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Dean had been different since purgatory.
He’d always been aggressive, overprotective (although he would always deny it), but now he barely kept it together in crowded public places, pushing closer against Sam, nearly a step behind in order to cover his younger brother’s six.
It made it awkward whenever Sam had to stop unannounced in order to let someone pass or to avoid running into a kid who was unaware of their surroundings.
Dean would run into his back, the force pushing Sam forward, and as much as he wished that Dean would just walk beside him like he used to do, he was also thankful Dean wasn’t holding a knife up his sleeve that would accidentally stab him in the back, as he used to do when he first got back from Hell.
Because being accidentally stabbed by your brother in the middle of the street was a really bad look, and they didn’t need any more attention drawn to them. They already looked weird enough, dressed in formal black and white suits, standing out against the muted browns and denim blues that small-town folk often wore.
It was what had just happened, Sam stopping in order to avoid hitting a teenager on a skateboard, when Dean had been distracted, probably focused on whether the figure in that alley looked suspicious, and therefore running straight into Sam’s back.
They both let out a grunt, and Sam whirled around to make sure Dean wasn’t going to stab him or a passerby in shock.
Instead, his brother just frowned, glaring at him. “What was that for?”
His tone was accusatory, but Sam tried not to take it to heart. He’d gotten accustomed to this weird version of Dean and knew his brother wasn’t so much angry as he was stuck in fight or flight.
Dean’s pupils were blown wide with adrenaline, and while Sam was looking forward to stopping for lunch at a nearby diner, he was hesitant to make Dean stay outside for longer than necessary.
“There was a kid.” He shrugged.
“Little shit.” There was a moment where Dean’s eyes left his, scouring the surrounding street, before he pushed Sam away and forward, likely as wanting for lunch as Sam was.
His hypothesis was proven correct when his older brother’s stomach rumbled hungrily, and Dean groaned. “When’s lunch? I’m starving, Sammy.”
Sam didn’t doubt that Dean was actually starving. He’d gotten skinnier while in purgatory. Narrowed by the lack of food.
Actually, now that Sam thought about it, what had Dean eaten in purgatory? He didn’t think there were three-course meals in the hell for monsters, and there couldn’t have been any food made for humans.
It was possible that Cas had made food edible for Dean, but given his brother’s reluctance to talk about anything regarding the angel, Sam guessed that wasn’t the answer.
That only left a horrible, sinking feeling in Sam’s gut, and he had to push away the images of Dean eating bloody vampire and werewolf meat before he lost his own appetite.
“There’s a diner just around the corner.”
It was the only one in this town, and Sam hoped that Dean was stable enough not to get them kicked out and labelled as the town freaks. The last public dining experience they’d had hadn’t gone well, and Sam felt bad for the employees who were probably still scrubbing blood out of the floor tiles' grout.
“Well, hurry up.”
Sam let out a huff of laughter at Dean’s moaning and groaning.
“You know it would be faster if you walked beside me so we didn’t run into each other.” His tone was light, but Sam could feel Dean stiffen behind him, obviously offended at Sam’s suggestion.
And although Sam was trying his best to be understanding, to accommodate for Dean’s paranoid needs, he felt a flash of annoyance at his brother.
“Forget it.” He took off at a new pace, feeling slightly satisfied when Dean had to hurry after him, muttering curses about Sam’s long legs and how he was going to break Sam’s ankles one day.
The threats would’ve scared him if Dean had said them when he’d first returned from Hell, because back then his brother had been scarily violent and they really weren’t on the best of terms, but now Sam just rolled his eyes and continued walking. Because even though he knew Dean was mad at him for the whole Amelia stunt, his brother had also been weirdly clingy since he came back, his senses zapped up to eleven, and almost all of them were checking Sam for danger.
The walking behind thing was only one of his new tricks. While they used to sit on opposing sides of the diner booth, if Sam sat down first now, Dean would shove him over, pushing him against the wall and out of harm's way.
It would’ve been endearing if Sam weren’t a fully grown 6'4 man, who was then annoyingly stuck beside his older brother, who now also had no concept of personal space.
