Note: This sort of just happened. Tag to 12.03 The Foundry. Hope you like it!
Sam stepped timidly into the library, his gaze focused on the man seated at the table, methodically cleaning the numerous weapons scattered across the surface in front of him.
Dean's face was set into a carefully neutral expression, but Sam knew the amount of hurt and anger that was hidden just beneath the surface, so he trod carefully as he approached the table.
"Here." He said, setting a plate down gently within his brother's vicinity.
Dean glanced first at the grilled cheese – the only food Sam was any good at making – and then up at his little brother for a moment, before focusing back on his task.
"Thanks." He grunted.
Sam frowned at the older hunter's apparent lack of interest in the food, he knew Dean had to be hungry, they had missed lunch and dinner, that, and his big brother was always hungry,
He had usually been a fan of Sam's grilled-cheese sandwiches. The younger man had always made his brother's extra cheesy, the way he liked everything. He always enjoyed making a meal for his brother, often wishing he was more talented in the kitchen like Dean was, so that he could do more for the older hunter, like he always did for Sam.
"I could make something else. I think there might be left over pizza in the fridge, or burgers, or I could go pick something up." Sam offered, reaching out to grab the plate.
Dean swiftly slid the sandwich out of his reach.
The older hunter inwardly rolled at his eyes at his brother's anxious behaviour. It wasn't like he was going to bite the kid's head off for making him the wrong meal. However, Sam's skittish behaviour displayed clearly to Dean the level of tense brooding he must have been emitting. He put effort into relaxing his bunched-up muscles and unclenching his jaw, before turning to look up at the man shifting nervously at his side.
"The sandwich looks good, Sam, really. I'll eat it in a minute." He stated sincerely, making sure to catch the timid hazel eyes for at least a moment to get his point across.
Sam nodded, chewing on his bottom lip as he hesitantly turned away, but he only shuffled a couple of steps before turning back again. He wanted to help Dean. He wanted to do more than just appease the man's stomach. He wanted to make things better for him, find a way to soothe his anger and heal his hurt. He wanted to fix it all, but he wasn't sure how. Sam stood there, curling his sock-clad toes and twisting his fingers as he fought to decide whether to try and speak to the older man, or to respect his obvious wishes and leave him be.
Dean did not need to look in Sam's direction to know that the kid was having some sort of internal debate. He knew Sam. He knew that his little brother loved to talk about things until he was blue in the face. He knew that was how he figured stuff out, it was how he healed. But that had never been Dean's way. Dean didn't need to talk everything through, or rather, he didn't want to. He would do it for Sam, often try and get his little brother to open-up about things when he was sullen or withdrawn, knowing that the younger man wouldn't find any peace until he released the thoughts and feelings clouding his mind. He did it because it was what Sam needed. All Dean wanted when he was angry and hurt, was to be left the fuck alone.
He could tell by the sound of his little brother's shuffling feet, that Dean wasn't about to get what he wanted.
"Dean, I know –
"Sam, don't, okay. Not now." Dean bit out, closing his eyes as his hands clenched around the dismantled firearm in their grip.
Sam swallowed back the words that had been building up in his throat, nodding his head.
"Okay." He agreed softly.
He wanted to talk, and he knew that Dean probably should talk, that it might even help him, but he couldn't deny his older brother such a simple request, especially when he sounded so damn broken.
"I'm sorry." Sam whispered, before turning to leave.
Dean frowned. He was thankful as hell that Sam agreed so readily to his desire, his brother could be relentless, like a dog with a bone, so it was a relief that he hadn't put up a fight, but his apology threw Dean off-balance. It sounded like it was for more than just the interruption and attempt to begin a conversation.
"For what?" Dean snapped, his curiosity may have been piqued, but he still didn't want to invite any sort of Dr. Phil session upon himself.
Sam stopped at the words, turning back to his brother, meeting the questioning green eyes briefly before staring down at his feet.
"For Mom." He replied vaguely.
"Why? It's not like it was your fault she took off." Dean snorted bitterly.
Sam moved restlessly from foot-to-foot, as he shrugged.
Dean scowled at the reaction.
"Sam." He warned.
"Maybe it is." Sam responded miserably.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean barked.
The younger man chewed on his bottom lip for another couple seconds before cracking under Dean's intense glare.
