Clairvoyance (PG-13)

Sam’s ‘dreams’ have been coming more often lately. He remembers that at the very beginning they had been little more than real dreams – disjointed, frightening images he thought were just figments of his imagination. He had thought that they were only echoes of his violent past, his subconscious remembering and working through things in his sleep. It would have made sense – he had left that life behind him, he had time now to finally deal with things. Something like post-traumatic stress management of his previous life.

With time the dreams had become clearer, had started to make sense in a nightmarish sort of way but he had still refused to believe. Until Jessica’s death had forced him to admit that they were in fact not real dreams but something else. He has no freaking clue what else exactly and frankly, it scares the crap out of him but so far they have been somewhat helpful in preventing evil things from happening so he figures they can’t be all bad. At least he hopes so.

Lately, though, the ‘dreams’ have changed. They have stopped just showing him the future but also include things that already have happened. Things that he apparently needs to know – where the body of that ghost they’d been hunting in Albuquerque had been hidden sixty years ago, who had summoned the vengeance demon in Montecito, that kind of thing. Sam isn’t quite sure what to make of it and neither is Dean, although he did point out that Sam’s shining is certainly making things easier now.

But tonight things are different. Sam can tell as soon as he opens his eyes in that strange ‘dream’world of his and sees Dean sitting at a kitchen table. He has never seen his family in the ‘dreams’ before, they have only always shown him strangers – strangers that might somehow relate to him but nevertheless strangers. Even Jessica, if he’s honest with himself, because in the end he had kept too much hidden from her, too much of himself for her to really know him. But now Dean is here and it terrifies Sam. Bad things usually happen to the people who star in his ‘dreams’. Something doesn’t fit, though. While this is not really a dream, Sam’s mind is nevertheless sluggish, and it takes him a moment to work it out but when he does he breathes a sigh of relief.

Dean is eight years old. He isn’t going to die a gruesome death in the next few minutes, he is going to live to be at least twentysix and to come pick him up at Stanford. Sam knows that. In fact, now that he is paying closer attention to his surroundings Sam realizes that he also knows that kitchen. It’s a very blurred memory but he definitely remembers that giant red magnetic flower on the fridge door. He had been enamored with it, had spent hours staring at it, grinning stupidly. Sam distantly wonders if he might have been retarded as a kid, because from his current, twentytwo year old perspective that flower is rather garish.

His musings are interrupted when a pencil hurtles through the air and hits the flower, making it clatter to the floor. He turns around and sees Dean, hunched over a book, his mouth twisted in frustration. Sam grins. He’s so gonna tease Dean over this in the morning, how he already sucked at research at age eight. He steps closer out of curiosity, to get a look at what Dean is doing and is surprised to see it’s homework. Math, to be exact. Sam’s eyes flick at the clock – it’s past nine pm. He doesn’t know much about kids but he’s pretty sure they shouldn’t be doing homework at this hour. Checking the equation Dean is currently working on, though, it’s no wonder that he’s still at it – thirtyseven and twentyeight so do not equal sixtytwo. Sam scans the rest of them – man, little Dean sucks at math. Sam’s mood betters further as he mentally files this away for future use against his big brother.

The backdoor opens and Sam sees his father trudging in, carrying two duffel bags and dumping them on the table. It’s almost painful to see the joy spread over Dean’s face.

‘Hi Dad’, he exclaims.

‘Hi Deano’, John replies, tiredly. ‘Sammy alright?’

Dean nods vigorously. ‘He’s asleep. I made him dinner and put him to bed at eight, just as you said.’ He’s obviously waiting for an acknowledgement from John and when none is forthcoming he pauses. Sam can see that he is working up the courage to say something and he catches himself leaning forward a little to hear what’s going to come out of Dean’s mouth.

‘Dad?’, Dean finally begins. ‘Do you think you could maybe help me with some of my homework?’ John turns around from where he has been washing his hands in the sink and Dean hurries on. ‘It’s not gonna take long, it’s just that I don’t understand how to do this one thing in math. We covered it in class last week when I missed school because of that poltergeist in Ohio, remember?’

