TITLE: Revelations 2

RATING: K

SUMMARY: Sequel fic to 'Caretaker'. Sam reveals a truth. Companion fic to 'Revelations.'

WORDS: 1865

NOTES: I am so very, very, very sorry. I promised this fic, I believe, some four months ago. However, I do have a solid reason: my laptop broke down. My motherboard literally blew itself up. I just recently got it back, fixed and (still kinda broken, but) ready to go. Then I had a really horrible case of writer's block where even thinking of typing something made me wanna hurl. I'm over it now, sorta, so tentatively expect frequent updates (I make no promises 'cause my exams are coming up (go figure, writer's block, perfect timing *rolls eyes*), but I will honestly try my best). I apologize for the stupidly late story, but the good thing is I have two ideas completely typed down that I think you guys will find intriguing if not enjoyable. There's a question for in the author's note below that I'd be extremely grateful if you answered. Anyway, enjoy!

Sam felt miserable. It was a state he found himself in unsettlingly frequently, and wasn't that the most depressing thing ever?

"This is getting real old, Sammy," Dean complained. "You gotta stop getting sick."

Sam huffed. "I didn't do it on purpose, Dean," he protested nasally, voice muffled even more because of the three million layers of blankets Dean had swaddled him in. Where'd he get that many blankets anyway?

Dean snorted but didn't say anything. Sam slumped into his blankets even more. Being sick sucked. A lot. And he didn't care if that made him sound like a whiny six-year-old, it was the truth. Sam watched with burning eyes as Dean pretended to read his book. He hadn't turned a page in two hours. Sam could see his eyes moving too fast to actually take in anything, not for lack of trying on Dean's part; he'd been trying his hardest but this was just a mood he got into when Sam was sick, where he couldn't concentrate on a single task that didn't directly include taking care of Sam.

Sam had stopped trying to resist after he'd upset Dean once with a teenaged outburst about how Dean was always fussing over him and smothering him and all kinds of things Sam was embarrassed just thinking about now. Dean had still taken care of him, of course, he couldn't not have, but he was tense and sad and refused to meet Sam's eyes. Sam had made it up to him afterward, when he couldn't bear the unhappy, hurt, silence, but he'd really understood the power he'd had over Dean that day and had sworn to never misuse it. Until the time to leave for Stanford came; he'd disregarded everything then. Glancing at his brother – still desperately trying to focus on his book – Sam knew that Dean was still hurting over Sam's departure, and sighed. He'd never meant to hurt anyone when he went to school. But that's all he'd ended up doing: angered his father, hurt his brother and got Jess killed. Sam's eyes filled. It seemed that was all he was good for.

Dean had meanwhile decided to give up on the book. "You okay, Sam?" The question seemed automatic, so Dean still hadn't noticed Sam's distress. That was lucky. Sam quickly reigned himself in.

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam replied with just enough fatigue in his voice to prompt Dean to tell him to go to sleep.

Sam watched as Dean sat down to write in the journal, a task he usually delegated to Sam because he loved research: it brought him comfort and reminded him of the papers he'd had to write in school – and jeez, was everything going to remind him of Stanford today? – and sighed to himself. Yeah, he reflected, settling in for a long and tiring day, being sick, really, really sucked.

Sam had managed to enter the twilight realm, watching his brother's bent over form, the comfortable sounds of pen scratching away on paper and Dean's rhythmic breathing lulling him into a doze. He managed to return to his aching body as Dean padded over to him.

"How you holdin' up, dude?" Dean asked softly, probably sensing that Sam had a headache. No one had been able to do that at school. Not even Jess. Dean rested a palm against Sam's forehead and apparently didn't like what he felt; he frowned. Nobody had cared at school before he'd met Jess. He had been a nobody, his stature acting as an effective deterrent to any socializing. He'd been alone.

"What?" Dean asked, baffled.

He hadn't meant to say it out loud. Stupid fever. Sam swallowed. "Back… back at Stanford." Sam sensed Dean stiffen, winced internally at all the pain he was dredging up for both of them. He fell silent, unnerved.

"Yeah?" Dean encouraged.

