No More My Brother
by Minx
“You know in almost two years I’ve never bothered you. Never asked you for a thing.” - Episode 1.01 Pilot
Stanford University
February 2004
Dean had begged off going to Bobby’s with his father for once in favor of swinging by Stanford instead to see Sam. He wanted to check up on his little brother, make sure he was still doing okay. Well that and the fact that, in February, South Dakota was a regular blizzard factory, and neither Dean nor his car were very partial to that much snow. No, give him an ocean breeze, mild weather and a college campus full of hot chicks with tans, and Dean would happily forgo trudging through ass-high piles of freezing cold white stuff, even if it meant missing out hanging with Bobby and possibly losing out on an interesting job or two as well.
Dean had given his brother a call while on the road, and they had agreed to meet up at the small co-ed bar Sam and his friends hung out at, to kick back, have a few beers and just catch up on things.
Dean usually tried to stop by for a visit at least every few months or so, but it seemed the time between visits was getting farther and farther apart. Either Sam was too busy with school and his part-time job, or Dean wasn’t able to get away from the latest hunt long enough to make the trip. Whatever the reason, the infrequent meetings were taking a toll on the brothers’ relationship. There was a dissonance, a palpable disharmony that Dean felt this time as he sat on the stool next to Sam in the half-empty bar.
He tried to ignore it, letting his eyes roam instead over the pert redheaded bartender that he had flirted with earlier when she had taken their drink orders. Dean leaned forward; elbows planted on the counter, and offered the girl his trademark ten-thousand watt smile, eyes crinkling with mischievous promise. The redhead returned the smile in kind, letting a rosy blush paint her high cheekbones.
Sam sighed again, a little heavier and louder than the last time. Dean turned his attention reluctantly back to his brother.
“So?” Sam asked again, talking more to his beer bottle than to Dean.
Dean casually answered Sam’s question with one of his own. “So…what?”
“You know,” Sam hedged, hoping he wouldn’t actually have to spell it out.
Dean knew exactly what it was Sam wanted to know, but he didn’t intend to let his kid brother off the hook that easily. While the topic of their father had never been an easy subject to broach, it had never been quite this uncomfortable before either. It seemed almost taboo for some reason now, and that bothered Dean. A lot. He rolled his beer bottle between his hands, watching the liquid slosh lazily against the sides of the bottle.
“Jeez, Sammy, you can’t even spit the word out anymore?” Dean inquired quietly, a touch of sarcasm coloring the question.
“Dean…” Sam’s voice was full of pleading.
The subject of his father always made Sam squirm. John Winchester might be the biggest bastard on the planet in his eyes, but that didn’t mean Sam didn’t worry about his old man sometimes, didn’t wonder if he was doing okay. He was his father after all. The man who had raised him, albeit in a really fucked up way, but raised him, kept him fed, sheltered and safe. So, the fact that Dean was playing to his discomfort right now only managed to make it more difficult for Sam to ask.
“Dad’s fine,” Dean finally relented. He took a long pull off his beer. “He’s at Bobby’s, doing some research on vetalas.”
Sam’s head shot up. “Vetalas? Dad actually find one?” he asked, his curiosity roused for better or for worse.
The creatures were more legend than anything else as far as Sam knew. No one had seen one in centuries, although shelves of books had been written on their lore. Most hunters thought they were long extinct. Leave it to his dad to track one down, Sam thought with a grudging sense of pride.
Dean studied Sam a moment, and then raised an eyebrow at him. “What? Now all of a sudden, you’re interested in hunting?”
“Well, no,” Sam said, appearing flustered. He tried to recover, but the gleam of excitement in his eyes gave him away. “It’s just that…a vetala…I mean, dude, they’re like vampires. Nobody’s even sure they’re real because there haven’t been any documented sightings in forever. If Dad’s-” Sam stopped short at the smug look on Dean’s face. His brow furrowed as he let out a short laugh of disbelief. “You’re such a jerk sometimes, you know that?”
While he enjoyed these little get-togethers with Dean, Sam hated the way each and every visit from his brother seemed to deteriorate into an attempted intervention at getting Sam to see the error of his ways, leave school and return to the bosom of his family to continue traipsing across the country, killing things that went bump in the night.
