Well, here's a new story, the most popular choice in my poll. I don't know where it's going yet since I just came up with the idea last week. This is all I have so far...

Rated T for swearing of course.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belong to the genius Eric Kripke. I am merely borrowing them for my amusement. If I own anything, it's spelling mistakes.

Summary: When Dean asked God to give him his little brother back, he should have been more specific. Set mid-season 4.

Wishful Thinking

Chapter 1. Wishes Come in Small Packages.

The air in the shabby motel room was thick with tension. Save for the rapid tapping of fingers on a keyboard, it was silent. Sam Winchester found that same silence nerve-wracking. He looked over at his older brother, who was reclining against the headboard of his bed, eyes closed. Sam knew he wasn't sleeping, but he wasn't talking either. Dean was being as stubborn as always, keeping all of his problems inside instead of talking about them, and Sam knew if this kept up, they would just build one on top of the other until they boiled over and his brother had a nervous breakdown. He had to say something, find a way to make his brother open up.



"We need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

Sam closed the laptop. "Yes there is."

"And what's that?"

"You know what."

Dean sat up, annoyance clearly written on his face. "I already told you, I'm fine."

"No you're not, Dean!" Sam couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. "One hunt after another, the constant nightmares—don't think I don't see it. This is killing you!"

"Yeah?" Dean sat up straighter. "And what about you? I come back from Hell and I find you banging a God damn demon! Oh, that's perfectly normal…"

"She's been helping me!" Sam spat back. This wasn't working out the way he'd planned.

"Helping you? She's a demon, Sam! Demon's don't help people, they use them, and that bitch has got you so wrapped up around her finger that you don't see that!"

"Not Ruby."

"So your freaky psychic crap is just a perk of being BFF with her?"

Sam twitched. "You were dead, Dean. What was I supposed to do? I had Hell literally after my ass, wanting my head on a plate! I had to do something!"

"Oh, you did something alright," Dean retorted. "You changed. You're not the brother I left behind. Now you're…" He grew quiet and trailed off.

"I'm what, Dean? Huh? What am I? A freak? Is that what you were going to say?"

"You're Sam."

Sam's gaze narrowed. "What?"

"You're Sam," Dean said simply. "Sammy's…gone."

"Of course Sammy's gone!" Sam snapped angrily. "Sammy went out the door the moment you decided to take a trip down to Hell!"

Dean looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Just forget I said anything, alright? It was stupid to bring it up." Sam turned back to his laptop and began typing away again.


"I said forget it."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself, then stood up, heading for the door.

Sam glanced up. "Where are you going?"

"I'm taking a walk."

"Man, if it's about what I said-"

"I just need a walk, okay Sam? Don't wait up for me." Dean opened the door and disappeared out into the chilly night.

Sam sighed heavily, irritated, and went back to researching nearby hunts.


Dean pulled the collar of his jacket up and shoved his hands deep into the pockets, trying to stave off the cold. He walked down the street away from the motel, not really certain where he was going.

"God, Sammy, what's happened to us?" he asked quietly to himself. "How did everything go so wrong?"

Since his return from Hell, Sam had been more distant, more aggressive, very unlike the Sam he'd left behind.

But what did he expect? Sam was right. He'd left, leaving Sam all alone. His brother had to toughen up if he'd expected to survive.

But did it have to stay that way?

"God, Sammy," he mumbled again. "I wish I could change this. I wish I could fix it like I always do."


His brow furrowed. That was it. God. Dean knew he wasn't much of a believer, but if Castiel was an angel like he said he was, that meant angels were real. So was God real too?

He noticed an old weathered church just ahead of him. There was only one way to find out.

His pace quickened in anticipation and he briskly went up the stone church steps two at a time. With just the slightest hesitation, he pulled the heavy wooden door open and slipped inside.

It was a small place, but it was obviously kept nice and tidy. The wooden pews were glossy with polish, Bibles neatly tucked into the backs of each one. The white cloth on the altar was freshly ironed, the silver crucifix above it shining. He glanced down at the recently swept floor to see a trail of dirt leading back the way he'd come. Oops… Oh well. No one else was around to see. He slid into the foremost pew and looked up at the painting of Mary on the wall, then to the cross.

"Well, I've never done this before," Dean said, licking his lips nervously, "so, uh, give me a chance. Please." He tried to remember what he'd seen of people praying and clasped his hands together, bowing his head.

"Umm, uh…" Damn, he was bad at this. "God…I guess you're all-knowing, so you know that my brother and I haven't exactly been getting along lately…not since I…well, you know…went to Hell. Castiel says that you have work for me, though I don't know what. But whatever it is, I just don't think I can do it." He spared a glance upward. "I'm…I'm so lost right now. When I went…downstairs…it seems I lost the very thing I tried to save. I lost Sammy. And if you could just…well…give me back my little brother, I'll do anything you ask." He could feel an onslaught of emotions building up inside him. "Anything…"

The church remained quiet, save for Dean's heavy breathing. He struggled with himself. "Please…I just want Sammy back."

What was it that praying people said at the end? Oh yeah!


He straightened up, feeling incredibly awkward, like he didn't belong. He probably didn't. Thirty years old and the first time he'd ever prayed. Sure, he'd dressed up as a preacher countless times, but actually prayed? He'd never even read the Bible!

Probably not the best thing to admit in a church either, even silently. He stood up. "Well…yeah. Hope you got that." He looked towards the altar one last time and headed out of the church.

"Have a nice walk?" Sam asked when he returned to the motel, still sitting in front of his laptop. Dean didn't miss the sarcastic edge to his question.

"Yeah. It was…enlightening."

Sam gave him a curious look.

"Well, I'm going to hit the sack," Dean continued, pulling off his shoes and shirt and slipping beneath the flowery quilt. "You'd best do the same. We're leaving tomorrow."

Sam nodded in agreement and powered down his laptop. "Kay ." He slid into his own bed and switched off the lamp.

Within minutes, Sam's soft snores could be heard throughout the room. Dean closed his eyes and tried to follow suit, though he knew only nightmares awaited him in the dark.


The early morning sunlight peeked through the mini-blinds, striking Dean full on in the face and rousing him from sleep. He blinked blearily, trying to wake himself up. It was a new day, and he knew it would be full of driving, hunting, drinking, and arguing, as was the norm these days.

He stretched. "Up and at 'em, Sam! We gotta get going."

There was no reply.

Dean looked towards the lump of blanket and comforter on his brother's bed. "Sam?" Is it me, or does that lump look…smaller?

It was.

What the-? Did Sam leave without me?

A small whimper threw that thought out the window.

"Dude, this isn't funny," Dean grumbled as he sat up and moved over to his brother. "Get your ass out of bed before I kick it into next week."

Another whimper.

"Dammit, Sam. You're acting like a friggin' little kid." He grabbed the edge of the blanket of ripped it back.

Large hazel eyes stared up at him from under a mop of unruly dark hair, chubby face squished into something akin to fear.

"The hell?" The kid didn't appear to be more than five or six years old, but he looked incredibly familiar. In fact, as Dean wracked his brain, he realized the kid looked just like… "Sam?"

The boy didn't respond to the question, but instead threw back his head and let out a long wail.


Good, bad? Should I continue?