John sighs and absently pats his hands dry with a dish towel. It’s obvious that there’s little he’d like to do less than help his son with equations right now, and clearly, Dean sees it, too, because he backtracks quickly. ‘You know, don’t worry about it, Dad. I’ll figure it out or I can just ask Ms Winters tomorrow to go over it with me again. I got it covered.’

John looks at him for a moment and then smiles. ‘Thanks, Deano’, he says. His gaze sweeps across the books on the kitchen table. ‘You otherwise done with homework?’, he asks. ‘Cause I kinda need the space to clean some of the weapons. You wanna help?’

Sam sees Dean hesitate for a moment, his eyes flicking towards another open book, to a writing exercise the teacher marked to be finished for tomorrow’s class, before he flips it closed and stuffs it into his backpack along with the rest of his things.

‘Sure, dad’, he says. ‘I’m all set.’

John nods. ‘Alright’, he says. ‘Come over here and show me how you disassemble and clean this gun.’

Sam watches Dean’s small hands take apart the handgun, moving with practiced ease.

‘Good job, Deano’, his father praises and Dean’s eyes light up. ‘See, the only thing demons care about is causing pain and killing things and if you want to protect yourself and the ones you love you have to know how to treat your weapons well. This is the stuff that’s really important in life, the stuff you’ve got to be good at. You understand that, Dean?’

Dean is nodding earnestly, his eyes fixed firmly on his father’s face. John ruffles his hair. ‘That’s my boy’, he says. ‘That’s my boy.’ He hands Dean the next gun and picks up another one for himself. Sam watches them wipe and clean and polish and feels faint as memories wash through him.

Dean sitting next to him at another kitchen table, patiently sounding out words. Dean looking over his shoulder, tapping a pencil on a word he has just written, saying ‘No Sammy, that’s not how it’s spelled, try saying it out loud’. Dean leaning over the back of the couch, checking his multiplication tables. Dean giving him a high-five and ice cream every time he brings home an A. Dean. Always Dean.

For the first time in his life, Sam realizes that everything he said about ‘going his own way’ before he left for college was a lie. It had never really been just his way. Without Dean he’d never have gotten into Stanford to begin with.


*******

But while this revelation alone sends Sam reeling, whatever is orchestrating these ‘dreams’ of his apparently isn’t through with him yet. The scene blurs and he finds himself in another kitchen. He remembers this one, too, even before a five-year-old version of himself tears into the room, laughing wildly. ‘Catch me, Dean’, he hears himself yell, and a  moment later Dean comes running in as well, pretending to have a hard time keeping up with Sam. He chases him around the kitchen table and is just about to wrap his arms around his little brother and catch him when he suddenly stops and listens. Five-year-old Sam is delighted, thinking he has escaped his brother’s reach once more but twenty-two-year-old Sam hears it, too. A car is pulling up. Dad is probably not gonna be too happy that they’re messing up the house. He watches Dean move over to the window, keeping to the side of it and glancing outside. The next moment Dean has dropped to his knees in front of little Sam and has caught him by his shoulders.

‘Listen, Sammy’, he says, speaking rapidly. ‘Let’s play hide and seek now, okay? You go and hide and I’ll count to a hundred and then come looking for you. And remember, you have to be really, really quiet or I’ll find you right away. And no matter what happens, don’t come out until I find you, because that would be cheating, okay?’

Sammy nods fervently and scampers out of the room. Sam hears the door to the hallway closet open and close and then some rustling as Sammy settles down. Sam rolls his eyes. Real stealth in the making there. He thinks he remembers this day now – or as much as a five-year-old can. Dad had been on a hunt again and it had been just him and Dean. Sam had been too young back then to really tell the passing of time but he remembers that this was one of the long hunts. Dad hadn’t been home in a while. It was okay, though. He had had Dean and that was all he had ever needed. Dean would take care of him.

Sam frowns a little. He hadn’t been aware of feeling this way but it was true. It was still true, even now that he was twenty-two. A small noise to his side redirects his attention towards Dean who currently is all of nine years old and cowered into the corner next to the door, the one that you can’t see into if you’re looking through the windows.

