Title: Break
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean and Sam
Rating: G
Warnings: Spoilers for season 1 and about 10 eps into season 2
Sam's on his way back to the room with two cups of the best coffee he can find. Usually they end up in such small towns or cities it's a miracle to find a coffee and donut chain, much less a Starbucks or Seattle's Best. But sometimes the local cup o' Joe or diner has fresh coffee if not the best tasting, and the two in his hands at least smell decent. He'll leave the taste testing to Dean.
He rounds the corner and pauses, not sure if he's just hearing things or – crash. No, not hearing things. He's running solely from honed instincts, coffee splashing on the ground and on his pants, but he doesn't feel the heat. He's at the door in seconds and doesn't bother with the key, just kicks it in, because it's not like an element of surprise will help him if Dean's really in a fight.
But there is no fight, which he only determines after several frantic heartbeats of looking around for an enemy that's not there, and then he's glaring at Dean. "What the hell is going on?"
Dean doesn't move, doesn't even seem to hear him or know he's there, which is even more frightening than the thought of something attacking them in their own territory.
"Dean?" He inches forward, wary without knowing why. This is his brother after all. Even if… Even if there's a shattered lamp on the floor and there's blood on Dean's hands. "Dean? What's wrong?"
"Everything." And if that's not enough to make his blood run cold, the next words are. "Dad's gone, Sam. He's gone and it's my fault and there's no bringing him back."
Damn. It was only a matter of time before this happened and Sam had really hoped it would happen sooner. It's been months already. The fact Dean's kept this inside until now and stayed sane – well, mostly sane – is astonishing. "Yeah, I know." There's not really much else to say except, "But it wasn't your fault."
"Yes, it was, Sam." Dean turns, the look in his eyes so helpless and self-condemning it makes Sam's heart stop. "My fault."
"C'mon, we've been through this. It wasn't your fault. No one's blaming you but you. He did what he did on his own terms. It was his choice to make." It's getting so hard to keep calm around Dean when he wants to play pin the blame on the Winchester boy all the time, even when he does it silently. Especially when he does it silently. At least now he's saying it aloud.
"It was a choice he shouldn't've had to make!"
"I'd make the same choice if I had to, and I know you'd do the same." There's no reason to pretend otherwise anymore – doing so is only making things worse, festering in their wounds. And God did they have a shitload of wounds.
"Don't!" Dean is on him before he can even blink, shoving him against the wall so hard he's blinking away black spots. "Don't you dare. Not now, not ever!"
"Dean." Sam's surprised how calm he is, though considering the violent and sometimes downright cruel side of Dean he'd been witness to lately, seeing Dean like this, showing true emotion rather than hiding it… It was a relief. "It's okay. I'm not going to lie and say I wouldn't if I had the chance. More likely we'll go down together. That's what you meant, right?" He stares at his brother as things slowly click into place. So many, many things. And here he is the one who'd gone to college. Fat load of good that did. "When you said you were tired of this job?" He lifts his hands and rests them on Dean's shoulders. "I'm not leaving, Dean. Come Hell or high water." And oh, how those words held so much extra weight than they did for others, for normal people. "Someone's gotta keep your suicidal ass alive."
That finally seems to get through to Dean and he blinks. "I'm not suicidal," he says, his voice sounding foggy as he steps back.
"Oh yeah? Your subconscious seems to think differently. How many times have you been on the brink of death now? Three?"
"Dammit Sammy, that's not funny. I'm not suicidal!"
"Yeah, whatever Dean. Get some rest."
Dean's silent for a few moments as they look at each other before he speaks. "Make me." There's an edge to his voice, not quite desperation, because desperation is a weakness. No, not desperation, but close.
It's enough that a few more things click into place – the way Dean always hung on Dad's every word, never questioned him except for the few times Sam actually had a point and wouldn't back down from it. Dean had been raised to obey, like a little soldier, and if Sam hadn't been sheltered from most of the things Dad and Dean hunted, he likely would have turned out the same. But he'd been given a chance, enough of one to know he wanted to go to school then college, have a normal life, because Dean was nothing if not the poster boy for Fucked Up by the age of fourteen.
So Sam moves to do just that, because Dean needs someone to be in control, to take the blame for things if they go wrong. And Dean moves too, dodging the stranglehold, because what good would it do to submit without a fight? But Sam knows they're fighting for more than life or death. They're fighting for sanity, something a whole Hell of a lot more precious, and after all his brother's done for him over the years, it's his turn to return the favor. He doesn't lose; even though Dean's the better fighter, Sam has more determination. And height, which he uses to its full advantage, until he's got Dean face-down on the bed, arms hooked behind him.
"My rules from now on, Dean. You got that? I'm the smart one, you're the pretty one, right?" Dean's reply is muffled by the pillows and Sam shifts enough to let him lift his head. "What was that?"
"I said like Hell I'm taking orders from your sissy ass."
"I'd beat you with your own arms if we didn't need them so much," Sam grumbles, but he senses when Dean relaxes and feels more than hears his brother's sigh of relief as it leaves his body. "My rules," he says again, and releases Dean's arms. "Now get some rest."
And when Dean closes his eyes, Sam's sure it's the best few hours of sleep either of them has gotten in a long, long time.