"Dean?"
Dean glanced up. He had been studying the remains of a bottle of cheap whisky, the nearest thing he could find to decent alcohol in the off-license down the road from the latest motel in a town he couldn't remember the name of. Both he and Sam had been drinking, a novelty more for Sam than himself. Dean had, for once, fallen behind on the drinking antics that night, allowing Sam to consume the majority of the nearly empty bottle.
"Yeah?"
"Tell me what happened." Sam's eyes had glossed over slightly.
"What happened?"
"When I died."
Dean clattered his glass slightly on the table.
"C'mon Sammy..."
"What happened?"
"Don't even try it Sam"
"I have a right...right to know"
"You're drunk, Sammy."
"I have a right to know!"
Dean sprang up.
"Damn in, Sam! Can't we even drink like normal people? Can't we even do that? Give me a break"
Sam looked at the floor, still mumbling.
Dean walked to the bathroom, locking the door firmly behind him, aware that this simple action was much more difficult than it should have been. Hadn't he done everything for that kid? Hadn't he given his life for him? Did he really have to re-live the worst moment of his life?
Dean let out a shaky breath, running a hand over his face.
A knock.
"Dean?"
"Yeah" Dean turned on the tap, hoping the sound would convince Sam that he had simply used the bathroom, that nothing was wrong. "Jesus, can't I even take a piss, Sam? I'll be out in a minute."
Dean glanced at the mirror briefly before opening the door. Sam stood in the hallway, eyes once again fixed to the floor.
Dean walked past him, heading back towards the welcoming bottle.
"Drink?"
Sam nodded his reply.
"Straight?"
Another nod.
"No choice anyway. Looks like you've seen off the coke."
Sam shrugged and sat down. "You are lecturing me on drink?"
Dean raised an eyebrow, "You can't take it like I can."
"No debating that."
Dean fell back into the chair and poured two glasses, passing Sam the first one.
A silence fell between the two.
"Dean?"
Dean didn't answer.
"Dean, I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For...for what I asked you. You know. I was wrong."
Dean sighed. A slow, exhausted sigh.
"No, Sam. You were right."
Sam looked at him, "About what?"
"You have a right. A right to know."
Sam shifted in his chair. He almost regretted asking Dean the question. Hell, if he had been sober he never would have done. The truth was though that it had been eating away at him for the past month. He couldn't remember dying. Couldn't remember the breath leaving his body, who had been with him, if he had been alone. Part of him, a dark part of him, wanted to know. Know the circumstances of his death.
Dean sat opposite him and Sam knew he was going to tell everything. He felt a flutter in his stomach and found himself reaching once again for the whisky bottle. Dean made a similar movement and Sam gave him a small smile and topped up his brothers glass.
Dean let out a shuddering breath and looked at his younger brother, grateful for the now full glass in his hands, his support.
"What is the last thing you remember, Sam?"
Sam paused. He was starting to regret this conversation.
"I saw you. I heard you shouting me..." Sam's voice stumbled, alcohol and emotion stalling his words. "You... you were saying something. I felt...pain. Just...pain."
Silence. Dean had his eyes averted. Sam wondered if he was ever going to speak but when he did, Dean let it pour out of him, almost as though he had rehearsed the moment.
"I saw you. You were clutching your arm. I was just...relieved to see you. I didn't care what had happened...you would be okay. Me and Bobby would set you right. You...shouted my name. I swear to God Sam, the way you said it... it was like... like you were a kid again. Having a nightmare." Dean took a gulp from his glass and shuddered. Sam didn't say anything, knowing that interrupting Dean would only stop the story coming out. He softly nodded at Dean, encouraging his brother to continue.
"Then... then that son of a bitch came out...from...from nowhere. Stabbed you. It was so...so quick, Sam. Not like in the movies. No nonsense. He...he stabbed you."
Another re-fill. Another gulp.
"I...I caught you. You were out of it, Sam. Bobby he ran after the son of a bitch... I couldn't. I caught you. The stupid part of my brain thinking that would be enough. Enough to save you."
Dean's eyes had filled with tears. He brushed them away angrily.
"I knew... knew it was too late. I just...just had to make it okay.I had to try. Try and make it okay." Tears were falling freely down his face now. "...and then you died. You died in my arms, Sammy. I felt you go limp. Felt the life escape your body." Dean shuddered, pausing, trying to get his emotions in check. Sam wiped his own face, suddenly aware that it was wet.
"I...I hugged you to me. Screaming at you. Begging you...it was..." Dean gasped and took a gulp of air followed by whisky. "It was... the worst moment of my life."
Sam shook his head, words failing him.
"Bobby came over. He was sobbing before he even felt your pulse. He knew. Any fool would know the second the knife went into your body. He tried to take you off me. I wouldn't let him. It was like..." Dean allowed a flicker of a smile to enter his lips, "It was like I was a man possessed. I just thought as long as I was holding you I could still save you. I screamed at Bobby. Called him a bastard, told him to stay the hell away from you. He may aswell have been a demon. He grabbed my shoulders. Said he loved you too. Said his insides were tearing in two... but that we had to get away. That we had...had to get to the car."
Sam had his head in his arms.
"He tried to take you off me...I couldn't... you were still warm, Sam. Your blood was on me. So Bobby took your legs. I took your head. We carried you to the Impala. Put you in the backseat. I let Bobby drive the car. I sat in the back seat with you. I just..." Dean broke off.
"What?" Sam's voice was little more than a whisper.
"...didn't want you to be alone."
A silence filled the room. Dean wiped at his eyes, suddenly angry at Sam for making him relive the moment.
"Bobby cried the whole way. He kept telling me it would be okay. Over and over...it would be okay. I wanted to punch his lights out. Tell him that nothing was okay. Your freaking head was on my lap. You were dead. Yet he kept saying it would be okay. He pulled in at one point. He was crying so freaking hard..."My Sam, my poor little Sam"...so I started telling him it would be alright. He was mumbling away about you as a baby...about you as kid. I...I couldn't stand it. I told him to shut up. I didn't want to talk about you as a baby...as a kid... because...because you were dead. Dead. I knew then. Knew that I would do anything... to make it okay. Make you okay."
Sam rose, his legs shaky and sat next to Dean on the couch, leaning in just enough for comfort but not enough for Dean to shake him off and snap at him for displaying a 'chick moment'.
Dean, however, surprised Sam and put a hand out and brushed it through his brother's hair. His hand finally falling on Sam's neck. He allowed Sam to lean in for a minute, pretending not to notice that his brother's shoulders jerked up and down in silent sobs. Dean gently rubbed a finger up and down Sam's neck.
They stayed like that for a moment before Dean reached for his glass.
"Bloody alcohol."
Sam allowed himself a half-hearted laugh and curled up into the corner of the couch.
"Dean?"
Dean didn't answer but Sam knew he was listening.
"Don't make me go through that."
Dean paused and shook his head, knowing that his days were numbered, that Sam would, undoubtedly go through a similar situation. That Bobby would have to carry another dead Winchester. Another one of 'his boys' that he used to carry on his hips when they were small boys. He gave a shaky smile.
"We'll work it out Sammy."
Sam nodded. His drunken mind allowing himself to be convinced that Dean would sort it out.
"Sam?"
"Mmm?"
"Don't put me through that again."
"I'll try my best."
Dean watched Sam's breathing become gentle as sleep overtook him. Dean allowed himself to put a blanket over his younger brother and to gently brush the hair out of his eyes. He poured himself another glass and took comfort in the soft breathing of his little brother laying beside him.