Sam tries not to let it get to him, what Dean –or not Dean –said to him in the sewers. It wasn't Dean. It was a monster who looked like Dean, it had Dean's memories, but it wasn't Dean. Dean turned around to back to St. Louis, even though he thought it was a waste of time and completely out of their way, because it was important to Sam. Dean dragged himself out of bed at 5:30 in the morning because Sam "had an idea." Dean might make fun of Sam for keeping in touch with his friends, he might even be jealous, but he doesn't resent Sam for trying to have a life. Right?
He's had a few days to agonize over this, while Dean searched the web to see if he could find coverage of his funeral in St. Louis. They're on another job, now. It's a simple salt & burn, and they're digging up the corpse –or Sam is, while Dean stands guard with a shotgun. In about thirty minutes they'll switch places if they're lucky, or else Dean will pretend he doesn't hear Sam when he tells him it's time for him to dig. Digging graves is hard work, but Sam is young ("Younger than me, Sammy," Dean reminds him.") and it gives him time to think, about how he really is committed to this life now. He has to find Jessica's killer, but how long will it take? And once it's over, is he going to just pick up and go back to his old life, like Becky, who took a semester off until the police would release her brother? Dean was right all along. Sooner or later, he's going to lose touch with his friends, because they're life is going to add up to a white picket fence and 2.5 kids, and his is probably going to end bloody. It always has. It was nice to pretend for a few years, but it was selfish, in the end. Leaving Dad. Leaving Dean.
How many people died because Sam was too busy studying to be a lawyer? How many pointless deaths, since Sam was never going to make up for it with all the lives he was planning on saving under the steady eyes of the Law?
"Man," sighs Dean suddenly. "All this grave digging really makes you think, ya know?"
Sam sighs irritably, and looks up at Dean. His back and arms are sore, but Dean is grinning down at him. "About you're funeral?" Sam asks, digging his shovel into the ground and tossing a pile of dirt close enough to Dean that he has to jump out of the way to avoid getting hit in the face. "You know what would take your mind off of your inevitable death? You could get in here and help me."
Dean laughs. Too loudly. Birds sleeping in the bushes surrounding the cemetery startle, and take flight, chirruping angrily at Dean. "Nice try, Sammy. But you're doing a fine job. You're almost done," Dean says, shining his flashlight into Sam's eyes. Sam heaves a sigh, but he returns to his digging. He is almost done.
Sooner than he expects his shovel breaks through the rotting wood of the hundred year old casket, and Dean jumps in the grave to Sam a hand breaking up the wood to expose the bones of an old ghost named Martha whose busy killing children in the house her own children murdered her in. It would all be very gruesome if she managed to do more than just scratch a couple of kids in the past thirty years. Her bones are as gray as the house she haunts, but as soon as Dean pulls out his lighter, the temperature drops about twenty degrees.
Dean laughs. "All right!" he whoops. "That's what I'm talking about!" He tosses Sam the shotgun, and Sam catches it gingerly, aiming it behind Dean. Martha Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Is shimmers to life in front of Sam, but Sam doesn't get the chance to fire before Dean sets her bones ablaze, muttering "Get a hobby, Martha," to her burning coffin. Her ghost screams and disintegrates into a haze of smoke.
Sam stares at the place the ghost used to be. He tries not to think of Jessica or Mom, but it's hard. It's the first salt & and burn they've done since Jessica died, and now, he's seeing her all over again, her blonde hair and his whole life going up in smoke all around him. He would be stupid to hold on. This was his life now. Dean doesn't resent him. How could Dean resent someone who lost everything?
Dean couldn't resent him. Dean probably feels really smug. Sam would, if he had known all along that something –everything –that Dean wanted was a pipe dream. One that –sooner or later –would go up in smoke.
Sam's thoughts are interrupted by Dean once again, this time a heavy thump on the back. "Let's go, Sammy," Dean grunts, shoving a dirty shovel into the trunk of his car. Sam turns around to the grave. The fire already fizzled out and Dean already filled the hole. The overturned earth is obvious marker, but Sam and Dean will be gone before the sun even rises, and no more kids will die in that dilapidated haunted house, so it was a good's night work.
Sam follows Dean to the car, and gets in the passenger seat. After a little fumbling and swearing with the gear at the back of the car, Dean slides in next to him and starts the car, watching Sam warily out of the corner of his eye. Sam tries to ignore it the best he can, but by the time they're on the interstate, Sam can't take it anymore so he turns to Dean sharply.
"Do you have something to say to me?" he demands
Dean looks at Sam and then looks back at the road, all in a fraction of a second. He clears his throat. "Yeah," he says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Yeah, I don't think it's fair what I said, before. About your friends. It's good that you want something more, Sam." Dean looks at him again, and this time he holds his gaze for a second longer than is safe.
"You serious?"
"Yeah, I mean, Becky seems great, and if the rest of your friends in California are like her, then you deserve to have that life," Dean says. Sam can't believe what he's hearing.
"You don't resent me?" Sam blurts out before he can stop himself. "For leaving you? For leaving Dad?"
Dean hesitates. He grips the wheel a little tighter. "No," he says, but his voice is tight. "I don't know, man, maybe I'm jealous. Or, was jealous." Dean looks back at Sam again, and he looks sad. "You know, doing your own thing." Dean tries to crack a smile, but he falters. "Doesn't mean I'm not right. It's not a possibility for us to have that kinda life. But it's good that you got a taste, you know."
Dean slows down and groans; they've hit rush-hour traffic.
"Anyway, if you want to go back to law school, after we find whatever killed Mom, then…" Dean sighs. "I won't try to stop you. But I will miss you. This just feels right. You and me. Fightin' evil."
Sam sighs. "I'm not going back," he admits. It's the first time he says it out loud, and even though he's known for weeks now, that there was no going back to his old life, to California and college and parties, his heart still sinks thinking about it, how the road ahead of him is long and bloody and hard. Motel rooms instead of a two-story home in the suburbs, and greasy diner food instead of barbecues. Credit card scams instead of a law practice. "This is my life," he says. Dean's trying his damnedest to hide his smile. "I guess if it's gonna be this way, I'm glad I get to do with you."
Sam's smiling too, even if his heart is breaking.
"Damn right you are!" Dean agrees enthusiastically. "Damn right you are."
A/N: This is a whole week late! So I'm sorry about that. Good news, if you keep your eyes peeled, sometime later tonight, there might be one for 1x07 up. If not, it will be up Monday.
A/N2: Also, I know that it seems novel for Sam and Dean to openly communicate about their fears and insecurities, but that's what I want. That's what I need. That's the only way they can get me to watch Season 12.