Author's Note: So, I'm sorry for the delay, but Adam Winchester has a lot to say… I took a few of the moments that I deemed important in Adam's life from the previous chapters, just to cast them in a different light. Dean will be focussing on other moments in the fic in the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Adam was a Winchester. That was the first thing he remembered knowing with absolute certainty. He was a Winchester and he belonged with Sam, Dean and Dad. Sure, on a rational level he knew that his mother hadn't been the same as Sam and Dean's, but it didn't seem to matter. Not to his brothers at least.

All Adam's oldest memories had Sam in them, often with Dean explaining what was going on and with Dad… Well, usually without Dad actually. But that was fine. Who needed a father if you had two older brothers taking care of you?

Those young years were painted in a myriad of strange-coloured motel walls in dim-lit rooms where he sat, protected, between his brothers watching TV. There was also streaming sunlight as he played soccer on concrete or a starry night sky spent in the back of the Impala giggling with Sam as Dean sat turned in his front seat to join the conversation.

As time went on and memories grew clearer, Dean disappeared in the background. He was the protector at the door. Dean was the brother with the one-liners and the cocky wink. "You'll never have to be afraid of anything as long as Sam and me are around." and "Watch out for, Adam, huh little bro?". He was also softer, Sam pointed out one night. Adam knew that, too.

Dean wasn't just the fierce block of cement that protected them, he was sloppy smiles and diner food. He was hiya little bro's when he came home. He was hugs and obnoxious laughter. He was the soft hand at their brow as he declared 'no chick-flick moments'. Whatever those were.

Sam was all that and none of that. Sam was raised eyebrows and sarcastic remarks, the polite brother who could kick your ass six ways to Sunday if you didn't watch out. Sam talked about being healthy and normal as he cleaned guns to the smell of mac'n'cheese. Sam was stubborn fights with Dad, and that intense look as he listened to what others had to say. "You don't have to do everything Dad tells you to, you know." and "Wanna talk about it?"

Sam was one big contradiction, he was the stuffy smell of books and aggressive scratching of a pen as he wrote up research. He was vicious anger, worn like a medal on his sleeve, but he was also the stoic calm when the entire world fell apart. He was rational logic and overt emotion. He was the one who always talked about leaving, but he was always there.

For the first eight years of Adam's life, he'd been kept in the dark as to what his family did for a living. Or, for a living was a big term; hunting wasn't exactly a paying job. At a certain point, though, it was felt necessary to christen him into the family business.

It was right after Sam stitched up Dean for the first time that Adam was told. It was a first time for him too, after all. It was the first time that he'd seen all the blood, that he'd stood in the room looking on without Sam's arm around his shoulder. Without Sam to turn him around when things turned gory. Dean often referred to it as 'Adam-duty', and up until the moment that Sam was no longer doing it, Adam hadn't realised quite how much he'd been shielded.

Usually when either Dad or Dean walked in wounded, Sam would steer Adam to the kitchen or the bathroom. There would be whispers of "Close your eyes." Or "Don't look around, okay?" and Sam would grab the medical kit as Adam closed his eyes until his brother came back. It was not until the firm hand on his shoulder was gone and Sam's usually stoic voice had gone shaky that Adam realised how much he needed it. After the first shaky stitch that Sam pulled, Adam threw his hands over his own teary eyes.

It was all wrong. Dean was strong and energetic, not the empty, silent shell that lay on the bed. Sam was steady and calm, not the shaky, panicked mess that almost failed to thread a needle. Adam closed his eyes tighter behind his hands, tears welling through them and sobs racking his frame. He didn't stop sobbing until he felt the weight of Sam's eyes on him.

Looking through his fingers, Adam saw Sam moving towards him only to stop when he looked at his hands. The sheer broken terror in his eyes wasn't something that Adam had ever thought he'd see in his big brother. Suddenly Dad was speaking and Adam looked at his father for the first time since he entered the room.

"You did good, kid." Yeah. Sam had done good, right? And Adam, too. He hoped so at least. Sam still didn't say anything or make any attempt to move, and Dad added, "How 'bout you get Adam to bed. I'll keep an eye on Dean tonight."

Adam jerked up when he heard his name. He saw that the words had finally stirred motion into his brother as well. Sam approached him slowly, the way someone would approach a scared and wounded animal. Like he was trying not to scare Adam, which was ridiculous. Adam could never be afraid of Sam.

