5. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

I Wish I Was Your Brother

A/N: Although this story can stand on its own, it's actually part two to "Love Letter", the first story in this series.

Thanks again for all the reviews, alerts and favourites. You guys really make me feel special. I hope you continue to enjoy the series.

Happy New Year everyone and all the best for 2011!

- FIVE -

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

Now, I fully understand why the good Lord didn't bless me with children; he knew I would need all my strength to deal with Sam and Dean.

Their father was there to teach them to be men, good soldiers, and great hunters. But – like it or not – it was good ole, 'Uncle Bobby's' job to tend to their emotional needs. Although they'd both rather die than admit it, those two were as emotionally needy as they come, so somebody had to see to that side of things. And for as long as I could remember, that task fell to me.

John got to teach the endurance training, the straight shooting, and the weapons cleaning. Me? I got to nurse them through the tears they never admit they shed and the heartache they never admit they had. It wasn't always a pretty job but I never shrunk from it.

I guess that's why they always turned up here when their hearts needed tending. Oh they'd come with various other ailments and excuses, but nine times out of ten what needed fixing was always more emotional than physical. And rest assured, if one of those boys was getting all emotional, you'd generally find that the other one was the cause.

So when Dean appeared on my doorstep several months after Sam took off for Stanford without even so much as a kiss goodbye, I knew he wasn't there just to see me. I pretended to buy his story about needing to do some work on the Impala, and even made a show of fixing some invisible scratches on that near flawless car. Then, after a few days, I gave him Sam's letter.

"What the hell is this?" Dean asked when I passed the envelope to him one morning after he'd finished eating breakfast at my kitchen table.

"Well, from the looks of it, I'd say it's a letter from your brother."

"A letter?" Dean didn't even touch the envelope. "When did you get it?"

"I've had it for several weeks. I guess he sent it here because this is the closest thing you have to a fixed address."

"Why the hell is Sam writing to me?" Dean still wouldn't acknowledge the letter. "My number hasn't changed. If he has anything to say he can call me and talk instead of sending me a damn letter."

"Well, from what I've heard from you and your father and the kind of terms you all parted on, I think it's a good sign that Sam's communicating in any way, shape, or form."

"So you're taking his side?" Dean raised an eyebrow accusingly.

Knowing exactly how to neutralise him when he started to get unreasonable I said, "In all the years I've been going between you and your brother like some damn fraternal cupid have you ever known me to take sides?"

Dead silence.

Again, I shoved the envelope towards him.

"Now read the damn letter Dean."

"No!" he said, shoving it back. "I don't want to hear about how wonderful life is in sunny California. I don't want to hear about all the new friends he's hanging with at his fancy school and I sure as hell don't want to hear about how much he's enjoying himself now that he's finally gotten away from me and Dad."

"You think he went to Stanford to get away from you? You of all people? Dean, I would have thought you knew your brother better than that."

"I would have thought that too, Bobby. But Sammy left without even saying goodbye to me. I know he was mad as hell with Dad but for him to leave without saying goodbye to me, I think I deserve better than that."

There was so much pain in Dean's voice and my heart went out to him as it always did at times like this. As usual, he was trying to mask his hurt with rage and anger but I knew him too well to fall for that.

"You know," I said in an even-tempered, placating tone, "I had the joy of babysitting little Sam once when you and your Dad went on a hunt, and he was sick with flu and fever. You weren't gone for more than a few days but that boy cried for you. He wouldn't eat, he didn't want to take his medicine, and even when I was able to get him to take a nap he called out for you in his sleep. I knew he was never gonna get well until you were back. And when you came home you went straight to his room and he wouldn't let you leave his sight. I can still remember coming up to check on the two of you and you were asleep curled up so tight it looked like you were born together. That boy didn't run away from you Dean. If Sam felt like he needed some distance I know he had a very good reason."

"There's no good reason to walk out on your family, Bobby."

"Don't judge him until you hear what he has to say," I waved the letter in front him.

"If Sam has anything to say, he can say it to my face not in some stupid letter."

I sighed. This was going to be harder than I'd initially figured but I wasn't going to rest until Dean heard whatever his brother had to tell him.

From the time John Winchester introduced me to his two young boys, it hadn't taken me long to figure out that Sam and Dean were special. I never told anyone but myself but I considered it a privilege to have been able to see them grow up, and watch as the unique connection between them - which seemed to have been there from birth - evolved into an unshakable bond.

