. “Dad does though. Dad lies.” John lied year after year that they’d have a Christmas, that he would come to Sam’s soccer games back when he was in second grade, that he’d come home early so they could go watch a movie Sam really wanted to see. He always lied about that kind of stuff.

“He doesn’t mean to.” Dean replied sadly.

They sat there for a while, until both of their legs had gone numb and Sam was finally calm enough to sniff away the tears.

“Do you wanna go home?” Dean asked carefully.

It took another moment before Sam could answer. He wanted to say ‘no, anywhere but there’ but instead settled with, “okay.”

“I’m not gonna carry you though, kay Sammy? You’re too big for that.”

Sam nodded and got to his feet on his own, only swaying a little bit. Dizzy from all the tears. His eyes felt itchy and swollen and his nose stuffy. He felt a little detached.

While they made their way down the sidewalk Sam latched onto the material of Dean's jacket. Gripping it tight between his fingertips.

The Impala was sitting in the driveway. Why did John have to be home today of all days? The day when he already felt so pathetic and small, humiliated. He knew that even the smallest of glares would cause him to crumble, he just knew it.

Dean stood beside him at the doorway, waiting for Sam to be the one to open the door so that he could do it at his own pace.

“We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.” Dean said, voice muffled.

“He probably won’t even notice.” Sam hoped he didn’t. He knew his face was probably still puffy and red, and John was the last person he wanted to see.

After a moment to collect himself he reached to the knob of the front door, opening it just enough so he could squeeze through.

He froze when he looked up to find John sitting on the couch, watching the tv that sat right by the front door.

“Where have you been off to?” John asked, not taking his eyes off the screen as he took another sip of his beer.

“Library.” Sam replied quietly.

Dean stood beside him, looking between the two of them like he was trying to decide whether or not they were going to attempt to kill each other this time.

Sam tried to slide past John to head to his bedroom.

“No books?” His father’s voice was curious, eyebrows raised.

Sam finally noticed that his hands were empty, he’d dropped his books outside on the front steps of the library. “Oh… yeah, guess so.”

Sam’s uncertain tone must’ve confused John even further because then he was raising the remote and pausing the screen. “Sam, what’s going on?” He huffed, seeming more annoyed than anything else.

“Nothing.” Sam shrugged, trying to avoid eye contact. “Just tired, wanna go lay down for a while.”

“You got a concussion or somethin?” John narrowed his eyes. “I know someone must’ve beat your face in for you to have gotten that nice of a bruise.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Then what’s going on, son?”

Son. It almost made him want to laugh. Sam hadn’t heard John call him that in years. He must’ve made a face because John was getting to his feet.

“What?”

Dean is staring at Sam, something unforgettable on his face. “It’s okay to ask him.” He said.

John waited, closing in the space between them with each passing second. “What? Spit it out, Sam.”

“Why…” There was a lump in Sam’s throat. Maybe he should just start small. Well, it didn’t really matter where he started, none of it felt small. At least not to him. “Why’d you throw away all of mom’s pictures?”

John was taken back, mouth left hanging open and eyebrows knitted together. It took almost a full minute for his father to find his voice. “Why’re you asking this?”

“I just need to know.” Sam could feel Dean behind him, reaching around and grabbing Sam’s hand, holding it tightly in his own just out of view.

John sighed, finally leaning back and giving them a little bit of space. He swiped a hand over his face. “Just hurt too much to look at. Had to get rid of em.”

Sam squeezed Dean's hand, trying to gather up the courage for the next question. It was stupid, but he needed to know. “What color were mom’s eyes?”

And there was something horrified and grief-stricken about John’s face at that question. “I…” He cut himself off, something told Sam that John was holding back tears. “Blue.”

Sam nodded. Blue. Of course they were, he knew that. He tried to imagine her perfect face, long golden curls and blue sparkling eyes. Sun-kissed freckles and a happy grin. It was Dean's grin.

“Listen…” If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say it sounded like John was getting choked up. “I know I’m not the best father, if you even want to call me that-“ He let out a deep sigh. “I just, if I haven’t ever said it, know that I’m sorry.”

Sam looked at John incredulously through uncontrolled bangs. He wanted to just hide away and never come out. Sam had vowed to always hate the man in front of him because of the monster he’d always painted his father out to be, so why was John apologizing? He looked back towards Dean, not knowing what to do.

“I know I yell too much, I drink too much, and I’m not here when I should be. I know I can’t control my anger sometimes and I’m too stubborn for my own good, I couldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave.”

