WinchesterHaunt: Hey guys. This is just an idea I got from watching the 'Fresh Prince of Bal-air' (I don't own) the other night. It was a really sad thought to me, but I knew I'd have to write it anyway. So here it is, and I hope you all enjoy.

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural

Summery: Pre-series: "Remembering is the easy part," an odd sadness burned behind Dean's blank eyes, "It's the times when I forget that I can't stand."

Repression

One Shot

"Deannn."

Funny. Dean didn't remember ordering a personal wake up call. If he had, he would've made sure to ask for one that was a little less whinny.

"Come on Dean. You've been asleep all morning."

Something else that was funny; a nine-year-old's definition of the phrase 'all morning' and how it conflicted with a thirteen-year-old's definition. According to the digital clock on the night stand 'all morning' was just a few minutes shy of 7a.m.. Dean had a different label for that time of the morning; Ungodly. But that was just like his little brother; always the one with a different perspective on things.

"Sammy," Dean peeked one eye open to met his pain in the butt brother's curious, wide eyed stare, "do you have any idea what time it is?"

"I know, I know," the younger boy's voice sounded self-reproaching, "I just wanted to let you sleep in, but this—this is just lazy."

Odd; Dean always thought 10a.m. was the cut off time between sleeping in and being lazy.

Skeptical eyes opened fully to gage the sincerity of the younger boy's statement, but all he received was a goofy looking grin. A glare stole over his face as he worked through his sleep fogged mind for a way to weasel back the hours of sleep he was about to miss out on.

"Awe, how thoughtful of you to let me sleep in, Sammy," Dean smirked as the premature glow of older brother appraise lit his younger brother's face. It only made the next comment all the sweeter, "so I'll see you in three hours."

"Dean!"

"Alright, alright, I'm up," Dean grumbled as he separated himself from the mess of tangled blankets, "so what'd ya want?"

"Breakfast"

Dean's hand stopped in mid-scrub. Removing the sleep from his eyes had now become secondary to eyeing the scrawny kid in front of him dubiously.

"Are you kidding me?" and as Sam honestly shook his head 'no,' Dean fell backwards into his bed.

"Dean? Dean," Sam rolled his eyes at his older brother's immature behavior. He sighed as no answer forced him to crawl up onto the bed. From there he could see the closed eyes, limp form of his brother laid out over the covers. Dean was a pretty good actor, but he'd have to get up pretty early in the morning to fool Sam Winchester; which made two things the older brother couldn't do.

"I know you're awake," Sam leaned over his brother and lowered his eyelids in annoyance as the older boy became to 'snore.' "You call that snoring? You sound like Miss Wielder's Basset Hound; the one with the sinus infection."

"Hey, there's an idea. Why don't you go next door and get her to make you breakfast?" Dean optimistically offered with his eyes closed.

"Because it's your job when Dad's not here."

"Can't you make yourself cereal?"

"Yeah, that's what I've had for the pass two days."

"Well you know what they say, Sammy, third times a charm."

"Come on, Dean. I can't live off of sugar alone."

"Why not?" Dean grumbled, and rolled over and away from his brother, "I did."

Sam's eyes visibly widen at the though of turning out to be like the lazy sugar filled slug that lay in front of him. No wonder Dean wasn't a morning person. If Sam was Dean's stomach, he'd probably want the boy to sleep in passed breakfast too. That way he wouldn't be subjected to the constant intake of sugar every morning.

Well, Sam definitely wasn't going to allow that to happen to him. He had early morning priorities to see too; like not missing X-Men.

"That's it, you're getting up," Sam was insistent now. The realization of missing his favorite animated series had made the situation more serious. And maybe, he though, by getting Dean up now he could help undone some of the damage the carbohydrates had done to the boy's brain.

"Hey, hey!" Dean complained as the younger, smaller boy used all his strength to push him up and sit behind him so that both of their backs were together. Sam's feet pushed against the headboard to help keep himself from being crushed under his brother's limp weight.