Car doors are slamming shut outside, and then Sam hears steps crunching closer on the gravel and climbing up the three stairs to their front door. The doorbell rings, once, twice, followed by knocking. Dean coils himself up tighter in the corner as the steps round the house and approach the back door leading into the kitchen. Sam is reasonably sure that whoever this is won’t be able to see him so he steps closer to the door and watches an official-looking man and a woman come to a halt. The woman raises her hand and knocks at the back door.

‘Mr Winchester’, she calls. ‘Please open the door. This is Child Protective Services.’

A chill sweeps over Sam. Even now that he’s all grown up the words still haven’t lost their horror. Images of group homes and foster families flash past his eyes, of being separated from his family, from Dean. He stands very still.

‘Mr Winchester’, the woman calls again. ‘Your son Dean hasn’t been in school for the last few days and we were called to check up on this. Please open the door now.’ Again, she waits. When nothing happens, she sighs. ‘Mr Winchester, I’ve been trying to be nice about this but you leave me no other choice. I’ll be back with a police officer who will have permission to enter your house even if you don’t open the door for us.’

With that she turns around and leads the way back to the car. Sam is frozen to the spot. How will they get out of this one? It takes a moment for him to realize that it is okay, that they do get out of this one because here he is, twenty-two and not having spent a single day in foster care. He knows that it’s gonna be okay somehow. But Dean doesn’t.

He turns around and looks at the little boy who’s still curled up in the corner, his knees pulled up to his chest, his face panicked. Even though he has been taller than Dean since he was sixteen he has never thought of Dean as being small. Until now. Sam cannot believe that Dad would leave a boy as young as Dean on his own with his five-year-old brother, leave him alone to deal with all of this. He wants to swoop down and hug Dean to his chest and tell him that’s it’s all gonna be alright, that it’s all gonna be okay.

Instead, he can only watch as Dean takes a deep breath and constructs a smile on his face while he gets up and starts opening and closing cabinet doors. ‘Sammy’, he calls. ‘Saaaaammmmy. I know where you are and I’m gonna fiiiiiiind you.’ Sam can hear himself giggling in the closet and this time his and Dean’s eyes roll in unison. Dean opens a few more random doors before he heads to the hallway closet, rips the door open with a flourish and dives in to tackle a now madly laughing Sammy. ‘Found you, squirt’, he grins and proceeds to tickle Sammy until the little boy can hardly breathe anymore.

‘Alright, Sammy’, he says then. ‘Go get cleaned up for dinner, okay?’

Sammy nods and ploughs up the stairs to the bathroom while Sam follows Dean back into the kitchen, peering over his shoulder into the fridge. The empty fridge, that is – the only things in there are a bowl with maybe two spoonfuls of cooked rice and half an apple. Dean takes both out carefully before he pulls a bag with a single slice of bread from an equally empty cabinet. He looks at it for a moment, then shrugs with a sigh and spreads the rice on the bread, cuts the apple into slices and arranges it on the rice so it looks like a smiley face. He puts it on a plate and sets it on the table, adding two glasses of tap water a moment later.

Sam hears little footsteps running up, and Sammy storms into the kitchen. ‘I washed my hands reaaaally well, Dean’, he squeals. ‘See?’ And he holds the appendages in question out to his older brother who inspects them closely and then ruffles his hair. ‘Well done, Sammy’, he grins, ‘now go have your dinner.’

Sammy climbs up onto the chair and inspects the plate, giggling when he sees the apple face. ‘That’s funny, Dean’, he says. Then he pulls a face. ‘Is that rice? I don’t want to have rice again, Dean!’

Sam is totally against hitting children but right now he wants to smack Sammy upside the head – and really, if it’s himself it can’t be considered child abuse, right? Dean’s face falls for a moment but he covers quickly with a smile. ‘But Sammy’, he says, ‘look, this is a special sandwich. You know how you like dinosaurs so much?’ Sammy nods, his eyes wide. ‘Well’, Dean says, ‘this is what the people who go looking for their bones eat all the time. It’s like a secret recipe – rice on bread. Makes them strong enough to hike through deserts and mountains for days. You do want to do that, too, one day, right?’ Sammy bobs his head again, his eyes bright. ‘Yes, Dean!’, he exclaims before he picks up his sandwich with both hands and takes a giant bite. He chews for a moment, then looks at Dean who is sitting across from him and sipping at his water.