As John spoke, Sam was unable to look at John in the eyes while he admitted all of his sins. All those reasons why he hated his ‘father,’ and then suddenly he’s saying he knew all along? He knew he was making Sam suffer? He just didn’t care enough to try and improve himself at all, apparently Sam wasn't worth that to him, and neither was Dean. “And I don’t blame you if you hate my guts. There’s no excuse for what I’ve done, I should’ve been here for you. I didn’t take responsibility when I should have, leaving you here should not have become a common occurrence, let alone the usual. It became a habit, and I’m sorry. You deserve better than to be stuck at home by yourself every day.”

“I’m not by myself.” Sam frowned, speaking softly as his gaze flickering towards Dean. His big brother’s eyes were sorrowful. “I’m not alone.” He said louder.

“Sammy…” Dean sighed.

Sam stared at Dean with a wild expression, his breathing hitched, and his eyes stung like they were being burned, like someone was pouring hot acid into them as tears started to surface. “I’m not.” He repeated, struggling to catch his breath.

“Sam, what’s wrong?” John sounded confused, it was like nails on a chalkboard. “What are you talking about?”

“Sammy, it’s okay.” Dean said, his voice sounded like the birds outside. He sounded like he was mourning. “It’s time you face your fear.”

“No, no, that’s not-“ Sam mumbled to himself, trying, pleading that he was wrong.

“Think about it Sam!” Dean continued. “How many bedrooms are in this house?”

Sam was shaking as he walked down the hall, away from John, hoping his father would just shut up already. On his right had been the kitchen, and then on the left was John’s bedroom, his mother had died in that bed, across from it was the bathroom, and at the end of the hall was Sam’s room.

Where was Dean’s room?

“No, no Dean, you have to- you can’t just…” He made it to his bedroom and slammed the door shut.

“Who always makes breakfast?” Dean asked.

“W- we do, together.” He stutters out.

“No, Sam. Just you.” Dean sighs. “Have I ever made you a meal?”

“Yeah, for school, you do for school.”

“Really?”

No… his lunches, sometimes they disappeared. But- that wasn’t… it was the bullies, they were the ones that stole his lunch. They were the ones that took it. It wasn’t because…

He shook his head, trying to make the thought disappear as if it was an etch a sketch drawing instead of a poison taking root and killing every part of him that mattered.

“Now.” Dean whispered. “Why doesn’t dad ever look me in the eyes, Sam. You know why. You know.”

“Because…” He cried. Why did Dean have to ruin everything? Why couldn’t he just live the rest of his life in blissful ignorance? In peace?

“Because I’m not real, Sammy.”

“But you are!” Sam grasped onto Dean’s jacket, letting out heaving sobs. “You are, you taught me everything, you raised me, De- you’re always there for me, no matter what! You can’t just- you can’t just do this, you can’t say that!”

Dean studied his face, looking like he was in agony. “I’m sorry.”

“Dad just can’t stand that you look like mom, that’s all.” Sam argued. “That’s it, that’s the only reason!”

“You needed me.” Dean smiled, tears sparkling in his eyes too. His eyes were blue just like his mother’s. It was the same pair of eyes he had seen from all of those pictures, all of the ones he’d tried so hard to study before his father threw them all away. But he’d forgotten at some point during that time, he’d forgotten that her eyes were blue, not green. “You needed someone, and I’ll be here until you don’t need me anymore, but you have to accept something Sammy.”

“No-“

“I’m not real.”

Dean was the spitting image of Mary because he was Mary. He was some twisted messed up desperate version of her that Sam had laid awake at night and prayed for. He needed a mother. He needed a father. He needed a brother. He just needed someone.

And he got Dean.

“Why should I believe you?” Sam wept. “Why? The birds say you’re a liar.”

“Oh Sammy…” Dean leaned closer, it wasn’t so comforting anymore, it was excruciating. “Birds don’t talk.”

Sam looked at him, studying him, trying to piece together what he was saying.

He didn’t have much time to figure it out because the next second he was flinching at the sounds of a knock on the door. “Sam?” John’s voice barely came through the door. “Are you okay?”

All he could do was stare at his bedroom door, no idea what he should even say.

There was another knock, quieter this time. “Sam?”

Sam’s gaze fell back on Dean. He looked at his big brother with wide eyes, studying each of his features.

“It’s okay, Sammy.” Dean smiled softly. Maybe… maybe Dean did have green eyes. Maybe he wasn’t an exact copy of his mother. Maybe he was something more. He might’ve filled that role, but overtime he became more than just a dream that filled in the blanks, he was Sam’s best friend, his brother.

Dean leaned over and grasped Sam’s hand in his own.

Finally the door opened, and John walked into the room, glancing around with a confused expression. “Sam? Who were you talking to?”

Sam bit his lip, not taking his eyes off where his brother had held his hand. His face was still completely soaked, and it wasn’t going to dry anytime soon.

“No one.”