Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

Sam's eyes are watching Bobby's truck grumble out of the driveway like a boy watching his parents leave him at boarding school. Eyes practically plastered onto the window and hands furled around the fabric that's in his pockets, Sam glares at Bobby as he waves him goodbye curtly. It's like leaving a fairly responsible boy with a four-year-old troublemaker who doesn't listen to any orders. And now Daddy is rolling away from the house, and taking with him, all obedience.

Sam feels a hand tug at his wrist and the other one lightly grabbing his shoulder. Sam hurriedly moves away from the unexpected touches and promptly knocks over a lamp with his elbow. The light flickers as the bulb sways on its pedestal.

"Dean, don't scare me like that." Sam breathes, stepping away as he replaces the lamp's position on the end table.

Dean laughs, "You're a friggin' hunter and you're scared of a little skin contact?"

Sam purses his lips together, not amused. He crosses his arms and skirts past Dean to head to the staircase.

"I think I'll turn in for the night." He announces firmly, nodding at his brother before he floats up the stairs with the speed of a jetpack flying through the house. Dean trots after him.

"Great idea."

Sam glances over his shoulder uncomfortably, "Uh… you know, I don't need company when I fall asleep." He attempts to dismiss Dean's proposition by waving him off.

"It's okay, Sammy, it's just me."

Sam nervously jerks his arm away when he feels Dean's fingertips running up his forearm in what he misconstrues as a consoling gesture. He attempts to smile back to Dean's sunny beam.

"Fine. You know what, I think I'll stay up a bit more. Make it a late night, studying up on that case in… uh, Vermont."

"Vermont?" Dean inquires and elegantly raises an eyebrow.

"Uh huh." He replies, "I'll be in the living room."

The older hunter smirks, "Can I break out the cornflakes and join you?"

Sam is partially reminded of a puppy following an older dog as though he idolizes it despite the fact that Dean has four years on Sam. He's being a bit annoying, a little bit nagging, and stubbornly not taking the hint to get lost, you're being creepy. Right now, Sam isn't sure whether he's just that foolish or whether he firmly believes that Sam is into Dean as much as Dean is into him.

"Dean, you need to rest up. You're head still must be hurting." Sam tells him.

Dean tuts incredulously, "That was weeks ago, Sammy! Besides, I'm a tough guy… you should know." He winks flirtatiously and reaches out to tweak Sam's nose. Sam hurriedly ceases the movement by stepping out of the way and ruffling Dean's hair much like a father would.

"Do as you're told, please." He orders politely, and heads for the bookshelf.

Although he hunches his shoulders with a heavy sigh of rejection, Dean obeys and heads up the stairs.


Sam is tucked into the corner of the upstairs hall, head pressed against the wall as he leafs through meaningless book after meaningless book. There's not an ounce of light in the house, not even slivers of light shining through the windows in honor of the moon, except for Sam's flashlight flicking across the pages of his book. There is no hunt, therefore there is no need to research, but Sam knows that if he heads to the guest room where Dean is splayed out on the bed like an octopus, he'll get molested by those wandering hands of his unaware brother.

Would he be thinking this is he knew I was his brother? Sam muses, flipping through more books. The words are blurry lines, itching through his eyes like caterpillars crawling across walls. He's dizzy and sleepy, but every time he gets up to head to the bed, he weighs the pros and cons and waking up with Dean's leg hooked over his thigh.

He knows Bobby would probably make him wash dishes and clean up the salvage yard for hours if he came back with the disappointing news of Dean still doesn't know that we share more than just beds, but also parents. Time is ticking down and Sam knows Dean deserves to know who he was, but he remembers the easy way out – wait two and a half months and he could forget everything that had ever happened with him and Dean during this time period.

Sam shines the flashlight on his stack of books to stare at the titles he hadn't even bothered to read when he grabbed literature randomly off of the bookshelves.

"I see a light and I sure hope it's a bathroom."

Sam jumps, moving the beam of the light to the direction of the voice. The luminosity hits Dean straight on his bare chest, and Sam hastily moves it up to his eyes.

"Dean," he mutters, "what are you doing up?"

"The side of the bed… was cold. You weren't there. I was worried."

Sam sighs, staring up at the dark ceiling. He feels Dean take a seat next to him. Their shoulders bump together.

"I'm fine." Sam tells him.

"It's two in the morning!" Dean hisses quietly. His tone softens and he gently runs a hand through Sam's locks. The younger man stares at him in surprise and wriggles out of his fingers once again. Dean thinks nothing of it as Sam's startled expression is eclipsed in the shadows.

"I'm studying." Sam points to the books.

"Come to bed." Dean coaxes, rubbing at his arm once again. Sam has always known that his brother was a very touchy person who mollifies others with his smooth hands and seduction, but he had never felt it before on himself.

Sam shakes his head and shines the flashlight on the wall.

"Go to bed, Dean. You must be exhausted."

"Not without you, Sammy." Dean replies. He smiles slightly as he sees a smooth circle of light breaking through the darkness on the wall and moves his hand in front the flashlight.

"Shadow puppets? Really?" Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Stop behaving like an old man and have some fun, would you?" Dean pokes him in the shoulder.