‘Are you not having one as well, Dean?’, he asks. His eyes slowly fill with tears. ‘You have to, Dean! I want you to come with me when I go look for the dinosaurs!’

Dean smiles at him. ‘I already had mine while you were cleaning up, Sammy’, he says. Sam has been here the entire time, and he knows this is a lie but Sammy is mollified. ‘Don’t worry, squirt’, Dean adds. ‘I’ll be right there by your side.’

A little later, after Sam has watched Dean make sure that Sammy has brushed his teeth well enough, after Dean has tucked Sammy into bed with a story about pirates and princesses, he finds himself standing in the kitchen again, Dean leaning against the counter, staring out of the window, his eyes vacant. Suddenly his face crumples up and a tear spills over. He wipes it away quickly, angrily but more tears are coming. He slides down to the floor slowly and curls up on himself. Before long his entire body is wracked by sobs but he is still eerily silent. He is crying as if it is an offense against unwritten rules, and he doesn’t want anyone to notice. Knowing his father, it probably is a rule. With a jolt Sam realizes that at least part of the reason for Dean’s silence is he himself – he doesn’t want to wake up Sammy. Sam swears he can feel his heart breaking just a little, and he steps closer, determined to test whether he can’t make himself corporeal by pure will alone. He thinks he’s been successful when Dean tenses up but then he hears it, too. Another car is pulling into the driveway. Dean is scrambling to flick off the lights but they both know it’s too late. They will have seen it and know that somebody is home. And if the lady from Child Services really has brought a cop this time there’s no way out anyway. Sam can feel Dean panicking next to him as he presses himself into the space between the fridge and the tall kitchen cabinet.

They both listen to the heavy steps closing in on the backdoor, pausing momentarily before it is pushed open unceremoniously. A hand reaches in and gropes for the light switch and then light fills the kitchen, quickly followed by relief as they both recognize John.

‘Dad!’, Dean exclaims and launches himself at his father, wrapping his arms around his waist. ‘Dad.’

John laughs quietly. ‘Hey Deano’, he says. ‘How are you doing? Things holding up around here?’

Dean pulls back a little, looking at the floor. ‘You’ve been gone really long, Dad’, he says. ‘It’s been eight days. You said you were gonna be back before the weekend was over.’

John sighs. ‘I know, Dean’, he says. ‘Hunt was a little more difficult than I thought. But I got that spirit in the end. And that’s what matters, right, Dean?’

Dean nods slowly. ‘Yes, Dad.’ He pauses uncertainly. ‘Dad?’, he begins. ‘When … when you still weren’t back on Monday I had to stay home with Sammy, I didn’t want to leave him here on his own. So I … I missed a few days of school.’ His eyes move to meet John’s briefly before skittering away again. ‘They … they called Social Services. They’ve been by this afternoon and … they said they’d be back with the cops.’

John’s face tightens. ‘Jesus, Dean’, he says, then sighs tiredly. It’s not a reprimand, not really, but Sam can see that Dean takes it as one in the way his shoulders hunch.

‘Alright’, John says. ‘Let’s pack. I’ll just take a quick shower, how about you get started with the clothes in the meantime, soldier?’

Dean snaps to attention. ‘Yes, sir’, he says. He moves as if to leave the room then turns back around. ‘I’m really glad you’re back, dad’, he says, almost in a whisper.

John nods absently, already thinking about where to head next. ‘I know, kid’, he says. ‘I know.’

Sam can see that he expects Dean to leave now and go about the task he set him but Dean remains standing in the doorway. ‘I didn’t know what to do’, he says, hesitantly. ‘I was really worried.’

John looks at him. ‘No reason to, Dean’, he says. ‘You just follow my orders and everything is gonna be alright. Just do as I say and I’ll always be back.’

Dean meets his eyes, all grown-up seriousness and kid-belief that his father couldn’t tell anything but the truth. ‘Okay, dad’, he says before he heads for the bedrooms.

Sam remembers how he had woken up in the car the next morning, Dean’s arm around him and Dean telling him how they were going on a big adventure and how it was so exciting that they hadn’t wanted to wait until the morning to leave. For him, it had been a day of games and dinosaur hunter dinners and waking up to a bright world full of adventures. For Dean, it had been a day of hiding from social services, going hungry and scared and packing their lives into bags once more instead of sleeping. Sam can’t help but wonder how many days like this there were.