Instead, Sam now had to make sure to let Dean choose a side first, then sit opposite him, purposefully ignoring the glare Dean would give him.
The diner’s door made a little ringing sound as it opened, and Sam forced down the instinctive urge to slam it into Dean’s face behind him.
His brother was already on edge; there was no need to make it worse.
The diner was pretty empty, as per usual for a weekday afternoon. There was an old couple eating a late lunch in a booth near the door, and when they smiled at Sam and Dean, Sam had to nudge his brother in order to get him to stop glaring and smile back.
Although Sam itched to choose the seat with the best view of the entrance, he let Dean slide in first. Sitting with his back exposed had his limbs prickling uncomfortably, but he logically knew it was highly unlikely anything would happen in this small town diner.
Still, he was glad that Dean’s hyperaware gaze was searching the windows; it never hurt to be prepared.
Their waitress was smiling as she greeted them, and her short brunette ponytail bobbed behind her as she skipped towards their table.
“What can I get y’all to drink?”
Sam felt a twinge of guilt when Dean ignored her to visually inspect the room, and Sam made up for it by smiling brightly. “Hi. Just a coffee, black, for me, and a water for him.”
She nodded, and with a concerned look at Dean, who was now glaring at his brother, she left them to their business.
“A water? Really?” Dean drawled, unimpressed.
But Sam was not going to give his brother, who was already on the edge of his seat and looked ready to pounce on anyone who looked at them wrong, caffeine.
He couldn’t really tell that to Dean without an agitated speech about how he was fine and how Sam should just really stop worrying and give him the coffee, though, so Sam settled on a shrug and ignored Dean, who was now trying to burn a hole through him with his eyes.
It didn’t take long for their drinks to arrive, and Sam was thankful Dean didn’t start arguing with him in front of the waitress.
However, it seemed that was where his good luck ended, because after they’d ordered (a Caesar Salad for Sam, and a Bacon Cheeseburger for Dean), the waitress had been leaning across the table to grab the menu from where it was placed on the table, and Dean, who had been previously still, reached out and grabbed her wrist.
The contact was meant to restrain, not hurt, but Sam could tell the girl was freaked from the way her eyes flitted between the brothers.
Dean’s expression wasn’t much calmer. The physical closeness was obviously triggering him, and his breaths were coming out in soft pants, eyes narrowed and glassy as he tried to protect himself and Sam.
“Dean.” Sam’s words were little more than a hiss, and he kicked his brother in the shin under the table.
Violence definitely wasn’t the best option here, Sam had learnt before, and there was a chance that it would freak Dean out more, but Sam really needed to get Dean to let the waitress go before she started screaming.
There was a pause for a moment before Dean let go, pushing himself up and out of the booth. Sam was tempted to follow him, but stayed seated when Dean disappeared into the bathroom instead of out the door.
Turning his attention back to the girl, he smiled apologetically and mentally made a note to give her a massive tip for having to deal with all their crazy.
“Sorry, he has PTSD.”
While it wasn’t technically a lie, Dean did have nightmares and panic attacks and flashbacks, even though he’d never admit it, Sam felt guilty for scaring the poor girl and then not even telling her the truth.
Although the truth would probably have her staring at him and calling the nearest psychologist. He couldn’t really say, “he’s traumatised from spending a year in monster hell with no other humans and having to fight vampires and demons, oh and probably leviathans too.” Their lives weren’t exactly believable, and after their last visit to a psychiatric ward a few years ago, Sam wasn’t going to any place that had white padded walls and straight jackets for a long time.
She looked unconvinced at Sam’s reply, but fortunately also seemed like he wanted to get away quickly, and left Sam to his own thoughts.
This was definitely the last time they were going to be eating out for a while. The stress of having to make sure Dean didn’t mistake the staff for monsters was exhausting, and Sam was almost going to ask for take away instead when Dean emerged from the bathroom.
His face was slightly damp-looking, and Sam had no doubt he’d just run it under the tap. It was probably the most well-adjusted self-soothing method that Dean had, and Sam was slightly proud of his brother for not destroying the poor diner's bathroom in an effort to calm himself down. The bar was low these days.
