Disclaimer: It all belongs to WB and Eric Kripke, who don't let me own any of it. Selfish, much?
A/N: Just something I found sort of sad when I watched 5.12--so spoilers for that ep. Reviews are chocolate and warm puppies.
THE UNSPOKEN ANSWERS
By: MistWraith
They'd driven for a couple of hours after dropping Gary and Nora off at Gary's house, Dean mostly in silence, Sam dismissively discoursing on Gary's life, parents, school and "normal" in general. The music played very softly, in line with Sam's annoyed demand. Dean knew that, once, Sam would not have been so oblivious as to not notice that Dean had turned the sound down with no more than a single weary, resigned comment.
Dean had pulled in eventually to a small but neat and clean motel and had tiredly followed Sam into the room. Various parts of his body were reminding him forcefully that the demon bitch had used him pretty much like a football. He winced as he sat down on one of the twin beds in the room, sure he could hear her sneering. "You're such a wuss, Winchester!"
Sam had disappeared into the bathroom. Abruptly, he popped his head out and looked at his brother. "Hey, Dean, when did you know it wasn't me?" For a moment, his wide-eyed expression made him look like the Sammy of old, but Dean knew it wouldn't last. It never did anymore.
"Well," Dean said slowly, rubbing at his eyes, "his backing the car into a dumpster was a bit of a clue."
Sam blinked. "He backed the Impala into a dumpster and you didn't kill him?" The tone spoke of unbounded amazement.
"I didn't kill you, since that's who I thought you were at the time. Hard as it may be to believe, I try not to bump off the last living member of my family." Then he winced at the sarcasm that dripped all over the motel carpet. Way to avoid an argument, dude!
Dean ignored Sam's bitchface—not nearly the best or most potent one in Sam's arsenal—and continued speaking, "I knew something was wrong almost immediately, but I didn't think it wasn't you at first. It's not like we're hopping bodies on a regular basis, you know? And he knew things—like about the witch and the moss at her grave—that made it seem to be you. And going on about being forced to follow someone else's plan. I thought you were still you, just acting weird." He shrugged. "Wondered if it was something left over from the asylum, you know?"
He chose not to add, "There's just so much distance between us these days, Sam. And you've changed. And I've changed. Most days, I don't feel I know you anymore."
Sam gave a sort of "Okay, not impossible" waggle of his head, then he asked, "Why didn't you just ask me what the hell was wrong with me?"
"You told me, back when we were hunting that god at the wax museum, that you wanted me to back off. That I was being to—what was it?—bossy and controlling." He barely kept the anger off his face. "That I had to 'let you grow up'. So…I figured it sounded too much like an accusation, like I was prying too much. Did what you wanted and backed off." He shrugged again. "There's an upside and a downside to everything, Sammy, even being a grown-up."
He looked up at Sam, who appeared thoughtful. The head ducked back into the bathroom and Dean heard the water running, then the sound of Sam brushing his teeth. He sighed and tried to ignore the throbbing pain just about everywhere. Then Sam's voice drifted out of the bathroom.
"At some point, though, you figured out it was someone else wearing my face. How? What was the tipping point?"
Damn Sam and his refusal to ever let things go. He'd been like that from the time he was three. Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Guess it was his eating habits, Sam--you know, greasy cheeseburgers and fries—and the chatter. We went to a bar to eat; he was talking a blue streak. He liked the music, too."
Silence greeted this explanation. Maybe Sammy could hear the unspoken answer to his question, the key point that Dean would never say out loud, though part of him growled that he should, just once.
How did I know it wasn't really you, Sammy? Same way I knew it wasn't really Dad back at that cabin in Missouri. Because he seemed to like hanging around me, talking to me. Because he said something nice about me.
And where does that leave us, Sammy?
A/N: Darn, but there's so much in the boys' relationship they need to work through! Please let me know what you think.