"Do you think—you can get up now?" Sam grunted

"Why? This is actually pretty comfortable," Dean grinned and leaned his head back until it came to rest on top of Sam's shaggy mop of hair, "it's even got a pillow."

"Dean, you're squishing me."

"Hey, you're the one who crawl back there," Dean returned smugly, "Now, what have we learned?"

"That you're lazy." Sam grunted as Dean leaned back a bit harder.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

Sam struggled keep the weight from flattening him so he wouldn't have to submit to his brother after putting his own self into his current predicament. He smirked as an idea came to him.

"Then let me repeat myself," Sam voiced with strained effort, "Get up!" the boy yelled and simultaneously reached back and poked Dean in his 'sensitive' ribs.

Dean cursed unintentional and jumped sideways away from his brother's prodding finger. Unfortunately he had been closer to the edge of the bed then he thought and landed on the floor with a loud resounding thud.

---

Twenty-four year old Dean Winchester awoke with a confused and pained look on his face. He blinked and shook his head to try an ease the ache in his head and back while trying to figure out where the heck he was. It didn't take him long to put together the pieces and conclude that he had fallen out of bed and was currently laying on the floor with his sheets haphazardly wrapped around him.

"Damn you, Sam," he grumbled as he fought to get free of his sheets.

And the younger boy said he was controlled by his stomach. Well, that may be true, but he certainly never pushed anyone out of bed for a few bites of toast and eggs.

Dean stumbled to his feet, clad only in a t-shirt and boxers, and squinted at the clock on the wall. It was 7:35, and yet there was no Sam in his room telling him to get his lazy ass up. The kid was twenty now, but he still came every morning to wake his older brother up. Though it wasn't to place a breakfast order like it had been when they were younger, now it was more out of habit than anything else.

He had hoped the boy would grow out of his early morning kid route when he hit thirteen and discovered that sleeping in was far better than catching the latest rerun of some poorly drawn cartoon. But no, the boy continued to rise and shine no matter if it was a weekend or a weekday, and he continued to wake Dean up, and they continued to have breakfast together every morning.

In fact, Dean could only remember sleeping in a few times in his whole life. Those were the times when Sam was sick or at a sleep over, and now today. He groaned to himself as he realized that 7:35 had now been classified as sleeping-in. That was another thing that he could Damn Sammy for.

Dean continued to grumble to himself as he zipped and buttoned his jeans and headed to the kitchen. He never thought he'd live to see the day when he'd wake up before 'Sunshine Sammy,' but now that he had, revenge was in mind. He figured he'd fix breakfast first before creeping back down the hall to pay his brother back for all the times the little twerp pushed him out of bed.

He ran his hand through his short hair as he perused the refrigerator for possible menu items. Not that there was much to choice from. Between the container of butter, cartons of eggs and milk, package of cheese and God knows how old pack of deli meat, their early morning meal was very limited. Dean would've been fine with one of the Coors' his father had stashed toward the back of the fridge, but their poor little Sammy was still underage—if only by one year—and wasn't able to handle more than two anyway.

No, the only thing the youngest Winchester would be getting this morning was more eggs than he could possible eat and Attention Deficit Darkened toast.

Dean cracked open all the eggs in the contain, simply because he didn't feel like put the carton back up, and placed pats of butter on top of the last few slices of bread left in their original packaging on the counter. He huffed in irritation when his knife accidentally dug down into the soft bread when he tried to spread the cold butter across the surface.

A person would think after all those years of cooking he'd eventually get better at it.

After the eggs had been cooked to at least a some what solid state and the toast had been burnt to perfection while tending to the eggs, Dean placed the small buffet on the table and pressed the button on the coffee maker; he couldn't forget to make Dad's breakfast.

When there was nothing left to do, Dean cocked his head to the side and listened for any other sounds coming from around the house. Satisfied that no one in the house was up yet, Dean through a mischievous grin down the hall before proceeded to the younger boy's room.

The cold door knob twisted beneath his heated palm and with stealth only harnessed from years of hunting, Dean soundlessly pushed to door open. But what he found behind the door was more terrifying than anything he'd ever seen on a hunt, because what he found was nothing.