Sam grabbed up his beer from the bar counter in agitation and chugged the rest of it, slamming the empty bottle back down hard enough to catch the attention of a few of the nearby patrons.
“I don’t care if you guys are hunting the frigging Lucky Charms leprechaun, Dean. I’m not going back to that life – I already told you!” Sam gave his brother an irritated glower. “I have plans for my life, and they don’t include any of that fanatical bullshit Dad’s wasted his life on!”
Sam slid off the barstool, snatching up the car keys Dean had left on the countertop between them. He reached into his jeans, fished out a ten, and tossed it onto the bar counter before turning to leave.
“Hey!” Dean called after his brother in irritation. He ran to catch up with Sam. “Keep your voice down, will you?” he hissed. “You know, you don’t hafta get all pissed at me just ‘cause you got daddy issues!”
“Look who’s talking!” Sam retorted nastily over his shoulder as he continued walking, shoving past a couple on his way out of the bar. Dean followed.
“What the hell is your problem?” Dean growled as the two made their way across the bar’s unlit parking lot. He let out a frustrated huff. “You know, Dad would never put up with this lack of respect from you.”
“Yeah, well, Dad wouldn’t have been trying to score with the first pair of tits that rubbed up against him in a bar either,” Sam sourly shot back. He yelped when Dean suddenly brought him up short, grabbing Sam by an arm and landing several heated swats onto the younger man’s backside.
“Ow! What the hell, Dean?” Sam reached back with his free hand to palm his stinging butt.
“I’ve had it with the punk-ass attitude,” Dean testily remarked. “You’ve been nothing but a moody bitch since I got here. Christ, Sam, if didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was your time of the month or something.” He glared at Sam. “What gives?”
“Fuck. You.” Sam looked about ready to take a swing at his brother.
Dean’s eyes glittered dangerously. “You’re freaking lucky we’re in a public place...” Dean muttered under his breath as he gave Sam’s arm a rough shake.
“Oh yeah? And what exactly would you do, Dean, if we weren’t in a public place?”
Dean shot Sam a glare full of dark threats, and Sam couldn’t hold back the snicker this time.
“Oh what? You think you’re Dad now?” Sam shook his head in amused disbelief. “You think that look is going to put the fear of God in me or something? Dude, I’m not a little kid anymore, all right? You can’t control me like that anymore.” Sam yanked his arm from Dean’s grasp and continued walking towards the Impala, his head down. “I’ve been doing just fine without you or Dad, in case you cared to notice,” he muttered.
“You never understood him,” Dean said, his eyes softening.
Sam stopped, back stiffening. He whirled around, his face a stony mask. “And he never even tried to understand me, Dean!” Sam choked out angrily. “And that’s exactly why I left!”
Sam chucked the car keys in his fist at Dean. They smacked Dean square in the chest and dropped to the asphalt of the parking lot with a harsh jangle. Dean bent down to retrieve the keys from the ground and then stood back up his jaw clenched so hard, the muscles stood out in sharp definition.
“Maybe I should go,” Dean said quietly.
Sam gave a curt nod, not meeting his brother’s eyes. “Maybe you should.”
“You know, Sammy-”
“It’s Sam.”
“Right. Sam…” Dean bit his lip, considering his words carefully and then he just sighed, the sound sad and bitter on the evening breeze. “I guess I’ll be seeing ya around,” he added diffidently.
“Goodbye, Dean,” Sam stated flatly.
The meaning of that statement hit Dean like a sharp slap to the face. He quickly glanced up, meeting Sam’s dead stare and his chest tightened. Not ‘catch ya later’ or ‘gimme a call’. Goodbye. The finality of it made it all too clear what Sam wanted, and it tore Dean to his very core.
Dean nodded, wordless, and then slid behind the wheel of the Impala and started the engine. Without even a glance in the rearview mirror, he threw his baby into drive and peeled away from the bar in a mini-dust storm of leaves and gutter debris, leaving Sam alone in the parking lot. Sam watched his brother depart with eyes that were dark, tear-filled and full of an unnamed regret he knew he would never ever admit to anyone, including himself.
