The Impala purred under Dean's expert fingers, she was running better now than she had when he came back from the grave. Sammy had tried to keep her running in perfect condition, but even he admitted that the Impala wouldn't succumb to his ministrations. Sam said that it seemed like the car didn't want to run without her owner behind her wheel. Dean had laughed that off, but secretly he was pleased that something cared about the fact that he had been away.
The evidence of Bobby's drinking binge had been all over Bobby's house when Dean had come back from the dead, bottles empty, some with just a drop or two still in them littered his house. Dean even found empty bottles in the bathroom when he went to clean up and change his clothes. Even with all of that evidence that the last couple of months had been difficult for Bobby, Dean had a difficult time believing that it had anything to do with his death. Then when he returned to Sam, received the hug that he had so desperately needed to give and to receive, Sam acted like it was no big deal that he was back, like he had been expecting it, and that he hadn't missed his brother for the last four months. It still felt, at least to Dean, like both Sam and Bobby had been all right with his passing, they were able to move on, to make a life without him. Yet, when Sam died, Dean had barely been able to breathe much less move on without him. It made Dean feel a little expendable. So, it was nice, that his car at least protested his absence.
They were on their way to Arkansas; they just finished a job in Colorado and were passing through Kansas when Sam asked if they could stop by and see their mother before they went on through. Dean relented, still not sure why Sam wanted to see a mother who had all but sold him out for their father, a mother who let her son be tainted with demon blood. Dean had told Sam everything he could remember about the time he spent with his mother, while she was young, a hunter, and so in love with their father that she had made a deal, for something she knew not what, and after their fight, after Sam telling him that he felt dirty, that he had demon blood, and he could never rip it out or scrub it clean, made Dean wonder how Sam could ever speak their mother's name again without pain, spite, and just a little bit of hate. Because, after all, if it hadn't been for her making that deal, Sam would be normal, Joe college, and he wouldn't have to feel like such a freak.
Dean chastised himself for that. Because, really, it wasn't their mother's fault. It was his. He was the one who hadn't been able to kill the demon, hadn't been able to save their father AGAIN, and he was the one responsible for Sam's freakdom. Maybe that was the real reason Sam had a hard time looking at him, maybe that was the real reason that Sam snapped at him more so now than he had, and maybe now that was the reason Sam spoke less, and was harder towards him. Dean sighed inwardly as he watched his brother walk to their mother's grave, kneel before it, clear away some of the dead foliage, and begin to speak. Dean couldn't make out what he said, he turned away, unable to watch his brother converse with their mother, unable to watch him speak so freely to her, when he spoke so unwillingly to him.
A thought occurred to him as he tried to not watch his brother by the gravesite, had Sam actually gone to his grave, cleared away the debris and spoke to him? Had anyone visited his grave? He shook that thought out of his head. Of course they hadn't. Why would they? They knew where his soul was. No reason really, for them to even contemplate talking to a cross made out of wood. No point. He shook the thought out of his head, or at least tried to as Sam made it back to the car and took his rightful place in the passenger's seat.
"You good?" Dean asked casually.
"Fine." He said simply. Typical as of late, these one word answers, and Dean hated them, loathed that he caused them in his brother, wondered, again, it was a good thing that he was back amongst the living.
They drove a couple more hours and Dean found that question popping back up and no matter what he did to try to suppress it, it simply wouldn't go away.
"Sam?" his mouth started before his brain had a second to realize what it was doing. Sam turned to face his brother.
"Hmm?" he questioned. Dean felt his body go ram rod straight. He couldn't ask this question. He didn't want to venture into the dreaded chick flick moment. He especially didn't want to be the initiator of said chick flick moment.
"Nothin'." Dean said and shook his head.
"What?" Sam asked.
"Forget it."
"You were going to say something."
"I changed my mind okay?"
"Fine. Whatever." Sam's words had bite to them. A lot of what Sam said lately had bite to it. It frustrated Dean, scared him.
The two sat in silence for a few moments more, the tension so thick that it would take a machete to cut it. Dean simply couldn't take it anymore.
"Did you visit my grave?"
"What?"
"Did you, you know, do what you did with Mom? Did you go see me?"
"You weren't there Dean."
"Mom wasn't there either."
"It's different."
"So that's a no." Dean said and nodded. He was right. No one had come to visit his grave. It had been easier to move on than he thought. There was that silence again.
Sam watched his brother, and knew, without a doubt, that Dean figured that he hadn't missed him while he had been away. Away. What a load of bull shit. They always referred to Dean's time away like they had taken separate vacations. What a crock. That had been the most painful excruciating time of his life. Dean dying was like having his right arm cut away, and instead of someone cauterizing the wound, they simply kept adding salt, and only putting things on the right side of his body. Then Ruby, God Ruby showed up, and it was all pain and anger and angst and he did things that he regretted, and he did things that he didn't regret but regretted not telling Dean, and now here he was, unable to speak to his brother, unable to form words, unable…..to do a lot of things.
