A.N. - Thanks to queen-of-the-rising-demons for this idea for my story. I think we all think that Sam secretly reads fan fiction, so I went with the idea and came up with this. This is pretty much Sam being a blubbering fanboy, and how Dean doesn't know how to handle it.

It's Just A Fanfic

Dean jolted up from a nightmare, the feel of it still lingering on his skin, and from the way his throat felt raw, he was fairly certain that he'd been screaming in his sleep again. Luckily, each of the rooms in the bunker was fully soundproof, so he'd managed to keep that secret. He didn't think Cas or Sam would care to know how regularly he had recollections of his time in Hell.

He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

4:17 A.M.

He instinctively reached for the bottle of water that he'd been keeping by his bed religiously for such occasions, to slake his parched throat…and found it empty.

Dammit. That meant he was going to have to get up.

Reluctantly, he pulled himself from the warm covers, and threw on his blue flannel robe (which was still lying on the end of his bed) over top of his gray t-shirt and black boxers. The instant his feet hit the cold, cement floor, he regretted his decision to get up, but he did so anyway.

As he wandered towards the kitchen, he wondered if Sam had even gone to bed yet. The last he'd seen of his brother had been right before bed, around eleven, glued to his computer. Sam had been on the computer since five that morning, and he hadn't left it the entire day as far as Dean could tell. His eyes were glued to the screen in an almost unnatural fashion, as if he was reading prophecy, but Dean knew that wasn't the case because he'd seen part of the website logo, a red calligraphic symbol that was supposed to be a combination of the letters a, o, and the number three.

Recently, his little brother had been on that site quite a bit, and Dean knew it was one of those (he shuddered just thinking of the word) fan fiction sites, and he blamed it on the fact that they'd had virtually no supernatural sightings of any kind for nearly four weeks, an extremely rare occurrence for them.

As he approached the kitchen, however, Dean was taken from his musings at the sound of faint crying coming from the direction of the library, where Sam had been earlier that evening.

Quickly grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he walked to the library, unscrewing the cap as he did, taking a quick sip…and nearly choking on it when he saw that Sammy still hadn't moved from his position and was now sitting in front of his computer indian style, quietly sobbing at whatever was on the screen.

He grabbed the edge of his shirt and reached up and wiped the corners of his eyes, which really didn't seem to help as they filled right back up.

"Why…? Why'd you go back to the beach?" he heard him mutter brokenly through his very unmanly sobbing.

Dean suddenly felt the need to make his presence known, so he discreetly coughed, and at the sound, Sam's eyes shot up and locked on his brother's, staring at him like he was seeing a ghost. He then wiped a hand over his eyes, rubbing at them as if trying to dry them, and gave Dean one of the most disconcerting looks he'd ever seen on his brother.

Finally, after a long moment, during which it seemed that Sam was internally debating something, he finally said, "Do…do you dig Elvis?"

Not sure how to answer, Dean shrugged.

"Uhhh…I guess? Yeah? I can dig Elvis…"

For no apparent reason, Sam started crying all over again, and looked back at his computer screen, and Dean realized that maybe it was time to get him away from it for a while. Obviously, it was doing nothing good for him if he was simply staring at it and crying.

Just as he was about to say something, Cas unexpectedly walked in.

"Why is Sam crying?"

Dean helplessly shrugged and said, "Beats me. I just wanted some water and then I came in here to find him like this." He emphasized the last part of his statement by waving a hand in his brother's general direction, and shaking his head.

Cas tilted his head in that way of his and then said, "Is something on his computer making him act this way?"

Dean snorted.

"He's been on that thing since five this morning. That's nearly twenty-four hours straight. We need to get him away from that thing like freakin' now. Care to help me, Cas?" he asked, looking at the angel, briefly noting that instead of the clothes that he usually wore around the bunker, he was wearing his suit and trench coat.

Cas shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. An angel who I thought was dead, one who was a great ally, Eremiel, has contacted me. She is wounded and I need to go to her immediately and I cannot waste any more time than I have," he said, looking Dean directly in the eye in that disconcerting habit of his that he still hadn't broken.

Dean nodded and said, "So, when will you be back?"

"I'm not sure."

Just as he was about to take off (Dean had come to recognize the signs after being around him for so long), Dean put his hand on his shoulder and said, "Don't rush on our account, okay, Cas? If she's an ally and you can trust her, then bring her back to the bunker when she's all healed up, okay?"

Castiel's gaze softened for a moment, a hint of a smile on his lips, and he nodded and replied, "Of course, Dean."

He then added, "It might be a few days, but, as you say, if she's can ally, then I'll bring her back here. You're right, after all. We need all of the allies we can get."

Sam, this entire time, hadn't said a word to either of them, and seemed to be completely ignorant of that fact that his brother and friend were having a possibly very important conversation only a few feet from him, and was still staring brokenly at his computer screen…and Dean had had enough. In a huff, he walked over and flipped the laptop closed with a firm hand and then absently tossed over his shoulder to the angel, who still hadn't left, a simple, "See you then," and, for some inexplicable reason, his brother started his unmanly sobbing all over again, wiping his arm across his eyes in a pathetic attempt to stop the tears.

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes, putting his water bottle into the pocket of his robe and then proceeded to help his brother up from the chair. He actually smelled bad, and from the way that he couldn't stand up all the way, his legs had apparently cramped from being in the same position for so long.

As he dragged his brother to his bedroom, Sammy finally seemed to get himself together, and was able to walk on his own.

Dean followed him, however, just to be sure, and as they arrived at Sam's door, his younger brother turned to him and managed to say in a rather coherent voice, "Dean…if you ever had to go somewhere with Cas on vacation…where would you go?"

Deciding to play along, he thought about it for a moment, and then randomly said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Uh, well…the beach, I guess. Why?"

And the dam was let loose once more. He stood there even after Sam slammed the door behind him, wondering what the hell he'd just done. Shaking his head, he walked back to the library and took Sam's computer off of the desk and tucked it under his arm as he went back to his room.

"Damn computers," he muttered under his breath as he put the well-worn out laptop on his barely used desk.

He glanced at it as he took off his robe and slid into bed…and then stopped. He got back up and walked over to the desk, a disturbing curiosity overcoming him. He started to gently lift the lid…and then closed it. No. Not worth it. Not after what he'd seen it do to his brother.

He got back under the covers, getting comfortable, and just before he fell asleep, he mumbled, "Stupid fan fiction…"

THE END