"I need you more than Stanford does."
A quivering voice. A punch to the wall. Almost hitting the rusted phone booth, almost splitting his knuckles, almost confessing. Dean Winchester ignores the pain in his right hand and tightens his grip on the phone.
"Dammit, Sammy, I..." His Adam's apple bobs, swallowing in tandem with the bereft buzzing of the dial tone slipping off the wet stones of whatever alley he's found himself in. He might as well be talking to himself, for all the good the quarters in his pocket will do. He couldn't keep Sam with him (however much his conscience was begging him to let go he couldn't help attempting to silently drag him home). He won't lure him back.
It's three in the morning, the clouds are low and distant, the static air is stifling, and Dean needs Sam so much more than Stanford does. Sam's just a little kid with a gorgeous heart to Dean, one who needs to be protected as long as possible. (Sam's just a growing man with a gorgeous body to Dean, something to be acquired and kept.)
Dean was letting go. He was finally letting go of the errant thoughts and imagined looks, abandoning the coincidental touches that made his blood sing with want and love and wrong. But he's apparently too weak to give up the one thing that made life worth surviving.
Useless sonovabitch. It's three in the morning, his shoulder aches in time with his pulse and his migraine and the air, his eyes are beaten and bloodshot, their dad's gone and he needs Sam now more than ever. His voice is as cracked as the concrete below him and the words feel like shattering glass sculptures breaching gritted teeth, but, fuck, he forces them out again and again just to spite the roll of coins followed by Sam Winchester's voicemail.
A/N: My first Wincest fic! It was actually written a few weeks ago; I'm just now posting it.