"You hear what Dad said? Let's get you to bed." Sam appeased softly.

Adam felt tears filling his eyes again, and he let Sam wipe them from his face. He blinked a few times in an attempt to keep the water in his eyes. He needed to be strong, like Winchesters were supposed to be. Dean was really hurt and Sam had stitched him up and neither of them were crying. He was supposed to be making them feel better, not the other way around.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Adam asked with a small voice. He let his eyes flit to Dean's still form. Big, strong Dean. Sam didn't answer.

Dad did. He was using that voice he only used on Adam, soft and protective, "Dean'll be fine. Sam fixed him up."

Adam narrowed his eyes, appraising his father, wondering if he'd been told the truth. There didn't seem to be a lie in his eyes though. Just sadness. Or something. So Adam turned his gaze back to Sam. Because Sam would know what to do now.

Sam gave a wobbly smile and took Adam to brush his teeth. Sam scrubbed at his hands until they turned red and Adam waited just as long to leave the bathroom. When Sam was finally done, they slinked towards the bed to sleep. Adam was turned towards Dean, looking at his still form as Sam snuggled close from behind, probably looking over his head at Dean, too.

Sam's arm was slung over his shoulder. And if his hug was tighter than usual, Adam didn't say anything about it.


It was three weeks after Adam first saw the gory parts of their life that he was told about their lives. About hunting. About everything that hid in the dark and preyed on kids like him. It scared him, blew ice into his veins and stilled his body as he retreated somewhere far into his mind. For two days he didn't speak, living in a dream state. Life passed by, he ate and slept and went to school but it was all background to the cacophony in his mind.

Monsters existed. His family had managed to keep it from him for years. He had trusted them and they'd lied to him all this time. That scared him almost as much as the monsters did, because maybe he didn't even really know his family. Maybe they would suddenly be as different as the world was now.

Then Adam saw them sitting at the motel-room table, eying each other in one of those silent conversations that only he had any chance of understanding. Dean's hands were smoothly running over his Glock with an oily rag as he cocked his head slightly to the side. Sam was looking up from a thick and musty book, fingers still feeling the raised lines of the ink even if he was no longer reading the words they spelled. He answered with a raised eyebrow.

And it was so Sam and Dean, that Adam dared to hope that things hadn't changed quite as much as he had feared.

Adam sat opposite them, eyes roaming the table. When he looked up again, he was met with his brothers' curious stares. It took a while for him to re-find the words he had neglected over the past few days, but when he did, his brothers were listening intently.

"The monsters, they can be killed, right?" he asked, voice hoarse with lack of use.

Sam's lips twitched into a smile as his eyes flitted to the pages of his ancient book. Adam thought it was probably filled with lore on monsters that, rationally, did not exist.

"Yes." Sam said, in his clear and steady voice. "They can be killed."

"And you know how?" was the second question Adam asked his brothers.

This time, Dean replied, pushing two parts of his pistol back together with a resounding click. Adam wondered what monsters could be killed with the bullets of that gun.

"We'll kill any monster that ever tries to touch you." Dean said lowly. The promise was echoed in Sam's eyes as he looked between them.

Adam nodded once. Just like that, his fears had been dispersed. He should have known really, because his brothers would never let something happen to him and that was the same as things had always been. Adam breathed out, then smiled at his brothers.

"Awesome." He said and Sam and Dean smiled, too. Dad stepped in just in time to hear Adam speak, and the worried frown that had marred his face for two days disappeared like snow in the sun. He busied himself with groceries while he muttered about a hunt two towns over.

Years later, when Adam's mind ran through his childhood memories, this would be one of the clearest. Clearer than the day that Dean stumbled in, bleeding. Clearer than the day his father sat on his bed and told him the truth about the world.

This was Adam's childhood. Dean with his weapons, Sam with his books, Dad talking of a hunt and Adam basking in the promise of safety that this family offered.

Years later, when a mine-shaft gave way under Adam's feet and he fell so deep into the ground that he wondered if he'd ever get out, he thought back to that peaceful moment around the motel room table. Sam and Dean were both lunging forward. Sam, who had been closer and had one of those extendable arms, managed to clench hard fingers around Adam's arm. It didn't help, because the ground wasn't any steadier Sam's feet, and they both crashed.

Adam thought of Dean's words as he fell. We'll kill any monster that ever tries to touch you. It only occurred to him now that this wasn't a promise that nothing would ever hurt him. It was a promise for a revenge, for as much protection as the two older Winchester brothers could give.