But there’s more. ‘I’ll be right by your side, Sammy.’ ‘No matter what, I’ll always be there for you, Sammy.’ ‘Don’t worry, Sammy, I’ll take care of you.’ These are the things Dean has always told him. ‘Do as I say and it’s gonna be alright, Dean.’ ‘Just follow my orders and we’ll be fine, Dean.’ ‘Listen to me and all will go well, Dean.’ These are the things their father has always told Dean.

While Dean has shown Sam that love is unconditional, John has unconsciously taught Dean that it isn’t. His anger has always been quick upon being disobeyed and his praise only been earned by obedience and excellence. And while Sam has always had Dean to reassure him that he is still loved even when John was angry, Dean hasn’t had anybody to do the same for him. ‘Just do as I say and I’ll always be back’, it echoes through Sam’s mind. He knows that John meant it as reassurance but to a nine-year-old the implication of ‘Don’t and one day I might not come back for you’ is all too clear. Hell, even Sam himself has proven to Dean later on that people just leave no matter how much you love them and want them to stay.

Sam has always felt safe with Dean around, even when he had been older and had known about the instances when Child Services came knocking on the door, he had deep down always been absolutely certain that Dean would take care of it. Now that he’s grown up he should long since have seen that no matter how grown up, this had been too much responsibility for a nine, a ten, an eleven-year-old. But he has simply somehow never thought about it. It is only now that he realizes how terrified Dean must have been most of the time, how desperate for their father to come back and handle things.

For the first time in his life, he understands why Dean always follows John’s orders so unquestioningly. He didn’t think it would make him this sick to his stomach.

*******

The next scene shows him yet another kitchen, one that he recognizes right away. Clearwater Springs, Indiana. They had stayed here for more than six months while Sam was thirteen, a personal record. Dean and their father are standing next to the sink, arguing.

‘But I have plans, Dad’, Dean is saying.

‘People are dying, Dean’, Dad says. ‘Are your plans more important than that?’

Dean looks away. ‘No’, he says. ‘Of course not. But Sammy is thirteen, Dad. Can’t he stay at home on his own for once? I promise I’ll only be a couple of hours, maybe three.’

John is already shaking his head. ‘You know better than that, Dean’, he says. ‘What if that is the night the demon decides to come looking for him? Is some girl really more important to you than your brother?’

‘No!’, Dean exclaims. ‘How can you say that?’

‘Well, then’, John says. ‘It’s all settled, isn’t it? Why don’t you go give that girl a call.’

Sam watches as the fight leaves Dean, how he resignedly turns to pick up the phone while their father leaves the kitchen. When he hears the call connect and Dean ask for Sally his eyebrows shoot up. Sally Kavanaugh? Dean had been trying to get her to go out with him for months. It was the first time ever that Sam could remember him being so persistent. Usually the girls either agreed right away or Dean simply lost interest and moved on to more willing members of the female species. It was also the first time that Dean had picked a girl that was more than the shallow cheerleader bitch type he usually went for. If forced Sam would probably have to admit that he actually liked Sally. She was smart, funny, pretty without being unreal and well liked without being an actual part of the popular crowd. So not somebody who had gone for the careless badass-persona Dean always wore like armor on their first day of school. Sam had had to bite down on his lower lip to keep from laughing out loud when Sally had acidly shot down his brother’s usual obnoxious attempts to get into her pants. He had been slightly shocked when Dean had adopted a persona more like himself the next day and had asked the girl out properly. The shot-down had been less acidly this time but a shot-down nevertheless. Every day since then had seen pretty much the same result but even Sam had been able to tell that Sally was warming up to his brother. And today had apparently been the day she had finally said yes. It suddenly occurs to Sam that this is why Sally had been cold as ice towards Dean all over again one day, all of a sudden. He had thought that Dean had simply been his over-confident self and had offended her in some way. Sam had even teased him endlessly about it, asking if she had found out what a terrible kisser he was or if she had caught him with one of the cheerleaders or if she had simply recovered from a momentary lapse in judgement. But that hadn’t been it at all. He’s pretty sure now that this had been the reason.

