Entry tags:

fanfic, sam/dean, supernatural

SPN: Through the Eyes of a Stranger 1/2
Disclaimers: Supernatural doesn't belong to us. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: What if the shapeshifter in "Skin" revealed something else to Sam than what he did? How would Sam deal with this new information and how would it affect the brother's relationship? What happens when Sam looks at Dean through the eyes of a stranger?

WARNINGS: AU, pre-slash

BETA: Thanks to the wonderful mayalaen on livejournal for her absolutely excellent beta-work.

Author's Note Melinda (darkmoore): When we started this - a new fandom, our first time as co-authors - I was a little scared. I wasn’t sure if this could work, if we could really pull it off. But... it went better than I could ever have imagined and I am very grateful to my sis, for hooking me up with yet another fandom. If it wasn't for her, I'd never have started to watch Supernatural. Thank you, sis, I had a great time!

Author's Note Cassandra (ca_pierson): This story was amazingly fun to write. Mainly because of the co-authorship with darkmoore. We were sailing as smooth as you could wish for and I'm really glad to have embarked on this journey together. We didn't even scratch out each others eyes and I'm very proud of what we accomplished. *raises a glass of chocolate milk* To a very successful collaboration. *huggles her sister*

Joint Author's Note: This is an AU. We split from canon very late in 1.6 "Skin". SPOILERS for everything up to and including this episode are to be expected. This fanfic is the starting point for our own Alternate Universe within Supernatural and hopefully there will be a few joint stories following in this vein.

Through the Eyes of a Stranger

written by ca_pierson and darkmoore


St. Louis, Missouri

Sam had woken to the ropes tightening on his wrists and with his head throbbing dully. It took him a while to realise just what had happened. How could he have missed the difference between Rebecca and the shapeshifter? There must have been something to indicate the danger he was in, and he hadn't noticed at all. No nagging feeling at the back of his head, no oddities in her behaviour. Nothing to alert him to the danger he had been in. Showed him how removed he really was from people he thought of as good friends.

While Sam took inventory of his status – a bump on the back of his head and tied up tightly – the shapeshifter was prowling around for what felt like an eternity. Waiting patiently for an opportunity to free himself wasn't easy, especially because Sam knew what this creature did to its victims. Angry at himself for being so stupid, and even more furious at that creature for stealing Dean's face, Sam allowed himself a brief moment of running with his emotions before forcing calmness to overlay them. Getting upset wouldn’t solve anything at this point. He kept his eyes on the shapeshifter as it kept moving around the room, even though every movement renewed the painful headache.

It had only been a moment, but Sam couldn't stand the quiet. Maybe he could win a bit more time to plan his escape and give Dean longer to figure out what was going on. “What are you gonna do to me?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I’m not gonna do anything. Dean will, though,” came the smug answer.

Sam's blood ran cold. It was going to do exactly what it had done previously and he had seen the results of that. Suppressing a shudder, Sam concentrated on their conversation, playing for time and hoping for an opportunity to escape. “They’ll never catch him,” Sam said, watching avidly as the shapeshifter opened a drawer to look inside.

“Doesn’t matter,” it replied immediately and turned halfway back to look at Sam. Its eyes caught a stray ray of light and the oh-so-familiar eyes flashed in an unnatural yellow. “Murder in the first of his own brother. He’ll be hunted for the rest of his life.” The shapeshifter turned around and carefully selected a sharp knife from the counter. With an expert glance at the blade, the creature smiled contently.

Stilling, the shapeshifter turned back to Sam with a wicked grin on its borrowed face. It approached with a saunter Sam had seen so often with Dean, then knelt next to Sam. For a moment the sharp blade of the knife was too close to Sam's throat for his liking. But all the shapeshifter did was to trace the knife tip across Sam's face and down his neck without actually breaking the skin. Almost like a caress. It didn't say a word – just grinned at him broadly – before it got back up and grabbed his bound feet. Sam struggled as the shapeshifter dragged him towards the living room, the knife in it's free hand.

It just left him in the middle of the floor, and Sam's head spun slightly from the abrupt movement and the head injury. His head felt like bees had started a hive in there, and the dull ache in the back flared into agony.

After what seemed like an eternity to Sam, the shapeshifter suddenly started speaking again. “I must say, I will be sorry to lose this skin. Your brother’s got a lot of good qualities. You should appreciate him more than you do.” There was an odd undertone when it said that; something utterly creepy.

