"So...your turn."
Sam was expecting it.
He deserved it, after all.
Dean had been drinking. Dean was always drinking these days.
Some days it would start as early as 11am, almost as soon as Dean fell out of bed, his eyes confirming to Sam what he already knew; no sleep again last night for his brother.
Dean would then throw on a shirt, quickly brush his teeth, sometimes put some bread in the toaster and then pour some whisky into his coke. He would turn and look at Sam, eyebrows raised, daring him to say something. Daring him to judge.
Sam never did.
How could he judge what he didn't know?
Today, at least, had been better. They had been out of the motel for the whole day, researching the almost deserted town that Bobby had alerted them too. Dean hadn't even been able to touch a bottle until now. 8pm. Beyond acceptable.
1am. Dean had poured a generous amount into his latest glass. In truth, there wasn't much coke in this one at all.
"What do you mean...'my turn'?" Sam loathed asking a question he already knew the answer to.
Dean rolled his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean, Sammy."
Sam sighed. "You want to know about the night you died?"
Dean stared ahead but nodded once.
"What if I don't want to talk about it, Dean?"
Dean turned his head at this, eyeballing his little brother "What, you think it was a barrel of laughs when I had to relive your death? It wasn't exactly story-time with hot chocolate, Sam. But you asked me, so I told you. I just want to know what happened to me."
Sam stared back at his brother, knowing that all this was true. Yet, he just didn't know how...he didn't want to. He wasn't ready.
He would never be ready though. No time would ever be truly right for this conversation.
Sam leaned back on the sofa. He let out another sigh.
"Fine. I suppose that's fair." He nodded at Dean's drink. "I want one of those though."
Dean smiled. "I thought as much." He passed Sam the bottle. "Be my guest."
Sam rose an eyebrow, "Not even a glass, Dean?"
"I think the bottle will be required for this conversation. It will help. Don't you think, Sam?"
Sam didn't argue, he took the bottle from Dean and took a long gulp.
Dean grinned, "That's my boy."
Sam let out a grimace as the whisky hit the back of his throat. It helped.
Sam watched Dean looking at him expectedly and he shrugged.
"I don't know what you want me to say, Dean. It was... horrific. Soul-destroying. Horrendous."
"Okay, okay, Shakespeare." Dean took the bottle and took a swig. "We all know that you're a walking Thesaurus. Enough. Just...just tell me what happened."
"What? Before or after the hell hounds shredded you to pieces?"
"You know what?" Dean rose unsteadily to his feet. "I gave you your answer. There is clearly a part of our morbid brains that wants to know what happens after we...well. I didn't get it before, when you asked me. Now I understand. Like I said, I gave you an answer and it almost killed me reliving it. You don't have to be such a dick about me asking you the same thing."
"Dean..."
"Sam. Just forget I asked."
An awkward silence fell between them both.
"I saw it all."
Dean looked up as Sam began to speak.
"I saw everything. You know the first bit. The hell hounds. When that clock struck I just...I couldn't get my head around it. I swear, Dean. If I could have swapped places with you in that moment...I would have done it. I felt...I felt so helpless. I prayed, Dean.I prayed. I made so many bargains."
Dean kept drinking, his eyes fixed to the floor.
"I thought for a second...it had worked. That they weren't coming. I had this second of hope. Just a second. Then...well, you know what happened."
"No shit."
"Yeah, well, you asked."
"I did."
"So...so we ran. I always wondered why. What was the plan, Dean? To run forever?"
"Maybe"
"Well...I'd have done it."
Dean felt a noise escape his throat. He quickly took another sip.
"I know you would, Sammy."
Sam paused.
"When they got you...I just screamed. Screamed, begged, prayed. They ripped at you. It was..." Sam couldn't finish. He felt a painful lump rise to his throat. "It was..."
Dean looked up. "Sam..."
Sam had leaned forward, head in his hands. Loud, uncontrollable sobs escaped from his throat.
"Sammy?"
Dean was at his side and Sam began to openly cry, tears falling from his eyes.
"Sammy..."
"S...sorry Dean."
Dean's heart jerked for his brother.
An eight year old holds his four year old brother. Another panic attack. Their father is back...for now... but all the boy wants is his big brother. His big brother to scare the monsters away.
Sam fell onto his brother's chest, his sobs now heavy and loud. Dean's arms enveloped him as Sam's shoulders shook up and down. Dean gently stroked his brother's back, aware that tears were also escaping his own eyes. In that moment, Sam was his baby brother again. Another nightmare. Another night alone in a nameless city. A nameless motel. Just his big brother to make it okay. His job.
"Shhh, Sammy. It's okay. It's okay."
"There...there was...sssso much blood. Your blood"
"You don't have to say anymore, Sam."
"I n..need to." Sam stayed where he was, Dean's arms wrapped protectively around him.
"Yeah." Dean gently put Sam back into a sitting position, his hand staying on his shoulder. "Yeah, you need to. It will help. I swear."
Sam nodded. Breathing slowly as he tried to get his sobs under control.
"I stayed with you, Dean. For ages. I wiped as much blood off as I could. Shut your eyes. Carried you to the car. Put you in the back seat. Called Bobby."
Sam spoke simply, matter-of-fact.
"I got into the front of the Impala and the end of one of your songs came on. Whisky in the Jar. I lost it a bit then...because I went to turn it down. Just like I always do."
"No taste" Dean said.
They laughed halfheartedly.
"Bobby met me. He'd been crying. I could tell. He held it together though. When he thought I wasn't watching."
"He's good at that."
"Yeah. So... so Bobby told me we had to burn you. A hunters burial. I said no. He told me we had to... that there was nothing we could do. I said I would find a way. I'd find a way or die trying. I'd trade places. He told me that's the last thing you would have wanted."
"He's right."
"I didn't care. So...we came to an agreement. We would bury you. That way, if I found a way...I could bring you back."
Dean nodded, words failing him.
"So we dug a hole. Bobby said we should find a nice spot. I said I didn't care where it was. It was only temporary. It didn't matter where we buried you. I kept telling myself that as we dug. I played your tape as we put you into the hole. Really loud."
Dean smiled tearfully. "Thanks, dude."
"Yeah." Sam shrugged. "I slept by the grave that night. Just thinking. Talking to you. It was crap...but just talking to you...it made it less final."
Another silence.
Dean pulled Sam into a one-armed hug wordlessly.
There was a pause. Then Dean said quietly,
"I love you, bro."
Sam nodded.
"I know."
Dean ruffled Sam's hair and then got up.
"Thank you, Sammy."
Sam smiled weakly.
"Just...just don't do that again."
Dean smiled back shakily. "I'm not planning on it."
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"You can tell me you know...about..."
"Hell?"
"When you're ready."
Dean shut his eyes.
"I don't remember."
"I think you do."
Dean headed towards the kitchen and Sam leaned back.
He wasn't going to push that one.
Not tonight.