I'd seen that bond forged by a thousand sacrificial gestures. Like when Dean would push his plate with the last piece of meat on it towards Sam, not because he wasn't hungry, but because Dean would rather starve than know his little brother wasn't full. I'd seen that connection fortified by a million unspoken expressions of love like when Dean would play reckless and hurt himself and little Sam would cry, sometimes uncontrollably, like he was the one in pain. And as those boys grew into men, I had vowed to do whatever was in my power to safeguard that unbreakable link because, call me sentimental, I just figure that a love so deep should be preserved no matter what.

So now, I did what I had always done when one of them was being stubborn and unwilling to listen to the other's point of view. I went between them.

I opened the letter – silently praying I would be spared the humiliation of any graphic descriptions of co-ed antics – and I started reading it out loud.

"Dean," I read looking pointedly at him, "I've been meaning to call you since the day I left. In fact, I've dialled your number at least a hundred times but I keep chickening out because I don't know how I would even begin the conversation. I guess my biggest fear really is that you won't want to talk to me at all. So, I'm doing this the old fashion way because I'm afraid if I try to talk none of this will come out right. And I think I trust myself to write what I can probably never bring myself to say."

I stopped reading and looked Dean square in the face. "Does that explain why he decided to 'write a stupid letter' as you put it?"

Dean swallowed and looked down at the table before muttering, "I guess so."

Not the least bit sorry that I had him feeling ashamed for doubting his brother, I read on: "Since you're not going to be able to kick my butt or roll your eyes at me when I say this, let me start by telling you how much I miss you and Dad. You might not believe this but sometimes it feels like there's not a minute that goes by without me thinking about the two of you, you especially, to be honest. There are so many times when I find myself in situations or I'll see or overhear something, and I keep meaning to share it with you, then it dawns on me that I don't really know when I'll get the chance to share anything with you again. Every time that happens it just crushes me inside."

When I stopped again to look up at Dean his elbows were on the table, his hands had anchored his bowed head and his breathing sounded laboured.

"Sounds like he's real glad to have gotten away from you and John, doesn't it?"

"Bobby, please."

Undaunted, I continued; "Dean, I know I owe you an apology for leaving the way I did. After Dad and I had the grandmother of all fights I just didn't have the energy – physically or emotionally – to face you. My biggest fear was that if I actually had to say goodbye to your face I would never have the courage to walk away after that."

Again, I paused to address Dean but this time as I watched him rubbing his eyes and slowly shaking his head, I kept the sarcasm out of my tone.

"Do you understand now why he left the way he did?"

It seems I was managing to breach the legendary Winchester line of defence because he conceded enough to say: "He probably did the best thing for both of us. I don't know that I would have been able to stand it if I had to watch him walk away."

Satisfied that I – or rather Sam – was getting through to Dean, I went back to reading: "I was so hurt and angry when I spoke to Dad that I said things that I'll probably go to my grave regretting but most of them were true. The truth is, I don't want the life that he's mapped out for me; I want to make my own life. For the longest while I hoped and dreamed that somehow I would be able to literally escape from the destiny that he seemed to feel was set in stone. When the chance to go to Stanford came up I knew I had to take it because it was probably my only way out. The only thing that made me think long and hard about passing up the chance to go to college was the fact that I knew if I decided to go, that meant I would have to leave you. Dean, that was like asking myself which arm, which leg, or which eye I would rather do without. And separating from you has been the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life."

This time I didn't stop for Dean but for me. I couldn't read anymore. This letter was something private from one brother to another. This was between Sam and Dean.

"Dean," I all but pleaded. "This ... this is personal. This is what your brother wants to say to you. I don't think he meant for it to be an open letter read by me or anyone else. You need to read this."

Dean looked up at me pleading with his eyes.

"Bobby ... I can't. Please, just read it for me."

And at that moment, I didn't see a well-trained hunter, an angry young man, or even an adult for that matter. I saw the little boy who I'd had to tell that it was OK to cry on Mother's Day. The little boy who, in spite of my interventions, had learned to put on a brave face when he was hurt or frightened. The little boy who would only ask for help if he had no other choice.

So again, I did what I'd always done: I gave him what he needed. I read on: "Not having my big brother beside me makes me feel so incomplete that sometimes I actually wonder if I made the best decision. But deep down, I know I did because I followed my gut. I trusted myself and did what everything inside of me told me was right, which is what you always taught me to do. Dean, you raised me and you taught me to stand up for myself, to not be afraid and to not let fear control me. You taught me how to be a man. And now, if I'm ever truly going to be one then I actually have to learn to how to survive without having you to run to you."