“You okay?” He asked after Dean finally sat back down.
When his brother’s answer was a shrug and avoidance, Sam let the conversation drop, happy to sit in silence until their meal arrived.
The food took surprisingly long, and although Sam was antsy to get back to the motel and out of the public eye, he knew Dean also needed time around other humans again. By normal societal standards, Dean’s attitude since returning from purgatory was pretty weird, and while Sam didn’t really notice it because, let’s face it, everything they did was weird, he knew from the way that civilians stared at them that Dean needed to figure out how to fake it till he made it again.
He was surprised when their former waitress came back, dumping the plates on the table before skittering off without a word.
He couldn’t really blame her.
While Sam picked at his salad, his appetite slightly lost after the drama of ordering, Dean was engaged in his burger, hands and face messy with sauce and fat.
“Dean.” He waited until his brother’s eyes met his own. “Slow down.”
That was another thing Sam had noticed since Dean got back. His brother had always been a messy eater, the fear of not getting enough food being brought with him through childhood and into his adult life, but now, he was almost gross to watch.
He’d shove food into his mouth, barely saving time for chewing and swallowing before the next bite would join it, almost choking himself in a haste to get food into his stomach.
At first, this ritual had ended in Dean kneeling over the toilet and expelling his guts while Sam rubbed his back. It wasn’t until the third meal in a row that Sam had told Dean to calm down, that the food wasn’t going to disappear.
Dean had still eaten quickly, but he wasn’t almost painful to watch anymore, and he hadn’t thrown up afterwards, so Sam took it as a win.
Now, Dean glared at Sam over his burger, but followed the instruction, taking bites that he chewed and swallowed before taking another.
Sam tried passing him napkins to clean his hands, and only groaned when Dean swatted him away, uncaring of the filth that was coating his fingers.
Having his own hands dirty like that would probably drive Sam insane, but he guessed that Dean had probably dealt with worse in purgatory and definitely deserved some grace, so he left Dean to his own devices and glared at the elderly couple who were now staring at Dean.
Yeah, he might judge Dean on the daily, but he wasn’t letting some judgmental geriatrics do it, too.
When he’d finished, Dean finally wiped his hands clean and frowned at the minuscule amount of salad that Sam had eaten.
“You’ve barely eaten, Sammy.” His tone was light, but Sam knew he was concerned and probably plotting how to get Sam to actually eat lunch.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Just three bites.” The request was accompanied by Dean leaning across the table, pushing the bowl closer to Sam as though its proximity would suddenly make him hungry again.
“Dean.”
His older brother rolled his eyes in response. “Come on, I know you love your rabbit food. Three bites.”
Sam knew he wasn’t winning this, but still, he wanted to push, show Dean that he was an adult who could make his own choices.
Sure, his choices over the last year hadn’t been the best, but they’d been his, and he missed the independence he’d felt during them.
“Dean, drop it.” His voice was stiff, and he was unsurprised when his brother began to glare at him.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
This time, it was Sam who had to hastily follow after Dean, shoving down bills on the table before jogging to catch up with his brother, who was halfway down the street.
It was an unusual change from their usual twelve and six formation, and Sam was glad when he caught up and Dean stayed beside him.
It was probably just because the street was empty, but Sam had missed the feeling of his older brother beside him, suits brushing as they walked in tandem.
He could tell his brother was still irrationally irritated, his shoulders tense and strides quick, but he also knew that annoyance would simmer down as soon as they were home safely. Dean was always high-strung in public.
The drive back to the motel was similarly silent, Dean pressing down hard on the accelerator and ignoring the resounding honks from cars they barely avoided. Sam was holding on tight to the door beside him, and praying that Dean’s driving ability would not lead them to another—this time, rather embarrassing—death.
He was thankful when they finally pulled into the parking space outside their room.
The motel wasn’t anything special, but the rooms didn’t have mystery stains on the carpet, and they actually had a television and two beds that weren’t hard and lumpy, so Sam couldn’t wait to sit down and actually relax without having to make sure Dean didn’t lose it.