It was hard to concentrate on what it said. Sam's head felt like it was about to burst by now; his every heartbeat throbbed in the back of his head. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering all of his energy reserves, telling himself over and over again that it was vital to know what his enemy was doing. Sam forced himself to calm down and breathe deeply for a few times. He tried to relax, to let go, and as he did, he managed to bring the headache down to a bearable level. Sam opened his eyes again. He didn't dare to let the shapeshifter out of his sight for too long. At least his head didn't hurt as badly right now and he wasn't in danger of losing consciousness - which would have been his death sentence. Focussing on the shapeshifter, Sam followed it with his eyes, watched as it poured itself a drink. Thinking of something that looked like Dean as an 'it' was weird, but Sam couldn't help himself. There was no way he could call it by the name of his brother, not even in his own head. Not if he wanted to be able to kill it.

“Cheers.” The shapeshifter sipped his drink, looking thoughtfully at Sam in a way that made his skin crawl.

Sam had the feeling that there was something more going on, as if there was more to the words of the shapeshifter than met the eye. What did this thing mean? The thought merely flitted through his mind, gone as soon as the shapeshifter reached for the knife – a small smile on the borrowed face – and forcefully stabbed it into the surface of the pool table.

“You really should appreciate him more, Sammy. He sure does appreciate you a lot.” There it was again; the undertone in that thing’s voice. Before Sam could make something of its comment, the shapeshifter crouched down beside him and swiftly grabbed Sam’s crotch, squeezing it. For a moment, Sam just stared at the thing with his brother’s face unbelievingly. This couldn’t actually be happening.

“Do you know what it feels like for him to have you so close all the time? How you turn him on? How much he wants you?” The words, spoken in his brother’s voice, husky with arousal and desire, made Sam’s stomach turn. Suddenly the thing got up, took another sip from its drink, and turned towards the knife again.

Sam knew it was now or never. If he didn’t find a way to get rid of these ropes soon, he’d be dead. Moving quickly, Sam kicked the shapeshifter's legs out from underneath it, sending it to the ground. He got up as fast as he could and went directly for the knife that was still sticking out of the pool table, cutting the ropes on the sharp blade. Now or never. Sam pulled the weapon free from the wood and removed the restraints on his ankles in one brisk movement. As he attacked the creature, it was as if time slowed down, everything was crystal clear.

The surprised expression on its face, the grunts it made as Sam hit it. All of it was so very much like some of the training sessions they had gone through. Sam had to keep thinking “this is not Dean” in order to keep focussed on what was going on. The shapeshifter recovered and faced Sam in a defensive stance. Knowing that he couldn't win a fight by just defending himself, Sam attacked it with the knife. All the while he had to wonder how many of Dean's fighting skills it had absorbed when it took his form.

When the shapeshifter grabbed his arm in mid-swing, pushing against Sam forcefully, Sam knew he was in trouble. Utilizing every bit of strength he had, Sam tried to bring the knife closer, just to have his own momentum turned against him, landing on his back painfully. He quickly jumped up. He turned back to his foe, ready to defend himself as he looked at the shapeshifter advancing towards him.

“Oh, you son of a bitch,” the shapeshifter hissed, obviously annoyed.

It sounded so much like Dean at that moment that Sam nearly wanted to yield to his big brother, catching his slip not a second too late. The shapeshifter swung at him and hit Sam once before he managed to grab the creature's arm, pushing it up behind its back brutally to gain advantage.

“Not bad, little brother.”

This time Sam didn't allow himself any brotherly feelings. “You’re not him,” he growled breathlessly. Fighting for control, the creature threw him off, but Sam came back swinging, hitting it twice in a row, which only served to make it more angry. A knee to the stomach and a shove against the shelves brought Sam down, books and displayed items coming down on top of him in a painful rain, jarring his head once more. He got up by holding onto the pool table and staggered slightly as he tried to keep his balance.

The shapeshifter took hold of a pool cue like a bat. “Even when we were kids, I always kicked your ass,” it goaded.

Sam rolled out of the way as the shapeshifter swung its new found weapon at him. It only managed to hit the light, darkening the room. Desperate to get some distance between them, Sam kicked it in the stomach and forced the creature back. Immediately Sam aimed a straight right at the shapeshifter, but was caught easily. The creature ducked underneath Sam's fist and hit Sam in the stomach.

Sam was a bit unsteady by now and exhaustion settled in. The shapeshifter wasn’t in a better shape from the looks of it, but the fist that connected with Sam's jaw hadn't lost any power. When the shapeshifter threw itself at Sam, it propelled them both onto the coffee table, which broke beneath their combined weight. Two more hits to the head and Sam nearly lost consciousness, his head exploding in agony. Blinded by pain and exhausted to a point where giving in started to seem like a good idea, Sam couldn't fight back when the shapeshifter put its hands around Sam's neck and started squeezing. His survival instinct and training kicked in, though, and Sam went for the shapeshifter’s eyes in a last attempt to save his life. His weak attacks were ineffective, and as his need to breathe grew stronger, his attempts to free himself grew weaker. Hands that looked exactly like his brother's were locked around his throat. Dean's face hovered above him, smiling in pleasure as those familiar hands squeezed the air out of Sam.