THE END
Stanford University
February 2004
Dean had begged off going to Bobby’s with his father for once in favor of swinging by Stanford instead to see Sam. He wanted to check up on his little brother, make sure he was still doing okay. Well that and the fact that, in February, South Dakota was a regular blizzard factory, and neither Dean nor his car were very partial to that much snow. No, give him an ocean breeze, mild weather and a college campus full of hot chicks with tans, and Dean would happily forgo trudging through ass-high piles of freezing cold white stuff, even if it meant missing out hanging with Bobby and possibly losing out on an interesting job or two as well.
Dean had given his brother a call while on the road, and they had agreed to meet up at the small co-ed bar Sam and his friends hung out at, to kick back, have a few beers and just catch up on things.
Dean usually tried to stop by for a visit at least every few months or so, but it seemed the time between visits was getting farther and farther apart. Either Sam was too busy with school and his part-time job, or Dean wasn’t able to get away from the latest hunt long enough to make the trip. Whatever the reason, the infrequent meetings were taking a toll on the brothers’ relationship. There was a dissonance, a palpable disharmony that Dean felt this time as he sat on the stool next to Sam in the half-empty bar.
He tried to ignore it, letting his eyes roam instead over the pert redheaded bartender that he had flirted with earlier when she had taken their drink orders. Dean leaned forward; elbows planted on the counter, and offered the girl his trademark ten-thousand watt smile, eyes crinkling with mischievous promise. The redhead returned the smile in kind, letting a rosy blush paint her high cheekbones.
Sam sighed again, a little heavier and louder than the last time. Dean turned his attention reluctantly back to his brother.
“So?” Sam asked again, talking more to his beer bottle than to Dean.
Dean casually answered Sam’s question with one of his own. “So…what?”
“You know,” Sam hedged, hoping he wouldn’t actually have to spell it out.
Dean knew exactly what it was Sam wanted to know, but he didn’t intend to let his kid brother off the hook that easily. While the topic of their father had never been an easy subject to broach, it had never been quite this uncomfortable before either. It seemed almost taboo for some reason now, and that bothered Dean. A lot. He rolled his beer bottle between his hands, watching the liquid slosh lazily against the sides of the bottle.
“Jeez, Sammy, you can’t even spit the word out anymore?” Dean inquired quietly, a touch of sarcasm coloring the question.
“Dean…” Sam’s voice was full of pleading.
The subject of his father always made Sam squirm. John Winchester might be the biggest bastard on the planet in his eyes, but that didn’t mean Sam didn’t worry about his old man sometimes, didn’t wonder if he was doing okay. He was his father after all. The man who had raised him, albeit in a really fucked up way, but raised him, kept him fed, sheltered and safe. So, the fact that Dean was playing to his discomfort right now only managed to make it more difficult for Sam to ask.
“Dad’s fine,” Dean finally relented. He took a long pull off his beer. “He’s at Bobby’s, doing some research on vetalas.”
Sam’s head shot up. “Vetalas? Dad actually find one?” he asked, his curiosity roused for better or for worse.
The creatures were more legend than anything else as far as Sam knew. No one had seen one in centuries, although shelves of books had been written on their lore. Most hunters thought they were long extinct. Leave it to his dad to track one down, Sam thought with a grudging sense of pride.
Dean studied Sam a moment, and then raised an eyebrow at him. “What? Now all of a sudden, you’re interested in hunting?”
“Well, no,” Sam said, appearing flustered. He tried to recover, but the gleam of excitement in his eyes gave him away. “It’s just that…a vetala…I mean, dude, they’re like vampires. Nobody’s even sure they’re real because there haven’t been any documented sightings in forever. If Dad’s-” Sam stopped short at the smug look on Dean’s face. His brow furrowed as he let out a short laugh of disbelief. “You’re such a jerk sometimes, you know that?”
While he enjoyed these little get-togethers with Dean, Sam hated the way each and every visit from his brother seemed to deteriorate into an attempted intervention at getting Sam to see the error of his ways, leave school and return to the bosom of his family to continue traipsing across the country, killing things that went bump in the night.