He’d just sat down at the table, beer in hand, when Dean decided that their finally peaceful afternoon was best interrupted by a horror film on the television turned all the way up.
“Dean.” It came out as more of an annoyed groan than Sam intended, and the mocking look on Dean’s face made him want to deck his brother.
“Sammy, you’re missing out.” Sam really doubted that. “It’s the Blair Witch Project.”
Sam didn’t even know what that meant, but he knew he’d dealt with enough witches in his own life and didn’t need to see any more terrorising people on the screen.
“I’m getting a headache, turn it off.”
Although Dean rolled his eyes in response, he did turn the volume down slightly, and Sam was glad he no longer had the loud voices of idiotic college kids resounding through the room.
He was half researching for their current case, half watching the movie, although he’d never admit that to his brother, when one of the kids decided to throw out their only map, and Sam couldn’t help a scoff escaping him.
The sound had Dean whirling around to face him, and Sam couldn’t help smiling at the pure joy that was expressed on his older brother's face. Dean had been so grumpy ever since he’d gotten back, caught between fear and anger, but the way he was staring at Sam now, ecstatic that Sam was enjoying the movie as much as he was, reminded Sam of the Dean before purgatory, before hell even.
“I know. They’re stupid. It’s like horror movie 101.”
“Are there any horror movies where they aren’t all idiots?” Sam’s voice was deadpan.
“No.” Dean turned back to the screen, and Sam gave up on the pretence of doing research, closing his laptop and taking a swig of beer while he watched.
All in all, it wasn’t a bad movie. Aside from the fact that Dean would suddenly yell at the screen every time the characters made another awful decision, making Sam jump in his chair and tell Dean to shut up.
It was dark when the credits began to roll, and the stars sparkled innocently outside the window, twinkling dots against the otherwise black sky. Sometimes, when they were younger, Dean and Sam would lie on the pavement just outside the motel room, pointing up at the constellations and giving them names.
What Sam now knew as the Big Dipper had been plainly titled as the Giraffe, and it hurt Sam to know that if they tried to do that now, settle on the still-warm concrete and watch the stars, Dean would be more focused on what could be watching them instead.
Pushing the thought away, Sam pulled off his boots and made his way to bed. Dean was already situated on his own, staring blankly up at the ceiling, and Sam had to ignore the feeling that Dean wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight.
His brother hadn’t been sleeping well, the point obvious by the dark rings that had taken up residence under his brother’s eyes. They were so dark it almost seemed as if Dean had two black eyes, and Sam was tempted to give Dean some of their prescription sleeping pills, just so that he didn’t pass out while on a hunt.
They’d lain in silence for almost an hour, light off, and the sound of cars rushing by the only disturbance, before Sam had the courage to whisper, “Dean, go to sleep.”
”No.” His voice was gruff.
“You’re safe. Go to sleep.” This time, Sam’s voice was more forceful, any tact he had being blown away by the fact that he really wanted to sleep.
When Dean only hummed, Sam groaned agitatedly. “Stupid paranoid bastard.”
He could see the words making Dean smirk across the dark room, and Sam had to ignore the urge to deck him a second time.
“You have a gun under your pillow, so do I. We’re safe.”
He could tell his insistence was beginning to annoy Dean, the smirk fading and being replaced with an unhappy frown.
“Sam. Shut up.”
“No.” The word was soft, but it echoed. “I know purgatory was tough, but you can sleep now.” Just the mention of Dean’s year away, the topic that they’d barely discussed since Dean had come back, had his brother launching out of bed.
“Don’t talk to me about purgatory.” Dean’s voice was scratchy, catching in his throat, and making Sam sit up to look at his brother, who was shrugging on a jacket. “You don’t know shit.”
“You won't talk to me about it.” The words came out more accusatory than he meant them to, but Sam didn’t take them back. He’d been stepping on eggshells around his brother, trying to figure out what would trigger him and what would help, without even understanding what had happened to Dean.
“I don’t have to tell you anything.” His brother’s final words were accompanied by the loud slam of the motel door, and Sam watched the clock flash 00:34 at him, his only companion in the shadowed room.
He didn’t bother to follow Dean; there was no point.