It's winter, and Sam thinks the world can't suck much harder.

It's almost Christmas, and the state they're in hasn't had a week of white since the 19th century.

He's glad though, that Dad chose to rent an apartment instead of a cobwebbed motel stinking of mildew. Their supposed home isn't that bad, by Winchester standards. And they have a fenced yard. Sure, it belongs to the complex, but as far as Sam can tell, nobody ever goes there.

Dean's on the couch, fast asleep for once. Not plunged into a restless slumber, but honestly sleeping. His brother's been feeling off since October, but only spoke of it when his cold got so bad the hospital said it had been a close one. With some serious pills, and a scary as shit glare form the doctor, Dean had been sent home with the ordered to rest.

It's only the middle of November, and Sam's starting to worry.

He's worried about the rent (Dad's gonna be back when the rent's due. He said so.), worried about the two-man job his dad went on alone cause Dean's out for the count, worried about the school work Sam's been neglecting for every shift at the diner he's been offered. He sees Christmas coming, dawning in the calendar as the days grow shorter and the shadows longer.

Sam works. He does double shifts to cover the rent, works out so he's fit for the next hunt, and what hours aren't killed by any of the above, he spends on either studies or sleep. Or gets waken up by a delirious Dean,who's shouting in his sleep.

Sam starts to realise that Dean must have been doing all of this since he was thirteen. That's about when Dean started missing school and wearing his father's oversized leather jacket like a suit of armour. Sam can't imagine doing all of this for a few more weeks, let alone for years.

It's winter and it's cold. Dean's on the couch, warm thanks to layers of clothing and a raging fever. It's not too bad yet; Sam's been checking, making sure Dean's not about to need another car jacking to avoid permanent damage to the nutshell he calls a brain.

Sam, on the other hand, is freezing as he walks to school. There's a test he knows he's gonna fail, and a group project thing he's gonna miss when he leaves early for his shift. The rent's due soon and there's still a whole lot more money needed to cover rent before his official pay day. They need to eat too, or at least Sam does, as Dean's still not really eating as much as he should.

Sam feels like he should be more worried than he is, but he's only resigned as he watches his brother poke at today's dinner with his fork. It doesn't matter what he cooks either. Dean's not gonna eat if Dad's not forcing it down his throat, so Sam's not gonna push it until Dad's there. In the meantime, Sam does what he can with vitamin pills and high calorie bars, cause that's about the only thing Dean will eat.

Sam can start feel it all weigh down on him.

He sees people look at him in school with concern, and hey, maybe his clothes are getting just a bit too big. That's good though; means he won't have to buy new clothes too soon cause he outgrew them.

It's Christmas, and Sam's sitting by the couch keeping his brother's fever down with a rag and an open window. He can see the world celebrating out there, and he can see a war raging in his brother's eyes.

When the delusions are at their worst, Sam understands that he needs to block out Dean's pleas, cause once Sam hears them, he can't unhear them. It's a side of Dean he doesn't want to know. All the fear, the insecurity, a complete lack of self worth- Sam's almost scared of the dark abyss he glimpses at in the heat of Dean's fever.

Sam works, trains, and studies; sometimes he sleeps, but these days, it is more of an optional thing rather than a basic human need. He eats a lot though, to compensate. Can't lose too much weight, cause then he's not gonna be fit for hunting.

Dad's back, eight days late. The rent's been due, and paid for, so they can stay another month. Dean's not gonna be happy, if he's even aware enough to complain. Sam has noticed Dean's gradual recovery. It's slow, just like the doctors said. Too weak to fight off the infection, breathing already off due to chest trauma, and walking around in only his father's jacket in North Montana's October chill. It had been bound to end badly, Sam just hadn't been aware just how ill his brother had been until he just wouldn't wake up one day to drive Sam to school..

There had been lots of scary as shit moments in Sam's life. Finding his brother on the bedroom floor, unresponsive and barely breathing, was top five scariest shit, ever in Sam's life. And Sam's been up against a pack of ghouls, trapped in a Wendigo's nest and interrogated by a psychopath ghost cop. He'd take the ghouls, the Wendigo, and the scary ass cop together, any day, to not to see his brother burning with fever on the floor. It had been middle October, and they hauled ass as soon as Dean was well enough to be moved. South, to warmth and less chilly Montana air.

It's winter, and Dad's back. It's been a long time since they have been together and not fighting. Both hover by Dean's side, and Dad's forcing food down both their throats just as Sam had known he would.

It's winter, and Dean's getting better by the day. Then Dad's off again, this time taking Sam with him for a three man job up Helena, Montana.

Dad says Dean's well enough to care for himself a few days, and Sam, for his sanity's sake, agrees even though he knows it will end with Dean damn near a jacked car and a two speeding tickets and one too many ventilators.

They kill a pack of something corporeal, and exorcise their souls before they can turn into ghost too, just for the sake of it.

Sam missed two days of school and a shift down the dinner.

"No worries", Dad says, "I got it covered."

Back in the state that hasn't seen snow in decades, they pick up Dean and their stuff, and then they're off to Bobby's.