Apparently, that protection did not include faulty mine-shafts.

"Hey, Adam." A hoarse whisper cut through the dark of Adam's mind. Adam wondered when exactly he'd closed his eyes. Then pain stabbed through his entire body and he decided he probably didn't want to know. Instead, he delved deeper into the dark. The cool, blissful dark.

"Adam, are you awake?" There was that voice again. Adam recognised it this time. Sam. Sam. And it was probably bad that he was glad that Sam was down here with him, but he couldn't help it. With the fire burning through his arm and chest, he really needed the comfort.

There was a touch to his shoulder and it hurt. He flinched away from the touch, turning his head to look in Sam's direction. His eyes were open now, and it was still dark but at least he could see something. At least he could see the outline of his big brother, steady as ever. Adam's lungs decided not to work and it was only Sam's hand on his neck that grounded him.

"Adam, you need to breathe." Sam said, louder now, and Adam couldn't help thinking oh really, Sam, you think. But Sam was looking Adam in the eyes like only he could, so Adam listened as he spoke again, "In through your nose, out through your mouth, alright?"

In. Out. In. Out.

The air whistled in and out and there was no air and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt like hell. It helped clear his head after a while, though. With Sam whispering in his ear just breathe, you'll be fine, we'll get out of here, ssssh. Mostly he whispered these two words: You're okay.

"I'm okay." Adam said, shooting Sam a smile.

Sam obviously didn't believe a word of that, despite telling Adam the same only seconds ago. His eyebrows rose in his characteristic 'bitch-face'. Dean's description of that face was, as always, head on. Sam's lip twitched and he murmured a sardonic reply.

"Sure, you're as healthy as a horse." Then Sam looked up, as if he could will them out by staring at where they'd fallen. Considering the guy's stubbornness, Adam thought he might actually manage it. Then Sam was looking down again. At Adam. More specifically, at Adam's arm. The arm that he was very firmly trying to ignore, because it hurt so much that it felt like it was falling off. Or something.

"I just need to stop bleeding on your arm." Sam said as he reached out to said arm.

Adam almost flinched away, but he forced himself to stay steady, to let Sam save his life. Then Sam was ripping off part of his sleeve and pressing it against the wound and it felt like his arm was being set on fire. White spots danced in his vision and the world spun and spun. Someone screamed, and Adam realised only when he was falling into an abyss of dark bliss, that it was him.

The next time Adam came to, he shot up in panic. Because he remembered falling. He remembered Sam being there, but he couldn't feel Sam's hand on him and he didn't know where Dean was and… Air didn't come. Adam coughed up half a lung before he felt Sam's hand on his shoulder again. Right where it should be. He leaned into it, needing the comfort through the pain.

"You okay?" Sam asked evenly. Adam knew the answer to that. He was a Winchester after all, and Winchesters were always okay. Dad and Dean never admitted to pain, and Sam admitted to it so clinically that no one took him seriously until he was bleeding out on the bathroom floor. Yeah, this was the Winchester way, steady and sarcastic to their dying breath.

God, Adam hoped he wasn't dying. He nodded, anyway.

"No you're not." Sam sighed, then with something like pain in his voice, "Don't lie to me."

"If you know the answer, then why are you asking?" Adam snapped, pain chafing his nerves. Then his lungs rebelled again and he felt Sam's hand tighten around his shoulder. It felt like his own ribs were stabbing him in the lungs. And maybe they were…

"'Cause I'm annoying like that." Sam's voice came when the worst coughing was over, soothing with an obviously forced smile, "Now you should probably stop talking before you tire yourself out."

Adam almost smiled and let himself be engulfed in silence for a few minutes. Sam was good at silence, he could sit in it for hours. Neither Dean nor himself could handle it even half as well. So, after a while, Adam found himself talking again.

"How do you do this? How do you stay level-headed when shi-" Adam wheezed, then corrected his language as if it made a difference, "Crap hits the fan?"

Because Sam was steady as ever. Steady hands, steady voice. His breathing was calm and his voice was soothing. It was almost like, despite the world (quite literally) crashing down around them, Sam was completely in control. Dean was good with the control thing, too, but his control came out in either anger or humour. Not in calm, like Sam's did.

Sam laughed and it sounded a bit maniacal. Then he said, "I just breathe through it, man. I just breathe."

