Chapter 6

Dean didn’t know how long it had taken him to get back to sleep after the nightmare, but he still felt tired and sluggish when he finally forced his eyes open and was greeted by the glaring sun spilling through the partially pulled blinds of his bedroom window.

He rubbed his eyes, peering over at Sam’s bed-slightly unsettled that his little brother wasn’t there. Even though Sam was a restless sleeper, he usually had to be dragged out of bed, especially on the weekends.

Images of his nightmare flooded back to him and if he hadn’t had the ache in his broken arm and the tightness in his bruised chest to remind him that it was indeed him that had fallen from the cliff, he might have panicked.

As it was a quick sense of relief washed over him when he heard footfalls in the hall and the door to their bedroom opened to reveal the object of his concern.

His remission was quickly replaced by confusion as he noticed the tray his brother was carrying. The smell of food filled the room and his stomach rumbled even as his mind tried to figure out why in the hell his little brother was serving him breakfast in bed.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Sam said with a dopey little brother grin that Dean hadn't seen in a while, before sitting the plates down on the nightstand. “I’ll be back,” He added, turning and leaving the room again.

Dean pushed himself up, resting against the headboard and glancing over to where two plates of pancakes adorned with whip cream and garnished with what looked like honest to God chocolate sprinkles sat surrounded by piles of bacon and sausage links. He blinked his eyes again and Sam was back, two glasses of orange juice in his hand and a bottle of syrup tucked under his arm.

He handed one orange juice to his brother, sat the other down, and picked up one of the plates of pancakes, before sitting the T.V. tray across his brother‘s lap. “Breakfast is served.”

“What the hell is this, Sammy?” Dean looked down at the spread before him, sitting the juice down on the tray beside of his plate.

The teen sat down on the bed, crossing his legs and propping his own plate on one knee. “What‘s it look like? It‘s your favorite breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes.”

Dean raised a brow. “You cooked this?”

Sam grinned. “No. IHOP did. Dad’s treat.”

Dean remembered the money their father had left them and didn’t want to know how his little brother had gotten clear across town and back all before, Dean glanced at the clock, nine o’clock in the morning. “Why?”

Sam shrugged, “It’s Father’s Day, remember?”

Dean looked at the food again, and then to his little brother. “Dad’s not here.”

Another shrug and Sam stuffed a fork-full of the syrup and cream covered cakes into his mouth as he simultaneously reached over to the nightstand and withdrew something from its one drawer. “Here,” he mumbled around the food, handing the newspaper wrapped gift to his brother. “I got you something.”

Dean’s frown deepened as he took the package. “Why?”

Sam rolled his eyes dramatically, biting in to a piece of bacon. “Father’s Day,” he said as if he had explained everything a hundred times over and Dean was still completely clueless.

“I’m not Dad, Sammy.”

“Thank God,” Sam muttered, around a sausage link this time. “His favorite breakfast is catfish and runny eggs.” The fifteen year-old made a face.

Dean shook his head, at the weirdness of it all, staring at the gift for a moment, before finally unwrapping it. When he tore the last of the paper away, a shiny brass object fell into the palm of his injured hand, and he carefully closed his fingers around it. “What’s this?”

Sam looked at him. “A compass.”

Dean’s brows drew together as he took the gift in his other hand, using his thumb to flip up the facing. “It’s engraved,” Sam told him, pointing his fork towards the fancy writing swirling across the inside.

“True North,” Dean read the inscription. “So you always know where you are, and where home is.”

When Dean looked at him again, Sam put his fork down and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “I saw it at that pawn shop, and started thinking about what you said about Dad providing us a home.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “So you got this for him?”

Sam quickly shook his head. “No. I got it for you. Dad may pay the rent Dean, but he’s never provided me with a home.” In Sam’s mind the man was like Magnetic North-always fluctuating-unpredictable- likely to shift at any moment.

Dean looked a little confused and started to open his mouth but Sam rushed on before he could deny the words that they both knew were true. “You gave me a home, Dean. And a lot more.” The fifteen-year-old bit his lip before continuing. “I know how important all this family stuff was to Mom…and how important it is to you.”

“Sam…” Dean tried again, shaking his head slightly.

“It is. And I know that your favorite breakfast in bed and a present doesn’t begin to cover all the stuff you’ve done for me, but I just want you to know I appreciate it. You’re always there for me, and I don’t always get why you think the family stuff is so important-especially the way you feel about Dad, but I want you to know that I’m always here for you, too. That will never change. Just like True North. You’ll always know where to find me-where to find home-even if it‘s not at an intersection of longitude and latitude on a map. Even if it‘s not somewhere you can reach by following a compass.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Dean finally nodded, the words he really wanted to say escaping him. “We don’t have to hug or anything now, do we?”

Sam shook his head, the same serious look still on his face. “God no.”

Dean looked down at the compass and back to his baby brother, before cracking a slight smile, “Then…thanks, bitch.”

“You’re welcome, jerk.”

Dean held up the compass. “So, does this thing really work?”

Sam shrugged, stuffing more pancakes in his mouth. “Better than that crap lighter we got Dad.”

Dean laughed, picked up his glass of orange juice and held it up in the air. “To Father‘s Day.”

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