And he’s proven right when he hears Sally’s exasperated voice on the other end. ‘-think this is funny, Dean? Well, congratulations, you got what you wanted, the stupid little girl finally agreed to go out with you so you can go laugh about me with your friends now. Seriously, Dean, grow up and at least now admit that this was just one of your games. Stop giving me crap about how you’re busy and can’t make it. You were the one who picked Friday to begin with!’ Even through the receiver the sound of the phone being slammed down is very loud in the otherwise silent kitchen. Dean stands still for a moment and then hangs up the phone very carefully, his mouth tight, his free hand balled into a fist at his side.

‘All taken care of?’, John inquires as he returns to the kitchen. Dean only nods. ‘Good. It’s almost time for training. Where is Sammy?’

Sam knows where his younger self is. He’s playing soccer after school. Even at thirteen Sam had already figured out that he needed extracurricular activities if he ever wanted to make it into college on a scholarship, and soccer had seemed like a good start. Besides it was fun and he had been good at it. So for three months now he’s been dodging Dean after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, making up library study dates when Dean asks where he has been. Sam feels bad about lying to Dean but he knows Dean would never understand why he wants to be normal so much. And Dad – Dad wouldn’t even understand the study excuses. As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with demons and killing them John doesn’t have any use for it. He usually never asks, though, anyway.

Up until now. He’s gonna be pissed when he finds out that Sam hasn’t met Dean after school like he was supposed to. Sam frowns. His father hadn’t been pissed. He would remember if he had been.
But he knows Dean. Dean always tells the truth when their father asks. Always. And this is why he is so much more surprised when Dean says ‘He has gone to the movies with some of his friends’, gesturing towards the kitchen table which is covered in knifes, guns and other assorted weapons. ‘I thought we were going to be busy with organizing the weapons till late so I told him he could go.’

John’s brow furrows. ‘He skips training for the movies? I thought by now he had understood that training always comes first.’ He pauses. ‘Well, the night is long, he’s gonna make up for it with double sets when he comes home.’

‘Dad, no’, Dean interrupts, only to falter when his father glares at him. ‘I mean, it’s my fault. He asked me and I told him he could go. If you want to punish anybody it should be me and not him.’

John regards him for a moment. ‘Fine, then’, he snaps. ‘Triple sets for you, starting now. One as usual, one to make up for the one Sammy is missing and one to make sure this doesn’t happen again. You better get on it, boy, this is gonna take you a while.’

Sam knows it’s going to. Their father is an ex-marine, and his training regime is brutal as it is. He has only ever had to do double training sets and it has driven him to the brink of utter exhaustion. He remembers how he had come home that night to find Dean outside, drenched in sweat and doing push-ups on shaky arms. He had just assumed that Dean had gotten in trouble for breaking curfew or had been caught with a girl or something else typically Dean and hadn’t even asked, had just tossed him a smirk over his shoulder accompanied by a ‘my, my, how the mighty have fallen’.

He’s feeling bad enough about this as it is but when he follows Dean outside and watches him start in on the first set, he hears him murmur ‘Damn, Sammy, I really hope you’re scoring enough goals next game to make this worth it’, and even more of his world comes crashing down around him. Dean knew? Dean knew?

And all of a sudden more ‘dream’ fragments fill his head in quick succession. He sees Dean waiting for him that first time he ditched him for practice, becoming first impatient and then worried before he goes looking for Sam in every nook and cranny until he finally finds him playing on the field. Sam watches him step back behind the bleachers quickly, watches Dean watch his younger self for a while before he slowly retreats, walking home by himself. Sam sees Dean check up on him during practices, sees him attend every single game, always discreet, always hidden from the younger Sam’s view, and his chest feels tight. Dean knew. From the beginning on. And not only had he not called Sam on it, not only had he pretended to believe Sam’s made-up stories, he had also covered for him with their father. Suddenly Sam sees that while Dean has always told their father the truth in spite of the possible consequences for himself, he has more often than not at least tweaked it to spare Sam. Has often taken the punishment that would rightfully have been Sam’s. Even right after Sam had been the reason he had lost his only chance with the first girl he had ever really cared about.

