Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, Sam and Dean would never be allowed to wear shirts

Dean is 21, almost 22. Sam is 17. (NOT WINCEST!!!)

Okay, I obviously chose to do a sequel.


This takes place four years later. I had a LOT of trouble trying to make their personalities just right. So if you notice any inconsistencies or think anything is unrealistic PLEASE LET ME KNOW! (And I'll let you know if something's SUPPOSED to be unrealistic)

This chapter is mostly reintroducing the characters and starting out the plot of PART II of the Brotherhood series. So it might be a little but don't worry... more to come!

Enjoy chapter one!

She had to go to the bathroom. She slowly got out of the bed so not to wake up her partner and headed to the bathroom.

When she finished, she walked back to her room when the light at the end of the hallway flickered. She frowned. She stepped up to it and tapped it a few times to see if it was just loose or something. The flickering stopped.

"Hmm..." She shook her head at it. She turned to go back to bed when she heard a clatter downstairs. Her brow furrowed. She slowly walked down the stairs and into the living room where the sound came from.

A man stood there.

"Who the hell are you!?" she asked angrily.

The man turned and raised an arm. She stiffened. Suddenly, her eyes started to liquefy. She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. Her eyes melted out of her sockets before the man flicked his wrist and her head twisted, breaking her neck.


Dean shot up in the bed with a gasp. For a moment he sat there, his eyes seeing nothing but his mother's body laying on the ground, her head out of angle with her body, blood surrounding her. He closed his eyes and wiped the sweat from his face.


Dean turned to the other bed where his seventeen-year-old brother lay. He was propped up on his elbow, looking at Dean with a concerned expression.

Dean forced a smile. "'M fine, Sammy. Just a dream."

Sam looked down, seemingly thinking about something.

"Something you wanna say, Sam?" Sam had horrible communication skills, so Dean took every chance he could to encourage Sam to say what he wanted to say.

Sam looked uncomfortable for a second, squirming under the covers, trying figure out what he wanted to say. "Nightmare?" he eventually asked.

Dean bit his lip. "Yeah."

"About... your mom?"

Dean sighed. At this point, Sam could read him almost as well as Dean could read Sam. "Yeah. It's nothing to worry about, Sammy." Dean lay back down and closed his eyes. "Go back to sleep, Sam."

Sam stayed in the same position for a few more moments before complying. Sam stared at Dean's form, watching as Dean's breathing evened out, telling Sam he had fallen asleep. Sam sighed. Dean was always able to help when Sam had nightmares but it always seemed like he could never return the favor. He owed so much Dean for everything he had done...

But Dean always says that it doesn't work like that.

It would be better if it did.

So what, you want Dean to use you like Greg did?

Sam suppressed a shudder. He knew Dean would never use him like that... but the underlying fear never went away.


Dean woke up the next morning to Sam sitting on his bed staring at him. "Something wrong, Sam?" he asked groggily.

"Dad said he'd be home by now."

Dean blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes, and looked at the digital clock. Eleven o'clock. Damn, I certainly slept in! "I'm sure Dad's fine. Probably got stuck in traffic or something."

Sam nodded, still not completely assured but not wanting to argue. Dean and Sam rarely fought, but when they did, it was always short and ended with Sam breaking down after realizing what he was doing.

"Let me get dressed, then we can get some breakfast. What do you want to eat?"

Sam shrugged.


Sam shrugged again. "I dunno..."

"You know, Sam... one of these days you're going to get a craving and tell me you actually want something specific."

Sam gave a small smile. "Maybe," was all he said.

Dean quickly got dressed and brushed his teeth before grabbing the keys to the Impala and leaving the motel room. Sam trailed close behind until they got into the car. They went to a local diner that was never very busy, but they had a few regulars which kept them afloat.

Dean and Sam sat in a booth in the far corner of the diner when one of the waitresses, Sarah according to her name tag, came by. "What can I get you boys?"

"I'll have the supreme breakfast with a side of bacon and coffee black," Dean said.

"And what about you, sweetheart?" she asked Sam.