Sam grabbed up his beer from the bar counter in agitation and chugged the rest of it, slamming the empty bottle back down hard enough to catch the attention of a few of the nearby patrons.
“I don’t care if you guys are hunting the frigging Lucky Charms leprechaun, Dean. I’m not going back to that life – I already told you!” Sam gave his brother an irritated glower. “I have plans for my life, and they don’t include any of that fanatical bullshit Dad’s wasted his life on!”
Sam slid off the barstool, snatching up the car keys Dean had left on the countertop between them. He reached into his jeans, fished out a ten, and tossed it onto the bar counter before turning to leave.
“Hey!” Dean called after his brother in irritation. He ran to catch up with Sam. “Keep your voice down, will you?” he hissed. “You know, you don’t hafta get all pissed at me just ‘cause you got daddy issues!”
“Look who’s talking!” Sam retorted nastily over his shoulder as he continued walking, shoving past a couple on his way out of the bar. Dean followed.
“What the hell is your problem?” Dean growled as the two made their way across the bar’s unlit parking lot. He let out a frustrated huff. “You know, Dad would never put up with this lack of respect from you.”
“Yeah, well, Dad wouldn’t have been trying to score with the first pair of tits that rubbed up against him in a bar either,” Sam sourly shot back. He yelped when Dean suddenly brought him up short, grabbing Sam by an arm and landing several heated swats onto the younger man’s backside.
“Ow! What the hell, Dean?” Sam reached back with his free hand to palm his stinging butt.
“I’ve had it with the punk-ass attitude,” Dean testily remarked. “You’ve been nothing but a moody bitch since I got here. Christ, Sam, if didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was your time of the month or something.” He glared at Sam. “What gives?”
“Fuck. You.” Sam looked about ready to take a swing at his brother.
Dean’s eyes glittered dangerously. “You’re freaking lucky we’re in a public place...” Dean muttered under his breath as he gave Sam’s arm a rough shake.
“Oh yeah? And what exactly would you do, Dean, if we weren’t in a public place?”
Dean shot Sam a glare full of dark threats, and Sam couldn’t hold back the snicker this time.
“Oh what? You think you’re Dad now?” Sam shook his head in amused disbelief. “You think that look is going to put the fear of God in me or something? Dude, I’m not a little kid anymore, all right? You can’t control me like that anymore.” Sam yanked his arm from Dean’s grasp and continued walking towards the Impala, his head down. “I’ve been doing just fine without you or Dad, in case you cared to notice,” he muttered.
“You never understood him,” Dean said, his eyes softening.
Sam stopped, back stiffening. He whirled around, his face a stony mask. “And he never even tried to understand me, Dean!” Sam choked out angrily. “And that’s exactly why I left!”
Sam chucked the car keys in his fist at Dean. They smacked Dean square in the chest and dropped to the asphalt of the parking lot with a harsh jangle. Dean bent down to retrieve the keys from the ground and then stood back up his jaw clenched so hard, the muscles stood out in sharp definition.
“Maybe I should go,” Dean said quietly.
Sam gave a curt nod, not meeting his brother’s eyes. “Maybe you should.”
“You know, Sammy-”
“It’s Sam.”
“Right. Sam…” Dean bit his lip, considering his words carefully and then he just sighed, the sound sad and bitter on the evening breeze. “I guess I’ll be seeing ya around,” he added diffidently.
“Goodbye, Dean,” Sam stated flatly.
The meaning of that statement hit Dean like a sharp slap to the face. He quickly glanced up, meeting Sam’s dead stare and his chest tightened. Not ‘catch ya later’ or ‘gimme a call’. Goodbye. The finality of it made it all too clear what Sam wanted, and it tore Dean to his very core.
Dean nodded, wordless, and then slid behind the wheel of the Impala and started the engine. Without even a glance in the rearview mirror, he threw his baby into drive and peeled away from the bar in a mini-dust storm of leaves and gutter debris, leaving Sam alone in the parking lot. Sam watched his brother depart with eyes that were dark, tear-filled and full of an unnamed regret he knew he would never ever admit to anyone, including himself.
THE END