For the first time in his life, Sam understands how much exactly Dean is willing to sacrifice to protect his little brother.

*******

And just as sudden as it has started it’s over, and Sam is awake. He blinks a couple of times, disoriented, his mind still reeling. There’s a rustle to his right, and he turns his head to see Dean standing in front of the window, steam curling from the mug in his hand, staring at something that is not the parking lot he’s looking at. He feels a sudden, overwhelming rush of affection for his brother and swings his legs off the bed. Dean hears him and turns halfway around, brow furrowed slightly in worry, saying ‘Hey, sleeping beauty. You alright? You were dreaming again but you didn’t look as if you were in pain so I let you sleep. Figured you’d probably get some pointers about that ghost in the mill.’

Sam doesn’t really pay attention to any of it, he simply walks up to Dean, plucks the mug out of his hand, sets it down on the table next to the window and wraps his arms around his big brother, squeezing him as tightly as he can, intent on giving him the hug to make up for all the times he should have hugged Dean and hasn’t. Dean’s entire body stiffens in surprise before he slowly relaxes and tentatively returns the hug, a hand lightly clapping him on the back a few times. ‘Um, you alright there, Sammy?’, he asks. Sam only nods, his chin repeatedly digging into Dean’s shoulder. ‘Well, then’, Dean says and claps him on the back a few more times. When Sam still doesn’t let go of him, the clapping turns into something that’s closer to hitting, and Sam reluctantly unfurls himself from around Dean, taking a small step back.

Dean’s face is questioning. ‘What’s going on, Sam?’, he asks. ‘Did you see anything bad happen?’

Sam shakes his head, then nods, then shakes his head again.

‘Well, that clarifies things’, Dean says dryly. ‘Come on, Sammy, you know I’ve never been good with puzzles, spit it out.’

Sam swallows. ‘I should have told you this long ago’, he says. ‘I should tell you all the time!’

Dean frowns.

‘I love you, Dean’, Sam blurts.

If he had thought that Dean had looked alarmed before he is now positively freaked. This is going all wrong. Sam can only think of one way to save this, to make Dean understand how much he loves him, and he steps forward to hug Dean again, only to have his brother almost knock over the lamp on the bedside table when he jumps back to avoid his reaching arms.

‘What the fuck, Sammy’, he says, catching and righting the lamp while keeping an eye on his brother. ‘What’s going on here? Was it something in the mill? Did something hit you with a curse that makes you all touchy-feely?’

Sam shakes his head, wondering how to explain this. Somehow he thinks Dean won’t take too kindly to knowing that Sam can now revisit events from their past, can see things that Dean has worked hard to keep hidden from him. He owes him the truth, though. He owes Dean so much! His arms come back up almost of their own, trying to wrap around Dean who again evades them, looking as if he’s contemplating which exorcism ritual to use. Sam would laugh if he didn’t want to get this right so badly.

‘I’m not possessed, Dean’, he says. ‘It’s, you know, my ‘dreams’. They –‘ That’s as far as he gets.

‘Alright’, Dean says. ‘That’s it. I’ve dealt with you just all of a sudden knowing things, with the whole seeing into the future package, hell, even with the moving stuff with your fucking mind thing but this is it.’ He tosses one of Sam’s hoodies at him. ‘Get dressed and get packed. Now. We’re going to see Missouri. It’s time to get your goddamn ‘dreams’ sorted out. No more. Random. Hugging.’

Sam hesitates and opens his mouth to say something, to tell Dean that he has got this all wrong but Dean only holds up a finger, silencing him and then points the finger at his clothes, strewn all over the floor.

‘Pack’, he says. ‘Now. And dude – stay on your side of the room.’ He pauses. ‘Your side of the car as well.’

Sam sighs and reluctantly retreats, watching Dean haphazardly stuff their belongings into duffel bags. He can’t help it, though, he has to smile at his brother, a big, white, blinding smile that seems to freak him out even more judging by the fact that he’s now stuffing a lot faster. Okay. He might be overflowing with love for Dean right now but maybe he should tone it down a little. He is gonna show Dean how much he means to Sam, how important he is but clearly, stealth is in order here. That’s okay. He can do stealth. For a moment Sam swears he can hear a four-year-old boy giggle in a hallway closet.