Sam kept his head down, scooting minutely away from the over-friendly waitress, his hands twisting together in his lap. He looked at Dean pleadingly.

"He'll have some scrambled eggs and toast with orange juice," Dean said.

Sarah gave Dean a questioning look before looking at Sam like he had some sort of strange disease. She huffed and said, "I'll be right out with your orders," and walked off.

Dean glared at her back. Not that what she did was unusual. Most people, for some unknown reason, found some reason to be hostile towards Sam. It seriously pissed him off to no end.

"Sorry..." Sam muttered.

Dean sighed. "It's not your fault, Sam." Dean felt like a broken record. It had been over four years and Sam still had trouble telling the difference between when it was actually his fault and when it was just because other people were total dicks. He didn't seem to realize that the latter was so much more often the true scenario.

"I know it must get annoying..." Sam continued.

Dean leaned over the table and placed a finger under Sam's chin to force him to look at Dean's face. "The only thing annoying is the number of people who are total assholes."

When Dean removed his finger, Sam went back to staring at his hands. Dean sighed. Sam had come a long way, but there was still a long way more to go.

It took over a year, but Sam finally understood that when he thought he was in trouble, stripping himself wasn't the answer. Still, sometimes Sam will revert to his old habits if he gets too confused or upset. When they're in crowded places, or even just out in public, Sam stayed behind Dean at all times, always within grabbing distance. He was practically a poster child for child abuse. His head was always down, never making eye contact with anyone or thing except people's feet. His shoulders hunched over and Sam always had his arms crossed across his chest in a protective manner.

It's only been in the last few months Sam and Dean started sleeping in separate beds, both agreeing that if Sam wanted to gain some independence, he needed to at least sleep on his own. Though if he's having a bad night, Sam will still come and crawl into Dean's bed, which Dean never complained about.

John and Dean trained Sam to bea hunter, using modified training to adapt to his leg. If he wanted to, Sam could really move his body with ease. Sam has trouble sparring, thinking it was wrong to fight Dean or John under any circumstances. But when they were on a hunt, even though Sam is usually scared stiffed, he's good at dodging things. On hunts, Sam primarily keeps guard. He tries to avoid using any firearm no matter what. Dean discovered Sam had developed a phobia of them when his old 'father' used him as target practice once.

While he didn't contribute much to the actual hunt, Sam turned out to be an amazing researcher. It took a while, but Dean finally convinced Sam that reading and doing math wasn't a bad thing. Once Sam started reading again, his knowledge about the supernatural world soon surpassed even John's and had saved their asses on more than one occasion.

Overall, Dean was pleased in the progress Sam had made. He used to not be able to go into public without having some sort of 'attack.' Sam wasn't perfect, but he was definitely better. The only thing he was truly disappointed about, was about Sam's self-esteem. Sam still blamed himself for killing those people with his, now, dormant powers, even though it was out of self-defense and he was just a child at the time. And he firmly believes that he deserved what his old 'family' and the townspeople did to him.

Sarah set the plates of food and drinks in front of her customers. "Here ya go. Anything else I can get you?" she asked Dean.

"No, I'm good. Sam?"

Sam stiffened before he gave a small shake of the head, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

Sam never spoke in front of other people and even then, if they were in public he would only speak to Dean in a quite voice as though he was scared that if someone heard his voice, he'd get in trouble. But that didn't stop Dean from trying to encourage it anyway.

Unknowing to Sam, the waitress rolled her eyes and said, "Just come to the register when you're ready to pay," and walked off.

"What a bitch..." Dean murmured as he started to eat.

Sam pulled the plate almost off the table towards him and slowly ate, little chunk by little chunk. Dean smiled. He was definitely pleased about Sam's progress as far as eating habits were concerned. He didn't need to be ordered to eat, though sometimes he needed to be told that it was okay. And Dean didn't need to tell Sam how much he should eat. Sam started to figure out how much he should eat on his own a little over a year ago and started to eat by himself. Dean practically did back flips when he saw Sam eat what he wanted.