Sam's never been more tired in his whole life. Dean's asleep in the back seat, looking as haggard as Sam feels. He still can't wrap his head around the fact that this is what Dean's been doing all along. "This" being doing everything Dad should have been doing, but instead pushed onto a child with other responsibilities as well.

The shifts, the extra training and hunting chores, and still not completely messing up school; Sam knows that Dean, despite his grades, is scary smart when he tries. Dean could have been top of his class and off to some classy college hadn't it been for the hunting.

That's the moment Sam's gonna remember for the rest of his life, the moment he realises how much of all this shit he can blame on his father. For not being there, for always moving around instead of settling down. For not being a father. Dean could have been living his life, carefree and healthy, instead of recovering from an illness in the back of a car.

It's John's fault.

It's winter, and they celebrate New Year's at Bobby's. Sam looks at the pale snow and sees only the skin of his bother that October morning. Dean's sleeping, resting like he should. Sam just sits on the couch and reads old books. No school to worry about yet, only some stuff to catch up on. Sam can be scary smart too, when he tries, so he doesn't bother with the school stuff yet.

For now, Sam just enjoys spending time being himself, and not being Dean. For now.

It's winter, and Sam has spent more than a month being his brother and pulling all the weight Dean's been carrying since adolescence. It scary how old he feels, how his bones creek and his skin stretches. It's scary how Sam at seventeen can feel old as time itself, when he's only been doing this shit for a couple of weeks.

Sam huddles close to his brother, up in their room. When they were small, really small, Bobby had tried giving them their separate rooms, but as either Sam or Dean, sometimes even both of them, kept sneaking into each other's room, Bobby ended up moving both beds to a slightly larger, shared room. Now Sam feels his brother's breath on his bare skin, and hears its only slightly raspy quality. Dean's asleep, and soon Sam is too.

Soon, it's not winter anymore, and the boys have moved on; moved to the next hunt and to the next school.

Dean's working again, as much as Sam and Dad allow him. Dean's a sneaky bastard though, and Sam's keeping an eye on the number of layers clothes cover his brother's body.

The more layers, the more concerned he should be. Sam learnt this in the early days of Dean's illness. More layers meant Dean had more to hide, and Dean hiding is never good.

Dean's 21 and he acts like he's invincible. Sam knows diffrently, but won't say it out loud. Dean's been by Sam's side since forever, but somehow Sam's never going to see his brother in the same light ever again.

Behind all those layers, behind that cracked grin and those swaggering steps, there's darkness lurking and it's some serious scary shit that Sam doesn't really want to know about but knows nonetheless. Dean's all manly and macho on the outside, but he's falling apart when no one's looking. It's black, it's ugly, and Sam's not sure that he and Dad are going to be enough to keep all that wrapped up and buried forever.

It's not winter anymore, and Sam's secretly looking for college already, even though he still has one year of high school left. It doesn't matter though. Sam wants out. Now. He has seen enough of all this shit, of broken brothers and bastard fathers.

Sam's grades are getting better, now that Dean's doing all the work again. Dad's gone God knows where, hunting this week's scary ass shit, leaving Sam seething and Dean moping cause he didn't get to tag along. Sam can't understand it. It's not an algebra problem that needs solving or an essay that needs dissecting.

That's easy; it's logic and reason and Sam can almost see how it woks itself out in his head. Sam can see how it unfolds around him like confetti, sees how not only everyday school dilemmas but the definitive puzzle that is his life come together and fall apart. A part of him knows that his jigsaw puzzle of life is so very different to that of his brother's or father's, so grudgingly different that Sam worries how the pieces will ever fit together.

Sam is not his father. Sam is not Dean.

When next winter comes and goes, followed by dry, cracking rain and then succeeded by ever gray summer, Sam stares down at the paper that is his salvation. It's fancy and official and beautiful and lots of things Sam has not really been a part of before. His hands are shaking when he hides the papers in the bottom of his duffle, hidden under outgrown hoodies and pants full of holes. Soon, those will be replaced by new, cheap but nice trousers and shirts in stripes.

No more boots and too thin jackets. No more nights in suspension knowing his brother gave up his own clothing, his own warmth, so that Sam wouldn't freeze.

Sam's tired.

And then he's off to his future, heart heavy with a nameless guilt but also light with freedom and endless possibilities. At first, he can't stop picturing how hurt Dean looked as the door slammed shut behind Sam, and the image haunts him in his dreams until Sam can't ignore Dean's calls any longer.

By then it's winter again and he hears the alarming rasp that is his brother's voice when Sam finally answers. Sam only allows the most briefest of words.

On the other end, he knows that Dean's tired and possibly ill, and even with years of masking it, Sam can hear through his brothers smiling lies just as he had a few years earlier. It feels like an eternity though. So, so long ago.

"Bye Dean." he says, and the illusion shatters and falls apart at the seams.

Sam doesn't dream of hurt eyes or pained whimpers after that.

Instead, he sheds his coat and finds his life once more in the books of Stanford.

That, until a window is shattered, and in come the demons.