“Hey!”

Sam’s vision had already begun to fade when he heard the voice that just barely managed to cut through the whooshing noise in his ears. The hands left Sam’s throat, and a second later two shots rang out. Dean - the real Dean - was there and the shapeshifter was dead.

oooooOooooo

Placing the map on the hood of the Impala, Dean pretended he didn't actually feel hurt. He had to keep up his façade; like he always did. There was no use in revealing his worries to Sam, the kid had been through enough these past few days. Dean tried to imagine how it must have been to have the hands of his brother look-alike wrapped around his throat, ready to kill him. Must have been one hell of an experience. It didn't matter that it hadn't actually been him. It didn't matter that Sam knew it wasn't him. What did matter was that the damage was done anyway. Sometimes Dean wondered how much Sam could take before he would break for good, before Dean wouldn't be able to put him back together after one of their hunts. Dean was afraid that a part of his brother could be irrevocably lost. He was terrified that maybe that process had already started without him noticing.

There was something different about Sam since last night. Dean could feel it, could sense it in the way Sam moved and behaved – yes, even held himself. At first he had thought it was only the shock of seeing the shapeshifter dead with Dean's face still on. Hell, it had given Dean the creeps to see that thing so lifeless when he had taken the necklace back. Dean had thought it might be worse since Sam hadn't been able to touch him right after it had happened.

Of course Dean knew about his little brother's habit of touching him some way or the other after something had happened. Sam had been doing it forever now, since their very first scrape with death. It was Sam's way of reassuring himself that they both were still alive. But this time Rebecca had been there and surprisingly Sam hadn't even attempted get a 'touchy-feely' moment in later on. Which was weird in itself. Sam was a creature of habit - both of them were - and it wasn't like him to change his behavior. After a short, sleepless night, Dean wasn't sure any more that everything was alright. At least Sam was Sam. Dean had made sure to check that. Had pissed Sam off a bit, but Dean wasn't going to take any risks with that one.

So now here they were. Sam was saying goodbye to Rebecca somewhat awkwardly, and Dean was left to his own thoughts. He had a feeling that Sam would attempt to talk this over again. Okay, so maybe his little brother deserved a bit of a conversation. One chick flick moment was allowed if you had been almost killed by someone who looked like your own brother, right? And if it took that to find out what was wrong with Sammy, then that was exactly what Dean would do. Everything for his Sammy.

Dean sighed inwardly. This was becoming a problem. His obsession with his brother was neither good nor healthy. It was completely and utterly wrong. Because whatever fucked up, illegal or immoral things Dean had done in his life, overstepping this boundary was completely out of the question. He had been attracted to - try 'in love with', his inner voice supplied helpfully - Sam for years now. He had more practice in hiding this desire behind one of his protective layers than he cared for. Hopefully Sam would never ever find out that Dean had feelings for him that were everything but brotherly. It would destroy what they had worked so hard on gaining after Jessica's death. Dean was aware of the fact that Sam only planned on staying until they had found their dad, but still it was better than nothing. If Sam ever found out that his brother was attracted to him, he would leave for good, having found Dad or not. Sure, he could always try to deny it, but the damage would have been done. No, this was something that better stayed hidden - forever. They both were disturbed enough as it was from the shapeshifter mess.

Rebecca and Sam were standing much too close to each other for Dean's liking. Of course Dean knew that she was part of a life Sammy still longed for. But she couldn't have him. He wanted to get Sammy away from her, as far as possible. Back on the road, back to the hunt, back to being alone with him. He didn't want for her to remind Sam of what he couldn't have, didn't have any more. Didn't want to have to share his Sammy with her, or any of the college friends Sam still had. Dean knew he could never be a part of this life his brother had led, didn't belong into the life Sam had enjoyed these past two years. He was sure Sammy didn't have a clue how much it had hurt Dean when Sam had left to live his own, "normal" life. It very nearly had killed Dean. Sam was and would always be his everything. Not that he planned on ever sharing that information with his brother, though. One Winchester with the urge to have one chick flick moment after the other was more than enough.