"Why?" Dean interrupted. "Why would he ever think he needed to stop coming to me?"

He was near breaking point, I could hear it. So I kept my voice gentle. "He has to prove it to himself Dean."

"Prove what?"

"That he can survive without you and I think you also need to see that you can survive without him. Maybe some time apart is the best thing for the two of you right now."

"How can it be when I miss him so much it hurts?"

"And it sounds like he's hurting too, Dean, but somehow I think you'll both be OK in a little while."

When Dean didn't say anything immediately, I picked up the reading: "Although you've been my physical and emotional bodyguard for my entire life I think the most important thing you've tried to teach me is how to stand on my own two feet. I really need your support and your understanding now because I have to prove to myself that I've truly learnt that lesson. I have to try to become the man you've spent my entire life teaching me to be. Please give my love to Bobby. I'm mailing this to his place, since that's the only way I can be sure that you'll get it. Tell Dad that I wish him well. And please, please, please be careful. Love, Sammy."

"Sammy?" Dean looked up suddenly, his eyes were shining. "He signed it Sammy?"

"See for yourself," I said as if it was no big deal and, finally, I was able to hand over the letter.

Dean took the sheets of legal paper and scanned them for the closing line. When he saw the words in Sam's own handwriting, he closed his eyes and only one very determined tear managed to escape and roll down his face.

"From the day he turned sixteen he's been trying to get me to stop calling him that. The little ingrate sat me down and gave me a lecture about him being far too mature for that childish nickname."

"A lecture which you of course disregarded," I smiled knowingly, sensing we were turning a corner.

"Completely," Dean admitted brushing the back of his hand across his face quickly. "I told him that he's always been and always will be my Sammy."

"And knowing your brother he was probably mad as hell because that wasn't in-keeping with his new found maturity."

"He pretended to hate it," Dean smiled at the memories. "But deep down, I think he understood that what I really wanted to say was that he could be grown up to everyone else, but he's always gonna be my baby brother. And now, after everything he's done to prove he's grown up including running off to the other side of the country, he signs his name Sammy."

"Yeah," I confirmed. "So there you have it in plain black and white, your little brother still thinks you're the most important person in the world."

I think that almost pushed him over the edge so I knew I needed to pull back now and give him some room to process the letter, and all its implications. I saw from the way he was sitting there gently running his fingertips over his eyes that I needed to leave him alone for a while.

Another unspoken understanding between me and these boys was that I never called them out for tears, so they would always feel free to cry. But as they grew older, if I sensed the dam was about to break, I'd give them space.

"Will you look at the time," I said getting up from the table suddenly. "I promised Old Thelma next door I'd come over and take a look at her sink this morning. Mind if I leave you alone for a bit?"

"No," Dean shook his head. The poor boy was obviously trying to stay 'composed' and the sooner I left the better. "Go right ahead."

"Good. No way I'm gonna make it safely in and out. She's bound to try to feed me and get me to look at pictures of her grand kids, so if I'm not back by noon will you come and get me?"

"I will, Bobby," he sounded choked up as hell, so I left quickly.

I barely managed to make it into the living room before I heard a muffled sob. I was so tempted to turn back and go to Dean but I knew as long as I was there, he would keep his emotions reigned in. And right now, he needed to just let them go. He's a tough one that Dean is, but the one person that seemed to be able to move him to tears was his little brother.

I made it out to the porch and then I exhaled deeply; taking a moment to steady myself. I loved John's boys like they were my own but at some level, I must confess, I envied them. I envied them that built-in bodyguard, best friend, and guardian angel they each had that they so casually referred to as "my brother". Sometimes I wondered if even they fully understood the height and depth of what they had in each other. Sometimes I wondered if it was as clear to them as it was to me.

I started towards Thelma's place and then I turned around, and quietly let myself back into the house. I went to my living room desk and dug a notepad out of the drawer. I dropped the pad on the desk and considered leaving a pen beside it, but I didn't want to make it look too obvious.

As I went back out the door and walked over to Thelma's, I hoped with all my heart that after I left, Dean would come out of the kitchen and see the notepaper. Because right now, when his heart was heavy with emotion, was probably the best time for him to write a reply.

THE END

Thanks for reading. Keep watching this space ...