Adam nodded almost thoughtfully, brow knitting together in concentration as he tried to steady his breathing and calm down. If that was the trick, then he might be able to do it, too. Then maybe, he could stay as calm as Sam.

"Man," Sam whined through Adam's breathing exercises, "If I had known Dad and Dean would take this long, I would have brought a book."

Adam snorted. He knew this game. Sam and him used to play this in a car, back before either of them went along on hunts. They'd be seated safely behind the wards in some creepy forest or warehouse complex and Sam would think of all kinds of ways to kill the time. He liked to read to Adam, though he could never do the voices quite like Dean did them. Still, Adam would listen breathlessly, because Sam read with a kind of reverence that made everyone want to listen to what he had to say.

"Or a TV." Adam said.

This game had been his favourite though, an endless test of the imagination as to what they could bring in to kill the time. And eventually, things would get really weird. Like dragons, castles, or – one memorable time – a spare toilet seat. Adam missed this sometimes, the easy games and the easy relationship with Sam. Things had gotten more difficult over the last few years. Sam was away at school more, and Adam had found his relationship with Dean strengthening. They were a lot alike and, like Dean, he found himself wondering why his older brother was always so critical of Dad. Didn't he listen to Dean when their oldest brother said Dad was just doing his best? Couldn't he stop continuously looking for a fight? Looking for a way out?

Because Adam knew Sam was trying to leave, to escape. He hinted at it sometimes, but Adam really wished he didn't. He didn't want Sam to leave. He needed Sam, even if his brother did not need him.

"A snack, maybe." Sam continued, smiling slightly.

"The entire kitchen." Adam whispered, and he could see Sam grin. He wanted to make this last.

After a while, Adam no longer had the breath to speak. Time passed in a haze of pain and laboured breaths as the world seemed to grow darker and darker. Eventually, it was only Sam's voice that he could still register over the pain.

"And Dad, mean hunter Dad, walked around with pink underwear for weeks…."

It was the rumble of Sam's voice that carried Adam into the blissful, painless dark.

The first time Adam saw light again after that, it was the bright white of a hospital room. Dad was there first, so much relief in his face that Adam almost thought he was dreaming it. How bad had it been for Dad to look like that? Then the man's calloused hands ran through his hair, and he stopped worrying all together.

Dean's green eyes hovered over him restlessly and Adam soon found himself engulfed in Dean's very manly hug as he was told how much everyone had worried over him. He grinned, waiting for his older brother to tell the story of what had happened. Dean always told the best stories.

"Dude, you looked like Casper down there, you were so pale!" Dean joked off his worry, "If Sam hadn't told me it was you, I would have gone back up to grab some salt…"

At those words, Adam looked over at Sam, who was propped up in a wheelchair with his leg locked in a pristine white cast. It made his heart jolt, because he hadn't even realised Sam was hurt, the older brother had given no indication of it whatsoever. He was staring at Adam and Dean pensively and Adam realised that he was doing that a lot, lately. Staring and thinking.

Losing focus of Dean's story, Adam wondered for a second if maybe Sam was jealous because he and Dean were getting closer… Though really? That didn't seem a lot like Sam. Maybe it was just because he didn't have Adam to talk to so much anymore.

Adam vowed to talk to Sam more after that day. But when Dean pulled him back into the conversation with a heartfelt 'and congrats and your new scar, little bro!', Adam forgot all about it.


Until the ghouls came, Adam had never known the thirst for revenge. Anger, sure. Desperation, sorrow, everything that came with never having known your own mother. But never had he felt the bone-deep need to avenge her death.

Partly, he knew, this was because he had never known her. The other part was that he had thought the ghouls who had killed his mother to be dead. That's what Dad had always said, at least.

As four monsters broke into their room and the scariest one started up a monologue (Dean said that monsters were a lot like Bond-villains in that way) Adam realised who they were and he started wondering. Had Dad lied all these years? Had he cared so little about Kathy Milligan that he had been willing to overlook her death in favour of revenge on Mary Winchester's killer?

It was no secret that Mary was more sacred than Kathy ever would be. Sam said it was because Mary was barely considered to be a mother anymore. She was more like a saint, or a martyr, according to Sam.

"I think Dad's been down this road for so long, that he doesn't know how to get back. And he did love your Mom, you know. I remember he cried for days after she died. That was good, the way he grieved your mother. Alcohol, tears and love for her kid…. That's much healthier than a bloody obsession, Adam." Sam had said one particular November 2nd. He was smart like that.