Parts of Sam's conversation with Rebecca drifted over to Dean, and he cringed when she said 'Must be lonely'. You have no idea, Dean thought. Lonely didn't really cut it. Not even close. How could he describe what it was they shared? All the years of training, all the years of hunting, all the years they had spent only being able to trust and rely on each other. From the moment their dad had placed a six-month-old Sammy into his arms, it had been Dean's job to protect his little brother. From that moment on, Sam had been his world. And now, when Sam answered 'Oh, no. No, it's not so bad. Anyway, what can I do? It's my family.' Dean released a breath be hadn't been aware of holding. They hugged one last time, and Rebecca finally waved goodbye. Relieved, Dean waved back. Then she was gone, and Sammy was coming over to him. Soon they would hit the road, and everything would be alright again. At least Dean hoped so.

oooooOooooo

Sam felt like crap. He was staring out of the window, ignoring his brother completely. Thoughts were swirling around in his head, images of things he’d rather forget. After their conversation about Dean's funeral, Sam didn’t feel like talking any more. He just wanted to put this town, this hunt, and all that had happened far behind him. His brother - for the first time in quite a few days - just let him be. The countryside of Missouri was speeding by fast to the sounds of Metallica, with Dean's fingers playing a staccato on the wheel in time to the beat. Sam just couldn’t understand how his brother could be so relaxed when all Sam wanted to do was scream in frustration. Did nothing ever get to Dean?

Sam tried to ban the image of Dean throttling him from his mind. It hadn't been him, the rational part of Sam knew that all too well. Because even though they teased mercilessly and sometimes even hit each other, Sam knew that Dean would rather die than actually threaten him for real. The irrational, emotional part of Sam though wasn’t as unimpressed. For God’s sake, this thing had tied him down, mocked him, sexually harassed him, and then tried to kill him. It didn’t matter that Sam had known that this wasn’t really Dean. It sure as hell had hurt for real.

But what unsettled him most, the picture that had burned itself into his mind so very clearly, was something entirely else. Something that had nothing to do with the fact that his own life had been in danger. It was the picture of Dean, of this abomination wearing his brothers face, bloodied, empty eyed, dead.Crumpled in a heap, lifeless. For a moment, just for the few seconds it took for his oxygen deprived brain to catch up with reality, he had looked at the dead thing and had seen Dean. Which was far more disturbing than anything he had seen in his life. And that really did say something.

Sam closed his eyes for a second, his forehead pressed against the cool glass. He needed to get his feelings back under control, needed to get a grip on reality. Dean hadn’t been hurt, wasn’t in any more danger than he was at any given time. In fact he was his annoying, obnoxious self. Still Sam never wanted to see Dean like that again; cold, pale, with blood all over him. That short moment when he had actually thought he had lost Dean, when he had felt the loss of his brother like a knife twisting in his chest, that had been painful enough to last him a lifetime. He never ever wanted to feel like that again. The relief that rushed through him when he realized Dean was alive was like nothing he had experienced before. Then Rebecca had been there and he couldn't go to Dean, couldn’t touch him like he usually did after a brush with death. It was his way of reinforcing the fact that they were both alive. Sam suspected that Dean knew why he was doing it and humoured him, but he’d never mention it. Not in a million years. Touchy feely just wasn’t Dean’s style.

“Do you know what it feels like for him to have you so close all the time? How you turn him on? How much he wants you?” The memory came unbidden, hitting him like a slap in the face. Words, spoken in a way he was too damn familiar with - husky, aroused, intense. Never before addressed to him in this way, but familiar nevertheless. This low, seductive voice, the promise of pleasure, the want Dean’s – no the shapeshifter’s – voice had held. Sam had heard this voice on Dean on a number of occasions. What he’d never seen close up before, though, was the lust in his eyes. Raw and unadulterated. Scary. Thrilling. Unthinkable. Another detail he didn’t want to remember. It was just plain wrong. It couldn’t be true. That was completely impossible. But the thing had said Dean wanted him. Had looked like it wanted to jump him right then and there before its thoughts turned back to killing him.

Sam didn't fool himself. There was no way around this. They would have to talk about it. He couldn't allow doubts caused by the words of one of the monsters they hunted to ever come between them. Evil lied, he reminded himself firmly. They lied when it served their purpose, and they told the truth for the same reason. Only that there was no reason to lie to him at this point. He'd been tied up and helpless. The shapeshifter was about to off him. Sam had been close enough to see the perverse pleasure at having him at his mercy in those eerie eyes. Eyes that should have been familiar – yet weren’t. The emotion, the intent in them couldn’t have been more wrong. It was the one thing that indicated that this was actually not Dean. But it wasn’t enough. He still had to fight to stop himself from seeing his brother's face hovering over him, hands around his throat, about to kill him. The thing would have succeeded, too, if the real Dean hadn’t shown up, saving the day. Like so often. His knight in shining armor.