"No. I didn't go to your grave. I couldn't." Dean simply nodded.
"You don't have to explain Sam. I was just curious."
"I thought about you every day."
"Sam. You don't."
"I do."
"No. You don't. I heard everything loud and clear the other week." Sam's brown crinkled together in confusion.
"What are you talking about?"
"Nothing."
"No. What are you talking about? Answer me."
"You the big brother now Sammy?" Sam had heard his brother speak in anger, fear, confusion, happiness, he had heard every single tone, but this one, this one sounded so unlike any he had heard before.
"No. Dean." Sam stammered. "I don't understand. What are you thinking?"
"You said it yourself. You and Ruby saved more lives in five months than we do in a year. I just should have read between the lines."
"What lines? I wasn't implying…"
"What? That you work better with a demon than you do your own brother. That you learned you don't need me. I get it Sam. I get it. You don't need to explain. Just tell me when you want me gone. I'll go."
"What?" Sam's incredulous voice went up to an octave that he hadn't heard since puberty. "I don't want you to go anywhere."
"You sure about that Sammy? You certainly don't act like you want me around anymore. I mean, hell, if you want the car, I'll give you back the car. I'll go find something else…"
"I don't want the damn car." Sam shouted, his hands and voice trembling. The very thought of losing Dean again, being stuck in the driver's seat of the car, with no one to talk to, no one to make him listen to mullet rock, no one…no Dean. The thought made his vision tunnel and panic to settle into his stomach. "I don't want you to leave me Dean. Why…How? I don't…I don't understand."
"What's there to get? You weren't sad or scared enough to see me at my grave. You barely speak to me. And I wouldn't want near me if I were you after punching you twice. I get it Sammy. I get it."
"No apparently you don't get it." Sam ran a hand through his bangs. He forced the memories of those months down, down, trying to keep them out of his mind as he spoke to his brother. "I couldn't go to your grave, because I was the one who buried you. As soon as the last shovel of dirt went over…." His voice hitched and he fought to recover it. "Over your body, I promised myself and you that the next time I saw you, you would be out of that grave and topside with me. That I would save you, just like I promised. But I tried everything Dean. I really did. I couldn't save you, I couldn't even sacrifice myself for you, no one would help me do that. And I couldn't go back to your grave, because I failed you so terribly. No. I didn't go to your grave. I couldn't." Sam sighed and licked his lips. "I missed you so much Dean. I fought every demon I could find, hoping, praying that one of them would lead me to Lilith and that I could kill her, and that maybe your soul could leave hell. I hoped." Dean nodded. Taking in the information
"So, why don't you talk to me much anymore Sam? You sort of act like I'm a stranger."
"Because you are."
"What are you talking about Sam? I'm the same guy."
"No. You are quieter. You are haunted."
"Hey, we took care of that ghost sickness thing. I ain't haunted anymore." Sam couldn't find it in him to even smile at the attempt at a joke.
"No. You are different Dean. No matter how much you pretend that you aren't. You are." Dean paused and took the information in. Could Sam see how tainted his soul had become in the pit?
"You're different too Sammy."
"I know. I didn't have my big brother around to do my dirty work, I had to be stronger…."
"That you are."
"What?"
"You are almost too strong Sammy. You don't let anyone in anymore. That was my job. You were supposed to be able to stay normal." He sighed. "But your strength is oozing out of you, you got huge Sammy."
"What?"
"You sort of resemble the Incredible Hulk." Sam was shocked.
"I…"
"I don't know what it is Sammy, but you even look different."
"I had to be different. Your death changed me." Dean nodded.
"I guess we'll have to learn how to be brothers again." Dean said.
It was Sam's turn to nod. "Yeah, I guess we will." Dean licked his lips, he wasn't able to say anymore. There was so much to be said, so much to understand, but for the moment he had what he wanted. He had the answer to his question.
"You ready to turn in for the night?" Sam asked as they passed a sign advertising lodging.
"Yeah. That sounds like a good idea. I'm tired."
"Me too." Sam said quietly, realizing that they were both tired of a lot of things, things that no angel could fix, and that no demon, no matter how well meaning, could help. They were tired of being strangers, of being scared, sad and alone. They needed time to rest and to heal, and no one was going to give them that, and hopefully, the stress of it all wouldn't finish tearing them apart, because without his brother, Sam knew, he was going to go down a road in which there was no turning back, no matter how well meaning his intentions…the road to hell is always paved with good intentions…