Dean ate slowly out of habit now, not wanting Sam to feel uncomfortable being the only one left eating. When they were both finally done, Dean told Sam to wait in the car while he paid. Sam grabbed the keys for the Impala and quickly ran out to the car and locked himself in as Dean walked to the register and handed over a credit card.

Sarah took the credit card, not realizing it was a fake, and slid it through her machine. "It must suck," she said.

Dean gave Sarah an even look and carefully said, "What?"

"Having to take care of that retard. I saw he has a strange limp... was he in a car accident and hit his head too hard or something," she joked with a small laugh.

Dean gave a strained smile and suppressed the need to bash the girl's head in. "Actually he did get the limp in a car accident. Our parents died in that accident. Ever since he's had trouble talking to vicious bitches." Dean took back the credit card and left, not bothering to see Sarah's reaction.

He opened the Impala door and slammed it shut as he got in, letting out a frustrated growl.

Sam looked at Dean sheepishly. "'M I in trouble -- ?"

"No," Dean said quickly. That was another thing that never really changed. Sam's assumption that everything was his fault or that he was always in trouble. "I just wish people would treat you better."

Sam shrugged. "They can pro'bly tell what I am..." he sad softly.

Dean looked at Sam. "And what are you exactly?" Dean challenged.

Sam gave a shaky shrug, like he didn't really know himself, and turned to gaze out the window. Dean sighed as he started the ignition and drove back to the motel.


When they got back inside, Dean noticed Sam looking even more worried than before. Though he couldn't blame him, with his own worry starting to shoot up. They haven't gotten word from their father and he should have been back over five hours ago.

Dean grabbed the book Sam was currently reading, War and Peace, and handed it to Sam, telling him he should read a little. Sam slowly walked to his bed and started to read without question. Though he was evidently still agitated, he still automatically responded to orders. Sam started to shake a little. Their father was never gone this long without at least telling them why over the phone.

Dean flipped out his cell and called his father. A spike of panic shot through him when a voice on the end told Dean that the phone was unavailable at the time. There were no mountains or valleys of any sort near by so calling John should have been easy. Now it seemed evident that at least his cell was somewhere where it couldn't reach service.

"Is Dad okay?"

Dean looked at Sam who was curled tightly around his book, but Dean could tell that it wasn't because Sam was interested in it. White trembling fingers gripped the book tightly against Sam's chest, showing Sam's fear.

Dean sat next to Sam on the bed and slowly pried the book from Sam's hands. "I can't reach Dad."

Sam's trembling increased. "Wh-what do ya mean? There's no signal holes anywhere between here and his job..."

"I know, I know... Something's going on. I just don't know what."

"What if he's hurt?" Sam said panicky. "What if he's hurt and can't get help? What if he's lost? What if he's dead -- ?"

"Hey!" Dean said, placing his hands on Sam's shaking shoulders. "Panicking isn't going to help either way."

Sam slumped under Dean's hands. "Sorry..."

"Sam..." Dean scooted forwards and slowly brought Sam to his chest. He rocked him back and forth as he said, "I'm worried, too, Sam. But if we wanna find Dad, then we have to think about this logically and as calmly as possible." Dean could feel his shoulder getting wet. He rubbed circles into Sam's back. "It's okay, Sam. Just let it out."

Small sobs started to escape from Sam. "I'm a horrible person," Sam whimpered.

"What?" Dean frowned. "How did you come up with that? 'Cause I can tell you you must be getting your facts mixed up."

"All I can think..." Sam said, "...is how lucky I am it wasn't you that got lost."

Dean gave Sam a reassuring squeeze. "That's okay, Sam. I feel the same way about you."

Sam sat up and looked at Dean with a frown on his face. "Really?"

Dean nodded. "And it's understandable." Dean wiped the tears from Sam's face.

Sam closed his eyes at the comforting touch. "What now?" he questioned.

"We'll wait until tomorrow," Dean said. "Then we'll head out to where Dad's last job was, and we'll start from there."

Well...? What do you think? Should I keep going?