Sam avoided looking at his brother, who by now kept throwing quick, worried glances his way. Instead he continued to think over every word the shapeshifter said. Over and over again. Everything it had said to him back in the sewers and in Rebecca's house. How much of that was manipulation and how much of it was the truth about how Dean actually felt? There was just no denying it. Chances were that thing had not lied at all. Sam suppressed a sigh.

He watched the sign "Welcome to Kentucky" breeze by and felt the car slow down just that little bit, knowing without looking, that Dean was going to find the first best place for them to stay the night. The years they had been separated hadn't dulled Sam's Dean-sense one bit. He still knew when his brother was angry, hurt, or in pain. Knew when he was looking for a hunt and when he wanted to hole up and lick his wounds. Sam didn't kid himself: Dean was as hurt by what had happened as he himself was. To see that creature, wearing his face, trying to kill his kid brother - that had more than likely opened a whole can of worms. Even without the added complication of Dean knowing that the shapeshifter had sexually harassed him, the situation was difficult already. How sure was Dean that Sam wasn’t scared of him on some level? How would Dean deal with the fact that the creature had access to most of his memories, his thoughts? How much damage had it done to the sometimes already fragile peace between them? Sam didn't even want to think about those things yet. Didn’t want to guess what Dean’s imagination could come up with. He also didn’t want to confront his brother about it, but he had to. Dean would never talk about it on his own. Not until it was too late.

Sam knew there was no way they could have this conversation in the Impala, not while they were still on the road. If this should work out, if he should have a realistic chance to actually talk to Dean, then they needed to have this conversation someplace else. Somewhere Dean wouldn’t feel trapped, locked in, somewhere he could put space between them. Like a Motel room. Sam knew if he even tried to have this talk in the car, Dean would either ignore him or deck him for trying. Neither option was acceptable. So the conversation would have to wait until Dean had found a place for them to stay. Luckily for Sam, he didn’t have to wait too long. Barely ten minutes later, Dean pulled into the parking lot in front of a cheap motel.

oooooOooooo

Sam closed the door behind him and leaned against it. He watched as Dean shot him a quizzical look and dropped his bag onto one of the beds. No time like the present Sam thought, mentally preparing for a rather unpleasant, if necessary talk. He pushed himself away from the door and went over to sit on the other bed, his eyes never leaving Dean.

“Dean, I think we need to talk about some stuff,” he began, seeing his brother flinch. It was the typical ’we need to talk’ opening that usually never led to something good, but Sam couldn’t think of a better phrase. He suppressed a sigh. This was going to get ugly. His brother’s defences were up already and Sam hadn’t really said anything that could cause trouble, yet. Dean was retreating from him physically, moving to the furthest corner of the small motel room, putting as much distance between them as he could get away with. It was the visible proof of the fact that something was bothering Dean. Sam knew his brother wasn’t usually one to talk about his emotions much – make that almost never – but he wasn’t one to avoid a necessary confrontation. So when Sam watched him hang his leather jacket on the back of a chair with meticulous care, doing pretty much anything he could so he didn’t have to look at him, Sam knew this was going to be a lot harder than he’d thought.

“No, we don’t,” Dean finally disagreed, sounding determined. “Something that looked like me attacked you. It wasn’t me. I killed it and we move on. End of story. Nothing to talk about.” Dean was still keeping his distance to Sam. Then, when Sam didn’t say anything in return right away, Dean stopped contemplating the dirty floor and looked at Sam. A hurt look flickered in his eyes, before one of his indifferent masks shifted into place. “You do know I’d never really hurt you, right? You’re not afraid of me, are you? You can’t possibly believe I’d actually try to kill you.” There was disbelief and a tone of confused hurt laced his voice.

This time, Sam really did sigh. He buried his face in his hands and collected his thoughts. Dean didn't know about the thing touching him, didn't know it had claimed that Dean was sexually attracted to his own brother. Taking a deep breath, Sam finally looked up at Dean again, who had reduced the distance between them and was now standing a bit away from him, watching him warily. "Of course I’m not afraid of you. I trust you. I know that wasn’t you who attacked me," Sam said, willing his brother to believe it. Dean relaxed visibly at his words. "There is something else, though, I need to tell you. Something this thing said, something it did..."

“Something it did?” Dean asked, alarm in his voice and the tension returned to his body. “You mean it did something else to you than... trying to choke you to death?”

Sam nodded. “Yes, it did.”

“Are you all right? I mean, tell me what it did. Are you hurt? Dude, why didn't you tell me before? Good God, Sammy, you let me drive you around for hours and didn’t say a word?” Dean sounded like he was somewhere between concerned and angry, but leaning toward the latter.

