That amazing moment where the purest love you've ever known becomes sin, but you just can't stop.
That first kiss is a bit like jumping off a cliff to chase after Sam. It's stupid and suicidal, and there's bound to be a political debate about it once it's over, but it's involuntary. He's got to protect his Sammy.
And maybe the wind sweetly licking his cheeks is a little more persuasive than it should be, and perhaps the fog blurs the ground from sight so all he can see is Sammy, a speck of dust, Sammy, a golden boy against men, Sammy, his only real job in life. It's still no excuse in their father's eyes, coal dull and stony but still emitting the perfect reflection of Dean unveiled.
Stricken. Too young. Too old. Too foolish.
He was wrong for flinging himself over the edge and dragging his baby brother with him. He was mistaken for thinking Sam would ever want his life complicated like this. He knows now what he needs to do is completely separate from what he wants to do, and perhaps he should kick his ass into high gear and get his shit on the right path.
Sammy disagrees, of course. Sam's never been complacent with him, but just this once Dean had hoped something in his life could be made easier. And now Sam's eyes are brimming with angry tears, and he's hitting Dean like a punching bag shouting abuse at their father, half of which is true.
They're alone, and five minutes into Sam's exhaustive rage Dean wants nothing more than to yell at him, Shut the hell up, he knows what's best for us, you're making this harder than it needs to be, Sammy! He resists and throws his arms around him instead, letting Sam burrow his face into his collarbone and smear Dean's ratted Metallica shirt with kiddish snot.
"You're fifteen, Sam. You can live without me, can't you? You don't need me to hold your hand and shoot the creepy-crawlies under your bed, do you?"
Sam snorts around a slight hiccup, his protests quieted for the moment. He wraps his arms around Dean's waist and tucks himself further into his chest.
"Are you kidding? You'd be lost and deaf without me."
Hours later, Dean slips out of their shared motel room, fondles the key-shaped bricks tearing at his pocket, and finds willingly subjecting himself to wandering blind among the fog and ears clouted by harsh gales a better alternative than dragging Sammy further off the cliff and down into Hell with him.
A/N: Written for Sarah, who requested a fic with disapproving!John and guilty!Dean.