"Before Jess." Well, he'd started it, no matter how unwillingly. Might as well finish it. Sam took a deep breath to steel himself. "I fell sick. And... there wasn't anyone there, Dean." Memories of that lonely time, the loneliest Sam could ever remember being, made a lump rise in his throat and his eyes well. "I was alone and it... sucked. It was... lonely." Sam felt himself shudder but forced out the words anyway. Just a little more and it'd be done. "I... missed you," he admitted, not meeting his brother's eyes. Dean had done so much for him. Everything, in fact. "So-"

"You done, Sammy?" Dean interrupted. Sam shrunk back into himself, afraid he'd pushed too far. He hadn't been back that long with Dean, what if he'd overestimated the amount of Sam's baggage Dean was willing to put up with? Sam knew he'd hurt Dean when he'd left. The fact that he'd hoped his brother was going to come with him was a different matter. The bottom line was he'd damaged Dean's trust in him when he'd left and Dean would be well within his rights to tell Sam to keep the sharing and caring to a minimum. "I... Dean, I'm-" Maybe if he backtracked, pretended he'd intended to joke around, Dean would let it go.

"Shut up," Dean cut Sam off gently. Sam's voice shut off like his vocal chords had been severed. He could only hope Dean wouldn't be too harsh. Sam silently begged him not to make a big deal out of this.

"I know what you were gonna say," Sam's body tensed, even weak as it was.

Sam had braced himself for impact, which was why he was utterly baffled when Dean broke into a small smile and said, "Sam... you know I don't need to hear it, right?"

His confusion must have shown on his face because Dean's next words were tinted with mild exasperation. "Dude, I know. I raised you. I know all you inner-girly feelings." Of course he did. Sam knew Dean, too, so he knew what Dean really meant to say. But, naturally, Sam couldn't let him know that he knew because Dean had issues, so he frowned at him and then smiled, facing away from his brother.

"So," Sam turned to Dean again, tired – exhausted, in fact – but relaxed.

"You mind giving me a heads up next time you start hallucinating Jess, Sammy?" Dean asked, tone light. Well, that came out of nowhere. Sam wished it could have stayed there because that was something he could have lived happily without ever remembering. But Sam also saw the fear lurking at the edges of Dean's eyes and knew he'd scared his brother with his 'hallucination'. Dean was still waiting for an answer, though – and he deserved one – so Sam gave it to him, mumbled though it was.

Perhaps a little too mumbled because Dean didn't quite catch it and now Sam would have to say it again. Oh, joy. How he loved being sick. "It wasn't only Jess that I hallucinated, Dean." Sam turned away, knowing he couldn't say the next part while he could still see Dean. "I... you were there, too." Dean deserved an answer, yes, but that was all Sam could give.

After a long, tense moment of silence, Sam heard Dean shuffling things around on the table. And then, Dean's hand landed in his hair, softly ruffling the strands. He chanced a look, saw a smile and knew it was over. They were okay. His own smile – albeit small – seemed a given at that point.

"You okay?" Dean asked, affection and concern coloring his voice.

Sam couldn't have stopped his smile from widening if he'd tried. And he really hadn't. "I'm good," he affirmed. "Dean?" He had just one more thing to ask of his brother. And this Dean had every right to refuse. But if he didn't…

"Yeah?"

"Read to me?"

Dean's eyes softened. "'Course."

They were back to normal.

END

Author's note: I have never, ever had to struggle with a story as much as I've had to with this one. It just refused to be written. I grappled with this measly thing for three months. Anyway, that's not of concern. It got written – thank god – and that's what matters.

The question: Like mentioned earlier, I have two ideas written down – ideas, mind you, not stories – and I want to know which one you guys would like to read first. Since I don't want to give the whole plot away, I'm going to mention the barest details.

- The night Sam left for Stanford.

- Dean has never had to bury Sam.

...I did say they'd be the barest details. You can either leave the answer in your review/PM or you can vote in the poll I will be making for this. You could do both, but why would you want to do that? The poll will be closed on the 9th of February. Also, I hate myself for this, but you should keep in mind that whatever you choose, it will only be posted sometime during April (the second week or after). I hate it, but that's the way it has to be because I'm absolutely swamped with work throughout February and March.

Anyway, I'd love your input on which story you'd like to read and I'd really, really appreciate some feedback on how this one went (because, if I'm being honest, I really don't like this one. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I've written it in bits and pieces over the course of months, but the fact remains: I don't like it). I hope you enjoyed it and, once again, I am extremely sorry about the overextended delay.