“Calm down, Dean. I'm not hurt. Not beyond what you know about, anyway. No... it...” Damn, this is just so fucking hard, Sam thought, trying to gather up the courage to actually say it. “It touched me, groped me. It said you were... turned on by me. That my physical closeness to you was... unsettling you.” There was no accusation in his voice, just a mild curiosity and a lot of insecurity. “So, Dean, all I want to know is... Is it true? Is it true what the... what it said? Do you really have these... feelings for me?”

Dean looked at him, eyes wide, backing off ever so slightly. “Sammy, how can you believe that... that thing? You know as well as I do that they all lie! You're my baby brother for god's sake. I'd never do anything that could hurt you.”

Something in Dean’s voice made Sam listen very closely. A great deal of time, Dean would either say things he didn’t really mean, or he would leave out half the information. Sam was used to that by now. So, since Sam got the vague feeling that there was something Dean wasn’t telling him, he obviously needed to look a bit closer. He realized that, while Dean had said he’d never do anything to hurt him, he had not really said that he wasn’t attracted to him, either. Sam decided that this needed further investigation. Something about his brother’s behavior was definitely off. Opting for an open confrontation, Sam asked, “It didn't lie about the other things though, Dean, did it? It didn't lie about you and your feelings about my going to college. Do you really feel like you couldn't have a life? That you had to stay with dad? That I ditched you?” Dean flinched at every question as if Sam had hit him. Maybe they were actually getting somewhere, here. Lying, eh?

“Sam, I...,” Dean started, his face immediately taking on another one of those masks Sam hated so much. Absolutely blank, not showing his pain, not showing any kind of emotion at all.

Oh no, you’re not going to do that. We’re going to have this out. This needs to be cleared up now, Sam thought fiercely. “God, Dean, why didn't you tell me? Why did we never talk about any of that?” A small part of him felt bad for knowing which buttons to push, but the larger part was determined to get past what the shapeshifter had said - damn the cost.

“Yeah, I really wonder why.” Dean hissed sarcastically. He was in full defence mode now, Sam could tell. The way his body language changed, the way his voice turned just that bit colder and harder. “That would have made a great conversation, don’t you think, Sammy? ‘Oh, little brother, by the way I hate it that you got to go to college while I am stuck with our dad, hunting. But hey, don’t you worry about me. I am sure you know how lucky you are.’” Dean’s voice was dangerously low now, speaking of real hurt underneath all the sarcasm. “You are not the one who had to try and please Dad, after all. Everything you ever had to do was be yourself. Perfect little college-boy. No matter how much the two of you fought, he always adored you.”

Sam stared at Dean with wide eyes. He had known his brother was lonely, maybe even hurt, but he would have never expected the amount of pain that shone from Dean’s eyes right now. Sam doubted Dean realized just how many of his real emotions were on display at the moment. How could I be so blind? Sam thought. He got up, intending to go over to Dean and comfort him as best as he could. “Dean, listen, I’m sorry. I really-”

“Shut up!” Dean interrupted whatever Sam had wanted to say, stopping him dead in his tracks. “I don’t want to hear it. You wanted to stop hunting? You wanted your own life? Fine. You see what it got you. This is what we do, Sam – what we are. We are hunters. We don’t get to have the white picket fence dream. You can’t run away from destiny. You can’t have ‘normal’. When are you ever gonna get it?” He rubbed his hand over his face tiredly, but continued to speak before Sam could say anything. His voice was more even, but strangely toneless as he said, “Listen, Sammy. I’m sorry your dream of a perfectly normal life didn’t work out. I really am. But there is nothing I can do about it. And now I don’t wanna talk about it any more. This little shit was spilling lies, nothing more. You don’t have to be afraid of me hitting on you.” He turned around, facing away from Sam, his shoulders stiff.

Sam’s heart broke at seeing his brother like that. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. This wasn’t how he was supposed to act. Dean didn’t look defeated, he just… didn’t. It just wasn’t done. He was the cocky one, the one who enjoyed being on the road, hunting, impersonating federal agents. The broken, hurting man who was in the room with him right now was a complete stranger to Sam. Dean - the Dean he knew - would have thrown a tantrum, punched him for even suggesting he’d be interested in Sam this way. He’d have done something – anything but this silent defeat. Something was still bothering Dean and Sam intended to find out what that was.