Dean stepped into the room with confused fear radiating from him. The room was completely empty; only a stripped bed and a few pieces of furniture decorated the void. The suddenly distraught young man was about to yell for his father when something lying on top of the bed caught his eye. He approached the object with hidden caution.

A glossy long and equally weathered looking pamphlet sat on the end of the mattress. Dean fingered the leaflet with a distant expression before his heart sank into his stomach and his body sank to the bed. He cradled the narrow Stanford University brochure in his hands and cursed himself for forgetting that there was no one here to wake him up anymore; there was no early morning kid brother to push him out of bed and insistent that breakfast be made.

There hadn't been for months now, and there won't be ever again.

Dean gently teetered the folded corner he had just made in the pamphlet back and forth. The other corners were all in the same condition, and he wondered how they had gotten that way. But it was only a brief thought; one that he had hoped would distract him from the fact at hand; the fact that his brother was gone. It didn't work.

The older boy snort humorlessly. He'd been foolish to believe he'd really woken up before Sam. In fact, it should've been an immediate sign that something was off. But the excitement of finally paying the kid back and then treating the possibly sullen boy to an already prepared breakfast had overshadowed the oddities.

He didn't understand how he could've forgotten. It wasn't like Sam's college send-off had been a quiet, Hallmark moment; perhaps Hellmark, but not Hallmark. It could actually be considered the second biggest blow-out in Winchester history. Mary's death would always come first.

An emotional numbness gripped at Dean's heart and continued to spread through his veins. He wasn't sure how long he's sat there, or how long he'd stared at the Stanford brochure and wondered what Sam was doing right now. No doubt the boy was already up. He'd probably already gone to eat in one of the campuses' top of the line cafeterias. And Dean was willingly to bet they had better choices then running eggs and over-done toast.

'He desired better,' Dean thought and simultaneously squeezed the sides of the pamphlet, 'which is something I obviously couldn't give him.'

"This has gotta stop, Dean."

The older boy jerked his head up toward the door and was surprised to see his father leaning against the frame with a coffee cup in his hand.

"Hey, Dad," Dean said hesitantly but animated enough that it might cover up the embarrassment he felt for being caught in Sam's room, "so uh, you found the coffee…"

"And the breakfast," John added and then sighed at the forced smile on his oldest son's face, "How long are you going to keep this up, Dean?"

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion, "What are you talking about—?"

"This," the father gestured his hand around then room, "this forgetting that your brother's not here; getting up in the mornings and coming in here. It isn't healthy, son."

"What are talking about?"

John scrubbed worriedly at his eyes before meeting Dean's genuinely confused eyes, "This is the fourth time in six months I've found you in here, Dean. When are you going to realize that he's gone?"

"No," Dean was suddenly on his feet glaring at the crushed leaflet in his hand. This couldn't be the fourth time. It was ridiculous of him to forget once, but four times. It was impossible. He'd remember something like this, "I haven't—."

"You have," John intercepted, "and the fact that you can't remember worries me."

"You don't have to worry about me," Dean assured as he straightened the brochure back out and laid it on the end of the bed. It oddly resembled some sort of memorial.

"I do if you continue to act like this," the older man lowered his brow in frustration. He could see that Dean wasn't paying much attention to him, "Dean, listen to me. Your brother made the choice to leave. He left us, not the other way around; and as soon as you see that it'll be easier for you to forget—"

"Forget?" Dean finally looked up from the brochure and sent his father an incredulous look. Wasn't that the very thing John said he'd been doing for the past six months? He didn't want to forget Sam. No matter if the boy had abandoned him and their father, he was still his little brother and he still loved him.

Forgetting wasn't an option.

"Dean," John tried again but was cut of by Dean's sudden head shake.

"Remembering is the easy part," an odd sadness burned behind Dean's blank eyes, "It's the times when I forget that I can't stand."

Dean didn't wait for his father to comment. He simply brushed passed the older man and headed back towards the kitchen. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over, and all he wanted to do was go back to the kitchen and eat his breakfast in peace.

And that's what he did for the next year and a half.

End