The way Dad lunged at the intruder, though… The way he spat out curses… The constricted you, you bastard had Adam thinking that Dad had probably told the truth all along.

Then one of the creatures lunged at Dad while another lunged at Adam. Dean, true to his form, jumped in front of Adam at the last moment, taking a blow to the head that had him falling like a brick. Adam was next. He tried to defend himself, tried to fight off the ghoul that was taking him down, but it was to no avail. Soon his head was bouncing off the back wall, and he was slipping into unconsciousness.

At least Sam was safe.

Adam came to to the lilting voice of one of the ghouls that had captured them. He seemed to be the leader, the 'head ghoul'. Softly tugging at the bonds that kept him against the wall, he let his eyes roam over the room. They fell on Dad first, tied to a post across from them, staring down the monster with a gaze that would have laid the ghoul flat on the ground if looks could have killed. Dean was beside Adam, also trussed up. Still unconscious, too. That was barely a surprise, with the blood congealing around his temple.

It still scared Adam, though. Because Dad was too far away to talk to, Dean was unable to answer and Sam wasn't even here… He kicked out to Dean's errant foot, the one closest to Adam.

"Dean!" he hissed. Dean, obedient as ever, opened his eyes with a wince.

"Adam?" he croaked, turning to look at his brother and Adam had never felt so much relief in his life. Not since the last time one of them woke up in the hospital, at least. Adam nodded enthusiastically.

"I'm so impatient to get started on you and your boys, Winchester." The ghoul sneered, and Dad's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the monster's threat. Dean snorted, muttering something under his breath that had Adam straining to hear.

"But before I start on you, I need our missing piece… Winchester numero quatro…" the ghoul drawled. Dean's head snapped up at that, and Adam felt his own doing the same. The ghoul continued, "Don't worry, you'll be reunited with him in no time."

"You stay the fuck away from him you fucking bastard!" Dean yelled, tearing at his ropes. Dad, too, was pulling at his, dark eyes boring into the ghoul. Adam felt his mouth run dry. He'd thought that at least Sam was safe.

Except he wasn't.

After what felt like days in the dark, with only some scraps and sips of water fed to them every once in a while, the 'head ghoul' sauntered in again. One of his followers was dragging a human body across the ground and Adam felt his heart clench.

He recognised it, as did Dean, judging from the tensing of the man's shoulders. It was Sam, unconscious, with blood at his temple. Their brother was completely pliant as he was trussed up between them, his head lying limp against the wall behind them.

This wasn't an accident, Adam knew. Like no other, Sam knew how to hide, how to stay out of danger. He'd hidden from Dad and Dean for two entire weeks, which was pretty much a record for anything but the demon that had killed Mary Winchester. So, Sam being here, meant that he had let himself be taken. And Adam really hoped that meant there was a plan.

After that everything went so fast, that Adam barely had time to think. First the ghoul started talking about his mother's death, and Adam felt a great monster of anger rearing out of his chest. He yelled things, screamed things. The image that he'd manufactured of his mother through the pictures he'd been given by Dad morphed into a horror scene. Blood and fire and death and he couldn't even think straight anymore.

Then the creature had said he needed Adam to die. Poetic justice. Only, Sam and Dean seemed to think differently, both offering themselves up on a platter like they meant nothing. Like they were the ones meant to die. And Sam… He was so convincing.

Adam wondered for years after how Sam had known what to say. How he'd known what happened. He remembered the surprise on Dean's face as Sam started speaking, the suspicion in Dad's eyes. By all means, Sam wasn't supposed to know what had happened to Kathy Milligan. Hell, Adam didn't even know and he'd been there. Adam never had the guts to ask Sam, because he wasn't sure he even wanted to know the answer.

It didn't matter though, because the ghoul believed it and he dragged Sam away to an altar that Adam hadn't even noticed was there. Sam was tied to it, and he could hear himself yelling at the ghouls to stop, to take him, because he was the one they were looking for. It didn't make a difference.

The leading ghoul, the one that had killed Adam's mother, brought a scalpel down to Sam's neck. Blood flowed from a slice and Adam felt what little food he'd had over the past few days roil in his stomach as the ghoul leaned down and licked it up.

"Mmmmh." The ghoul murmured, "The taste of Winchester."