The sound of the older man's laughter fills the void in the empty house, but Sam is definitely not laughing along. After five minutes of watching Dean show off his art of creating ducks, dogs, and Abraham Lincoln in the light with his fingers, Sam finally flicks off the light.

"Think we should head to bed, Dean. And I'll come along. But only if you stay on your side."

"Don't I always?" Dean cocks his head innocently. Sam rolls his eyes and as he's about to get up, he feels Dean tug on his wrist and bring him back down to the floor.

"Why… do you always try to push me away?" Dean asks him silently, his face calm but still hiding some of deplorableness. Sam knows that Dean never shows his emotions because of his need to look like the stoic adult.

"I… I don't."

Dean sighs, nodding, "Sam," he mumbles, "Sammy, stop. Please. I don't know who I'm supposed to go to without you."

Sam can feel his heart slowly crumbling into sand as he hears Dean's voice. In the distance, he can practically hear puppies weeping. He sighs into the air.

"God, Dean, stop making me feel guilty."

"I won't." Dean tells him and gingerly grabs the nape of Sam's neck. He twirls strands of hair around his thumb as he leans forward a millimeter and presses his parted lips on Sam's cheek. He pulls away and tenderly brushes two fingers over the spot that Dean claimed as his own with his mouth. Sam shivers at the touch and hastily gets up, extending a hand to his brother.

"I'm not letting you sleep there. You'll get a crick in your neck." Sam says and heaves his brother up with a pull.


"What the hell?!" Sam shrieks as he wakes up to Dean's eyes staring straight into his. He scrambles on the sheets until they pool around his waist and make him sit up. "God, Dean, were you just watching me sleep?"

"Like you've never watched anyone before, Sammy?" Dean teases.

Sam stares at him incredulously. "Dean, I am this close to sleeping on the couch."

"Ooh, is there room for two on that baby?"

Sam rolls his eyes into his palm as he rubs at his face and rakes fingers through his hair. "Dean, personal space," he says firmly, getting up from the bed. He feels Dean's eyes scanning his naked upper body like an x-ray and feels the need to cover up his chest swiftly with his shirt.

"Dude! Stop staring!"

"C'mon, you know you like it."

Sam wants to hurl something across the room in frustration. He faces Dean furiously, hands tugging at the roots of his hair. The words I'm your brother, you pervert! Stop checking me out! are on the tip of his tongue, teeth, and even his gums, but he can't reveal it. Sam can almost see the distrust forming on Dean's face faster than a bullet shooting from a gun.

"Dean, we're just friends." Sam says simply.

"You haven't even given me a chance! Either give me a reason, or give me a night." Dean pounds his fist into the mattress, clearly devoted to his goal.

"Dean, if you knew the kind of person I was before you lost your memory–"

"I don't care about who you were then, I care about who you are now! A man I respect and a man with an ass that just won't quit." Dean smiles at his last statement, his eyes wandering down to Sam's midriff again. Sam furrows his eyebrows together

"Dean, stop. Now get dressed." He tosses a clean shirt and pants at his brother before vanishing in the bathroom. Sam would flush himself down the toilet just to avoid the conversation he knows Dean will pursue once again the moment he departs the bathroom.

Oh, is Sam going to hog the bathroom today.

His smug smile takes a u-turn the moment he hears Dean knock on the door.

"Sammy! Get out of there for a second."

"Uh… what is it?" Sam asks tentatively.

"Just get out of the friggin' bathroom, your hair can wait, princess." Dean barks.

Sighing, the younger man slips out of the room and stares Dean in the face with a hurry-up-this-better-be-fast expression riding his features. Dean grins at him dazzlingly.

"Wanna go out for dinner?" Dean inquires with a slightly husky tone to his voice. Sam's expression of horror basically conveys his answer, but Dean remains hopeful as he waits expectantly for a response.

Through Sam's mind races the horrors of a date at a fancy restaurant with clinking silverware and violins humming their ears. Dean would try to feed him appetizers and slide his foot up Sam's leg. Or if they went to a late movie, the darkness would eventually envelop the room and then Dean would huddle against Sam in feigned fright during the gory parts of the horror films until he would be close enough to lick his neck. And then he probably would. And then there is the worst case scenario, which is if their supposed 'date' is actually just their guest room with candles and roses surrounding the bed. And of course, sex music in the stereo.

"We can talk about you and me… not as a unit, but… separately. Uh."

Sam's face suddenly lights up in epiphany. He can easily inform Dean of their current related status during dinner – preferably during the appetizers, so any romantic involvement would be cut down by at least a half.

"Fine." Sam smiles at him curtly, "But no fast food."

"Can we eat pie?"

"Can we not?" Sam brushes off with a slightly repulsed curl of the upper lip.

Dean chuckles. "Don't worry, I'm not that messy of an eater."

"I respectfully disagree." Sam sets his jaw grimly.

"Don't try to undermine me, Sammy! I'm a charming man and soon you'll be agreeing," he winks coyly, pressing another wet kiss on his cheek before patting his shoulder and heading to the closet.

CHAPTER 6 TEASER: "I think you should know something about the two of us." Sam starts, swallowing dryly at his throat.