Having lived by Dean's side for almost the entirety of his life, Sam knew exactly when something was wrong with his brother. Despite Dean's best efforts to hide them, Sam picked up on even small, subtle details. It was a skill that John and Bobby hadn't managed to master, and one that Sam himself had only perfected in the last couple of years. Sometimes, Sam thought he knew Dean better than he knew himself – he knew exactly when his brother was about to burn out, no matter how hard Dean was trying to push on.
Dean was shaking, he realised as his own eyebrows dropped into a frown. The bags under Dean's eyes were more pronounced than ever and his skin was almost as pale as Sam's had been only a handful of hours before.
"We should find a place to crash for the night," Sam said, so suddenly Dean swerved the car. He'd been watching his older brother silently for almost twenty minutes, trying to determine what he had missed, what was wrong. The jolt of the car caused Sam to wince, his hand flying to cover the bullet wound in his abdomen.
"Sorry," Dean instantly said, righting the car immediately. His eyes blinked blearily at the road. "It's not that much longer, Sam, I can do it," he tried to assure his brother. Had it been any other day, Sam probably would have believed him. Had his brother not looked so completely exhausted, so drained, he definitely wouldn't have been staring at him with as much intensity as he was at that moment, and he wouldn't have been as insistent on stopping. There was nothing like getting home after a tiring hunt, but he also didn't like the idea of being wrapped around a tree because of Dean's stubbornness.
His response wasn't good enough for Sam. "Dean, pull over," he instructed, his voice firmer than it had been previously. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he watched Dean, who scowled at him briefly. He knew now that he'd definitely missed something. Somehow, Dean had ended up much worse off than he had seemed to be at first glance. Slowly but surely, Dean pulled the car off to the side of the road. There was no sign of anywhere to pull in any time soon. The side of a road was better than a ditch.
With a heavy sigh, Dean reached and cut the Impala's engine. "What, Sam?" he asked tiredly, leaning back in his seat. That simple movement caused him to wince and his hand moved to rub across his chest. Little by little, Sam was beginning to see that his brother was definitely not in a good state. His entire body seemed to be stiff, muscles taut despite the relaxed position he was in.
"I could ask you the same thing. What the hell happened to you, Dean?" Sam demanded, adjusting himself so that he could stare intently at his brother. The effort of doing so sent a sharp pain through his torso, but he didn't let it show, too focused on Dean to truly care about his own discomfort.
Dean's immediate reaction was to clench his jaw and gaze at the steering wheel, as if doing so would delete the question his brother had asked. That hurt Sam almost as badly as the injury in his side. He'd thought that they had come far in the last few months and created a relationship that no longer involved secrets and lies. He nodded his head, pursing his lips briefly before he turned to stare out of the passenger window.
"Great. So I guess that's what this is going to be like again," was all he said, the frustration evident in his tone. The emphasis was heavy on 'again' and Sam didn't need to look at his brother to tell that he had flinched as he spoke.
An uncomfortable silence filled the car.
Eventually, Dean cleared his throat. "I, uh, might not have been entirely truthful when I said that I knew you weren't dead," he admitted. His voice was low, but Sam heard every word. The weight that had been pressing on his chest since he'd realised something was amiss began to lift and his stomach started to drop. He swung his head back around to look at his brother, nodding for him to go on.
Dean only glanced at him briefly, then his eyes became fixed on the steering wheel again. Sam saw him gulp, and he knew that whatever was going to be said next wasn't going to be good. The look on his brother's face was one of pure guilt and shame.
"When I thought you were dead...when I got to the care center..." Dean took a deep breath, swallowing again before meeting Sam's gaze. "I swallowed down some barbiturates to try and make a deal with Billie."
Each word was like a bullet straight into Sam's heart.
As soon as he finished speaking, Dean looked away, his neck and face flushing from the deepening shame. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, like the truth would go away if he tried hard enough. The silence in the car was deafening. Emotion was welling up in his chest, tightening it back up. He didn't try pushing it down again.
"What sort of deal?" he managed to ask, his voice sounding strangled to his own ears. He knew the answer before Dean had responded, yet it still hurt to hear.
"My life for yours."
Dean's voice was barely more than a whisper. Sam raised his hands to his mouth, sucking in a choked breath as he did so. His abdomen received a bolt of pain as punishment. "Jesus Christ, Dean," he said, shaking his head repeatedly. "I thought we'd moved on from the self-sacrificing crap. I thought you actually gave a damn about yourself, finally," he said, opening his eyes again so that he could stare imploringly at his brother.
"I do," Dean mumbled.
"Do you?" Sam asked simply, one hand moving to his hair as the other ran down his face. "Did you even consider how I would have felt if I'd shown up at that medical center and been told that you'd killed yourself?" he demanded.
The quick aversion of Dean's eyes was answer enough for Sam.
"You're a selfish ass, you know that?" Sam said, shaking his head again. "You're unbelievable. And you lied to me. God, Dean, you need somebody to keep an eye on you after stunts like that. You sure as hell shouldn't be driving."
"It's not like you could've driven either," Dean pointed out, half-heartedly, struggling to bring himself to look at Sam again.
"Then we could've stayed there," Sam snapped. "Stayed there at least a few days to let us both recover."
They fell into silence again, Sam turning away from his brother again. His nostrils flared briefly, the throbbing in his side barely making a dent in the anger he felt. His jaw had clenched again, furious at himself for not noticing sooner, or pushing harder, and pissed at Dean for keeping it quiet for so long.
"So, what, you would've had me leave you dead?" Dean asked after a while of the two of them simply sitting there. "Would you have?" he added, which only made Sam feel even angrier, instantly recalling a similar conversation only two years previous.
"You know I wouldn't have," Sam said firmly, when he was certain the words weren't going to explode from his lips, shaking his head yet again. "What's the point in pretending any more, right? We both know we'd do anything to save each other, but for God's sake, Dean, we don't have to be selfish about it. Okay? Enough bullshit. No more trading lives for each other. You know exactly how bad it felt when Dad traded his life in for yours, and you know how terrible I felt when you sold your soul for me. The fact you were going to let me feel that all over again is so stupidly selfish, I can't even believe you contemplated it."
Dean swallowed hard. "Okay," he agreed, guiltily meeting Sam's intense gaze.
"'There ain't no me if there ain't no you' goes both ways, Dean," Sam warned him. "I swear, if I'd found out you'd traded your life for mine, I wouldn't make the most of it. I'd sooner die than live knowing you'd done that again."
The words were said with such severity and promise that Dean flinched a second time. "Don't say that."
"Yes, I am going to say that. Because your life has just as much value as mine, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you died thinking otherwise," Sam insisted. "You need to get that in your head. Don't pull something like that again. Please, Dean," he said, his voice edging on pleading. Sam couldn't bring himself to be ashamed of it.
Slowly, Dean nodded, a wariness in his eyes that Sam didn't miss. "And the same goes for you?" he prompted.
"The exact same goes for me. Deal?" Sam asked, offering a hand.
After a pause, Dean reached to shake the hand. "Deal," he agreed, and Sam took the opportunity to pull him in as best he could for a hug. It was awkward, given the fact they were in the car, and Sam was trying not to cause himself too much pain, but he managed it. "I'm sorry," he heard Dean murmur, and he shook his head.
"What's done is done," Sam said simply, pulling out of the hug with reluctance. "We really do need to stop for the night though," he added.
"No way am I sleeping in the car feeling like this. You're not either," Dean said, reaching to start the engine back up. "Next motel, we'll crash for the night," he promised, pulling the car out onto the road.
Sam nodded, glad of the fact he could actually bring himself to believe him.