Dad lost it. Completely. He was throwing himself against his bonds and screaming profanity so foul, that it would have had a sailor wincing. Dean was pulling at the bonds, too, tears streaming down his face. It occurred to Adam that he didn't think he'd ever seen Dean cry. Not before today at least.

"Take me! Please take me! Leave him alone!" Dean was yelling at the ghouls, then he yelled at Sam, voice breaking halfway, "Hold on, Sammy… Im'ma get you out! Just hold on…"

Those were the exact words that were echoing in Adam's head, but he didn't dare say them. He'd seen the look Sam gave him. Don't get yourself killed, or I'll come back and haunt you. It wouldn't make a difference anyway. The ghoul was going to kill all of them in the end, no matter what.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt. Because this ghoul had taken Adam's mother from him, had stolen any semblance of a normal life even before he could even start craving it. Before he could even know he had a brother who craved it.

And now this ghoul was going to take that brother, too.

"Sam!" Adam felt the sob rip from his throat, his brother's name tearing through his tears, "Sam…"

It seemed like hours before the doors to the warehouse opened and Bobby Singer came strutting in with three hunters at this back. Adam recognised Rufus' grumpy scowl, Caleb's determinedly tight jaw and Pastor Jim's gangly steps as they rounded on the ghouls.

One look at the altar, and Bobby's face morphed into a look of horrified guilt. The leader had his hand running through Sam's hair, bloodstained lips murmuring an assent to how good Sam's blood tasted. Another was dissecting Sam like he was a frog in a biology class, scalpel cutting through muscles and flesh in the stomach.

That ghoul didn't even have time to look up from what she was doing, before her head was flying off her shoulders in a spray of blood. The others barely had time to defend themselves against flying machetes and shotguns, but Adam wasn't watching that unfold. He saw only the way that Bobby walked to Sam, hand palming his pale face.

Over the ghouls death screams, Adam could hear Bobby's soft words, "Sam. Wake up boy."

Stubborn as ever, Sam didn't.


The few memories Adam had of after Sam closed his eyes on the altar, were feelings more than images. Feelings of pain and hunger. Worry, sorrow, fear. Exhilaration when Sam opened his eyes, and awe when Bobby threatened Dad off the Salvage Yard with a loaded shotgun. A feeling of being at home as they rounded the Impala with Sam's wheelchair.

The first clear memory he really had after he incident, was when they were riding in the Impala, ten miles from the hospital and a month after Sam was almost eaten alive. In was spring, trees were regaining their leaves, flowers were blooming, shedding winter from their spindly stems. Everything was regaining colour in the afternoon sun, even Dad's black truck, following them over the dusty road, seemed more colourful. The sign telling them they had exited Sioux Falls flew past them so fast that Adam barely had time to realise they might not be returning here. Not after Dad and Bobby's fight.

He was still happy though. Happy that they had made it through this, had beaten the thing that had been trying to destroy Adam's family since he was only a year old. And they had come out unscathed. Well, Adam thought as he eyed Sam's hunched form, almost unscathed.

"You know, we're blood-brothers by birth and I think with that bond, we can destroy anything that comes our way and tries to tear us apart." Adam suddenly said, because wow, that sentence had formed so nicely in his head that he needed to share it.

It was absolutely quiet for a few seconds. Just the rumble of the engine and the rolling of the wheels cutting through the silence.

Then Dean said with a laugh, "Aren't you a poetic little shit?"

Sam raised his eyebrows accordingly, a smirk turning the corners of his mouth.

Adam rolled his eyes (and wondered when he'd taken over that habit from Sam), as he said, "You can blame Sam and all the Dr. Seuss books he used to read me."

Sam chuckled in that way he did when he pretended to be offended by something, "Don't even pretend you didn't like those stories, dude. You know you loved green eggs and ham."

Adam grinned, he'd never tell anyone how he loved the way Sam said Sam-I-am. Leaning back against the back seat of the Impala, he hoped his life would be like this forever. Revenge on the thing that had killed his Mom, two brothers at his side, a father at his back and the best ride in the universe eating asphalt under him. This was truly life as a Winchester.

A month later, Sam left for Stanford.

He was Adam's big brother. He had always been there. And now he was leaving. As the door slammed on his older brother's back and Dean pulled him close enough to bruise, Adam wondered how this family would ever survive without Sam.

If this family would ever survive without Sam.

Dean's POV up next...