Reaching a decision, Sam moved over to where his brother was standing by the window. Was it a good sign that Dean hadn’t left the room completely? Sam hoped so. He touched Dean’s shoulder tentatively, ignoring the flinch it caused. Sam took a deep breath and said, “I’ll say it again, Dean; I’m not afraid of you. I know you’d never willingly hurt me. But we need to talk about this if you don’t want it to stand between us in the future. I know I’ve said I have my secrets, too, but this is big. It’s too big to just be ignored. Please, Dean why can't you just talk to me. I mean we're-” He tried to turn his brother around to look him in the eyes.

“No!” Dean yelled, spinning around and shoving Sam against the wall. His eyes were ablaze with anger. “Back off! I told you I don't wanna talk about it. What the fuck do you expect from me anyway? You left me once already. You're gonna leave me again. I don't fucking need you. You're not even my real brother. Leave me the fuck alone.”

Sam felt as if someone had pulled the ground from under his feet. He couldn’t comprehend what Dean just had said. Dean hadn’t really…“What do you mean 'not my real brother'?” Sam forced out, voice shaking audibly. He knew he had to be pale as a ghost.

“What do you think I mean, Sammy?” Dean hissed sarcastically. “You and me aren't biological brothers. I was adopted. Mom and Dad didn't think they could have a child of their own. But then you came and of course you were Dad's precious golden boy who could do no wrong. Me, I had to fight for his affection every step of the way.” There was so much suppressed pain in Dean’s voice that it made Sam’s heart ache, even though he had just had the shock of his life. “You didn't see him like I did, looking at you, his own perfect little miracle. The child they thought they'd never have. You didn't see the pride and joy his eyes held when you smiled up at him. A look he never had for me. I would have given my life for the old man. And he leaves me behind like old baggage.” Choking, Dean stopped talking and averted his eyes. Hiding from Sam yet again. “Look, Sammy, I didn't... I never wanted to hurt you. You made your decisions, I made mine. It ain't fair of me to blame you, to be jealous of you, but dammit, sometimes I am.”

They were still standing nose to nose and Sam could feel his brother shaking, could see the tears gathering in his eyes. I shouldn't have pushed it. God, I shouldn't have made him tell me. Sam thought hazily. Hugging Dean close he pretended to not feel the wetness of Dean's tears on his shoulder, pretended to not feel his frame trembling against him. He knew Dean would never allow himself to be comforted if Sam acknowledged what Dean viewed as a weakness. “It's okay,” Sam murmured, holding on tightly. He could feel Dean relax slightly, enough to hug him back and cling to him like a lifeline.

“Lonely, Sam. I was so lonely. First you left, then dad. Everybody leaves me.” He sounded so hurt and defeated that it broke Sam’s heart.

Sam took a shaking breath, wrapping his arms more securely around his brother’s still trembling form before coming to a decision. Dean needed him, needed to know he could count on him. So Sam said, “I promise, I will not leave you again. Not now, not in the future. You’re stuck with me if you want it or not. I mean it, Dean. I won’t leave you alone again.”

How long they stood there, arm in arm, just holding onto each other – neither of them could have said. Eventually, though, Dean’s tears subsided and his body stopped shaking. He disentangled himself from his brother’s embrace carefully, avoiding eye contact. “’m sorry,” he murmured, wiping his sleeve over his face in an impatient gesture. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I…” He turned around, moving to the bathroom in long strides. “I’m sorry,” he said again before slipping into the bathroom and locking the door behind himself with an audible click.

”That went well,” Sam murmured sarcastically, throwing a glance at the closed bathroom door. What a complete and utter mess. Somehow he had the feeling he’d made things worse instead of clearing them up. This week really sucked.

oooooOooooo

Dean listened to the slow and regular breathing that was coming form the other bed. Sam had finally fallen asleep and Dean could relax a little. The last few hours had been a catastrophe and nothing like he had expected them to go. Sure, he had known that Sammy most probably would like to talk about what had happened, but when he hadn't done so in the car, Dean had actually hoped he would let the topic rest. No such luck, though. But what was worse were the things the shapeshifter had obviously told his little brother. Things Sam was never supposed to get to know - ever. There was a huge difference between suspecting your brother had issues with some things and actually being told so by a creature that had access to all the necessary memories. It was humiliating and painful.

Rage welled up in Dean at the thought that this thing had touched Sammy - his Sammy - in an improper way. Now Sam knew how he felt about him, knew at least about the sexual attraction. That thought bothered Dean a whole lot more than he ever cared to admit. That Sammy had guessed that he hadn't been too thrilled about his leaving to college, that he had been jealous of him at times, that was something Dean could deal with. The confirmation of those facts were not as hard to do as trying to convince Sam that he would never touch him in a way brothers shouldn't. Dean just hoped Sam had believed him in this point. He'd just have to be very careful about how he looked at his baby brother in the future. And touching - well touching would be awkward for some time anyway, Dean guessed. Nothing he could do about that now. Some part of Dean had known, had at least suspected that Sam would be unsettled about the shapeshifter trying to kill him; that this thing had practically sexually harassed his little brother as well made Dean wish he could kill it again, slowly and painfully.

