A/N: This is another one of my prompt fics, and it's quite bittersweet. Sam and Dean, not Sam/Dean sorry Wincest shippers. Hope you enjoy x
P.S: I'm sorry "blast from the past" is taking a while, but I promise i haven't forgotten about my readers, and I'm trying my best! Pinky swear.
Fandom: Supernatural
Prompt: Tired
Dean woke up late in the night to a sound that would haunt him to his grave. He kept still, kept his breathing deep, kept up the illusion he was still asleep. He didn't want to disturb Sam, or let him know he'd woken up and caught him crying. Each sob that escaped his younger brother inflicted a stab wound in his chest, Dean felt Sam's pain as if it were his own. He knew his brother's pain was his fault, what with all he'd put him through.
He'd Dragged Sam from college and from Jessica, he'd killed Dad, he'd not been able to save Mom, Bobby, or Rufus. He'd goaded Sam into saying yes to Lucifer and introducing hell on Earth, he almost destroyed him when he'd forced his soul back into his body, tortured and wounded after its years in the Pit. He'd killed his Kitsune friend, Amy despite promising not to. He'd treated him like dirt after discovering about the demon blood addiction. He'd made Sam watch him get torn to shreds by Hell Hounds for him to live. He'd even taunted him with the starting of the apocalypse which Sam couldn't have done had HE not fallen in Hell.
How could he not be consumed by guilt? All he'd put his brother though, adding to the shitstorm that is his life. He forced him away from the last chance he'd have at a normal life with Amelia and that stupid dog. It was Dean who had done this to Sam, and now listening to his brother cry was his punishment. His personal torture that he would never be able to relieve.
He pressed his forearms to his ears to blot out the sound and tried to sleep.
Though it was fitful and broken, Dean had managed maybe an hours more sleep, but couldn't stay asleep, and was forced to stay awake until his brother had nodded off. At long last, the red LED numbers of the clock next to his bed read 8:15 am, and he sat up, watching the sleeping mound of Sam.
He'd never seen his brother look so tired. He looked old and weary, deep lines in his face, his hair overgrown and dark stubble shadowed his jaw. It looked as if he'd never smiled in his life before. Just like he'd done when he was in the asylum. That same look he'd grown used to seeing on the stranger in the mirror. That same look he'd vowed his brother should never have.
He crept out of the motel, unable to bear it, and started up the Impala.
Dean returned hours later, welcomed by the smell of old grease, cheap bacon and eggs.
"Where've you been?" Sam asked, not a shadow of the man who had cried during the night could be seen, but Sam still looked older than his few years.
"You'll see. Pack up." Dean said, stealing some toast from Sam's plate.
"What about our case?"
"To Hell with the Wendigo. Pack up."
Sam looked like he had more to say, but did as he was told.
Sioux Falls was a whole days drive away, but with a little speeding they'd make it in just over 11 hours.
When they pulled up at just past 1 am, Sam had fallen asleep against the car window, but Dean nudged him awake and told him to help him in the trunk.
He cracked it open and let his brother peer inside, at what waited him on top of the trick bottom. As it dawned on Sam and he realised what Dean had planned for him, he smiled an honest to goodness, face-splitting smile. He punched Dean's arm affectionately and grabbed the first crate of fireworks, carrying it eagerly to the middle of the field.
Dean leaned against the wind shield, sitting on the hood of the car as he watched Sam set off bunches of fireworks, whooping and grinning just as he had on the 4th of July '96, where a 13 year old Sam and a 17 year old Dean had spent the night setting off fireworks, and burned the field down.
Though Dean couldn't fix the flaws of their life, he could at least remember their past and the happy memories they shared together.