Chapter Text
In the deepest parts of himself, Dean knew this wasn’t normal.
Growing up on the road they’d drifted in and out of different towns, schools and motels. It was a life lived without consequence, never staying in one place long enough for trouble to catch up to them, though not for lack of causing it. Just him and Sam on their own for weeks, sometimes months at a time. It was the freedom most kids dreamed of. No bedtimes, no chores, not when it was just the two of them. Dean’s only true directive was to keep his little brother safe. He’d been at the task for years now, and they were both still breathing.
“When is Dad coming back?” Sammy asked, eyes blank and wide as they stared at the TV screen, putting out more static than coherent picture. It was a miracle they were getting any signal at all in the middle of nowhere.
“I already told you,” Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. “Dad said he’d be another week at least, maybe more.”
“Why do we have to stay here? I hate it here.”
Me too, Sammy. Me too.
“Stop being such a whiny bitch and shut up.”
The garbled noise rubbed through the speakers, now completely scrubbed of any intelligible dialogue as wind picked up outside. Roaring thunder poured over the mountains, echoing angrily making the walls tremble under its wrath.
“If we have to stay, I’m not going back to school.”
Sam sat obstinately, arms crossed over his tiny body. For someone so young there was something grown up about him that not even Dean himself had yet. He felt it with a dull shine of envy that was as passive as it was vague.
“You have to go to school, if you don’t, Dad will be pissed when he gets back.” And it’s my ass on the line.
“I don’t care.”
“You’re going to school or else I’ll beat your ass myself. End of story.”
Dean would never really hurt Sam, though neither of them were above throwing punches. Anything he’d ever inflict on his little brother he’d receive in equal measure from Sam, and it would never compare to what his Dad would do to him if he couldn’t keep things in order while he was gone.
The expectations were reasonably low. Both of them had to attend school, and Dean was to keep Sam safe, fed, sheltered and cared for. All else was up to interpretation.
“You’re gonna punch me? Do it.” Sam said furiously, hate twisting his delicate childish features.
“You still can’t make me go. I don’t care what you do.”
“I thought you liked school?” Dean asked, confused, genuine concern twisting his guts.
Sam’s anger deflated, shame taking its place. He couldn’t meet Dean’s gaze anymore.
“What happened?” Dean barked, fire rising in his chest. “If someone’s giving you problems, you know I’ll kick their ass myself.”
He could see his little brother’s shoulders slouch and he seemed to close in on himself, become smaller, scared.
“Sam!” Dean shouted.
His brother’s eyes darted towards him and back to the TV again. Wind howled and the curtains swayed as an icy cold draft pushed through the room. Dean exhaled, looking for a tuft of breath that would have warned of a ghost’s presence. He looked at the windows and the door, checking the thick lines of salt he’d poured when they’d settled in for the night.
Nothing supernatural, just a storm. Another roar of thunder cracked through the air. A flash of bright white lit up the parking lot outside, outlining the thick stretch of trees that circled them.
His eyes went back to his brother, studying his face, arms, neck. He couldn’t find any bruises.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or not?” Dean demanded.
He sounded so much like their Dad. Sometimes it bothered him, other times it reassured him. Made him feel in control. Like he wasn’t just a thirteen-year-old boy trying to raise himself and his little brother at the same time. Like he actually knew what he was doing, like he wasn’t living scared half the time, just too good at acting like he wasn’t.
Sammy seemed to get smaller still, pulling his knees up to his chest, eyes cast down in his lap. Shame fell heavy on him, Dean knew the look. He remembered how scared, how confused and dirty he’d felt. Dad had left them alone, it was one of the first times he’d trusted Dean with Sam while he went on a hunt. They were staying in a dirty motel in Cincinnati. He was nine, walking to the vending machine at 2am to get a soda because he couldn’t sleep.
Living like this wasn’t normal. Having no one to lean on, having to be grown up before you even knew how. Having to learn the hard way that monsters weren’t the only evil in the world.
“Sammy, please talk to me,” Dean all but begged.
Nothing. Sam wasn’t going to talk. He couldn’t, Dean figured. He understood.
The two of them fell asleep, curled up on each end of the couch in front of the TV, comforted by the white noise as the storm raged on outside.
Dean woke up around 3am to silence, realizing the power had gone out. Wind still cried and whistled through the eaves leaving the room damn near frost bitten. Sam had curled up against him at some point, wrapped up in a thread bare blanket with his mop head of hair falling across his lap. Shivering, he sunk down under the thin cover, huddling next to his baby brother for warmth. He felt Sam press into him and his heart ached.
He wanted to give Sam what he could never have. Some semblance of a normal life. A childhood. Safety and protection from all the things that would have chewed him up and spit him out without a second thought. He was already failing worse that he’d ever imagined.
Morning woke them both as sunlight streamed through the blinds. It was 7am, a Thursday. Sam had pulled away from his side during the night, most likely embarrassed to be found curled up against his big brother in the morning, and hoping he hadn’t noticed at all. If their Dad had been around, he’d have beat them both for being sissies. Comfort wasn’t allowed among soldiers, which is what he constantly referred to them as. Somehow, that only made them that much hungrier for it.
They should have been getting ready for school. With the power back on Dean walked to the TV and switched it on, finding a channel that was somewhat interesting and clear enough to watch before walking over to the kitchenette.
“Want some breakfast?” Dean asked, pulling two bowls from the cupboard.
Sam looked towards him, a silent question in his eyes that he didn’t voice. He didn’t have to.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Dean shook the last of the cereal out into two bowls, spilled some milk into each, and plopped back down on the couch beside his brother and handed him his breakfast. Neither of them went to school that day.