This was all so fucked up. Dean barely suppressed a groan when he though about all the things he had told Sammy later on. Somehow his brother always managed to sneak under his protective layers. Damn him for knowing exactly which buttons to push. With just a few well chosen words Sammy had stripped away all of his masks, had left his emotions bare for Sam to look at. It made him feel vulnerable and insecure, two emotions Dean despised with all he was. So he had reacted, lashed out with words, neither knowing nor caring what damage he'd do. Oh God, I actually told him that we're not really brothers, Dean thought and felt nausea well up inside of him. Dad had made it perfectly clear that Sam was never, under no circumstances to know this little family secret. And he had blurted it out in the most inappropriate moment ever. Why now? Dean asked himself. Why did I tell him now of all times, when I kept this secret for over twenty years? He really didn't want to go there. Didn't want to explore the why behind his stupid gut reaction. It was bad enough he had told Sammy he had felt alone and left behind. How much worse could it get? He wasn't any better than the sissy he playfully accused Sam of being so often.

Oh, but it had gotten worse. He had cried. Had actually cried in his brother's arms afterwards, clinging to him like a damsel in distress. Well done, Dean, his inner voice remarked bitterly, feeling humiliated and ashamed because of the weakness he had shown. Fortunately Sammy had been gracious enough not to mention it to him, had been kind enough not to admit he knew what Dean was doing. Breaking down in your baby brother's arms wasn't anything you could be proud of and it wasn't how Dad had raised him. It was supposed to be the other way around. Dean was meant to be there for Sam. But the damage was done and the only thing left to do was to cut their losses. Dean would act normal, wouldn't give Sam a chance to go all emotional on him again. He wouldn’t allow Sam to get past those protections again. Instead he’d make sure Sam would be one hundred percent convinced that Dean didn't see anything else in him than his kid-brother, blood related or not. And he would never mention anything about adoption again. As far as he was concerned, Sammy was his brother, the one person he had sworn to protect at all costs.

Now he just needed the strength to go through with it.

oooooOooooo

Sam woke to the feeling of a newspaper hitting his chest. He hadn't had a nightmare, but he hadn't slept restfully, either. The tension between him and Dean was still palpable, after all that had been said and done the last evening. Dean had remained locked inside the bathroom until Sam had yelled for him to come out so he could take a shower too and go to bed. When Dean finally had left the bathroom, he had passed Sam without a word, eyes cast down. His whole body language had screamed of defence. In the end, when Sam had emerged from the bathroom, Dean had been in bed, blanket pulled up to his neck, pretending to sleep. Sam hadn't disturbed him. Hadn't dared to disturb him. Not after what he had caused earlier. He couldn't help but feel responsible for most of the pain he had seen in Dean's eyes.

Now, in the light of day, Dean was ostensibly back to normal. Same old. Business as usual. He had thrown the morning paper at Sam and now that Sam sat upright in bed, he shoved a cup of hot coffee in his hands. "Read that. Three dead people found over the last four weeks. Another two missing. All of them either drained of blood or mutilated. All in the same area. Sounds like a bunch of Vampires to me. We should check this out to see if it's really something for us," Dean said, sipping his own coffee.

So hunting it was, now. Dean obviously needed to let off steam and nothing would calm his brother faster than hunting some creature or other. Not even my real brother. The words Dean had said the previous night came back to Sam with haunting clarity. Dean wasn't his blood relative. He was adopted. Too focussed on how upset Dean had been he hadn't even thought about that at all. With Dean looming over him like a reaper, Sam suppressed all thoughts of last night and instead took a long drink from the paper cup.

“You getting up, or what?” Dean asked impatiently, staring at his brother hard, as if expecting Sam to press him some more about matters he hadn’t wanted to talk about in the first place.

“Yeah, yeah. Gimme a break here. I’m coming. Damn it, Dean, stop bugging me.” Sam threw off the covers and made his way to the bathroom while Dean sat down on the small table, booting the laptop up.

When Sam came back from the bathroom, shaved, dressed and ready to go, Dean wordlessly turned the laptop over so Sam could look at the screen as well. “We need to go to Lexington. That’s not too far from here. See if we can find out something about what's going on out there.” Dean closed the laptop and grabbed his bag. “Come on. Let's get going. If it’s really vampires, we need dead man’s blood before we start hunting. Might as well get a head start.”

On to Through the Eyes of a Stranger 2/2