"You two hit it off really well. You have a lot in common, food, music, and everything. Maybe I made her feel uncomfortable. We don't even know each other; we don't have the connection that you two have. Maybe I was too much for her." Sam stuttered out.
Dean's fists and jaw clenched, his anger rising. How could their mother do this to Sam? He had been hurt when she walked out, the rejection almost more than he could take. His anger had been quick to follow. Anger that he had spent the majority of his life avenging her death, only to have her abandon him after a few short days. He hadn't only been angry on his own behalf, but on Sam's as well. The kid spent his entire life dreaming about Mary, begging and pining to know more about the woman who brought him into the world, only to have her take off before even getting to know him. Dean had seen Sam's face when their mother walked away, the kid had looked so fucking lost; and Dean had caught the younger man's flinch when Mary opened the door, her leaving had caused damage to his little brother.
Dean didn't have to try hard to imagine what their mother's leaving had done to Sam's self-worth, something that was often far too low to begin with.
Mary had been in Sammy's life for barely more than a week, and she had already hurt him.
She already had him blaming himself for her own failures.
Sure, their mom might return, and she could possibly even redeem herself enough for Dean to forgive her for leaving him, again.
But Dean didn't think he would ever be able to forgive her for hurting his kid.
"Sam, you listen now, and you listen good." Dean ordered.
Sam forced his eyes up to meet his brother's gaze, working not to shy away from the intensity of it.
"I don't know why the hell Mom walked out on us today, but I am one-hundred percent sure that it had nothing to do with you."
"Dean-
"Listen, Sam."
The younger man nodded biting down on his bottom lip.
"You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't say anything wrong. There was nothing you could have done differently that would have made her say. This isn't on you, Sam. You hearing me?" Dean declared rising from his chair and moving to stand directly in front of his little brother.
Sam nodded, blinking the moisture clear form his eyes.
"If you want to blame someone, you blame Mom. Or hell, how about me."
"It wasn't your fault, Dean." Sam insisted instantly.
Dean nearly rolled his eyes, Sam was always the first to take the blame, but the second Dean tried to shoulder any, the kid would always absolve him immediately.
"You tried to tell me that something was up with her, and I blew you off. Because I wanted to believe for one fucking second that things were finally looking up, you know?"
Sam's heart broke for his big brother. Dean asked for so little from the world. He had never chased after his own dreams, though Sam knew that growing-up his brother had some hidden away in his heart, he didn't want a lot of money or fancy things. All he wanted, all Dean had ever wanted was his family to be together. It killed Sam that Dean couldn't ever seem to have that, every time he thought he could, every time it had been within his grasp, it had been cruelly ripped away just a short time later.
"I know, Dean. There is nothing wrong with wanting that, and you didn't do anything to cause it to fall apart. You said this wasn't on me, right?"
Dean nodded, glad his kid seemed to be getting the point.
"Well then it's not on you, either." Sam insisted.
Dean nodded again, satisfied that his little brother was no longer blaming himself for their mother's departure.
"I don't think she meant to hurt us." Sam reasoned softly, trying to do what he had originally intended to do, which was help his brother through the hurt. Provide Dean some of the comfort he always offered so willingly to Sam.
Dean scoffed, moving to turn away, but Sam snagged his shirt sleeve, tugging gently until the older man reluctantly turned to face him.
Sam's breath was stolen by the look of pure misery that was etched across the older man's face. Sam swallowed, forcing air back into his lungs as he continued.
"She couldn't handle it. She just needs some time, you know? She needs some time to adjust." Sam stated, trying his best to sound confident.
Dean shook his head in frustration, but didn't step back or even pull away from Sam's hold on his shirt.
"How many times have we had to adjust, Sam?"
The younger man's brow furrowed at the question.
"What? I don't—
"How about when I got back from hell? You don't think I had to adjust?" Dean nearly shouted, his built-up emotion flowing out of him, all of them coming across as anger, the way they often did.
Sam wasn't surprised in the least at Dean's fury, he knew his brother, knew how anger was his armour and it was often used to disguise his hurt or other emotions. Sam was, however, confused by Dean's question, or rather the purpose of it.
"Of course you did." He replied immediately.
"What about after purgatory? You don't think I had to adjust then?"
"You did, Dean, I know you did." Sam insisted.
Dean softened at his brother's mortified expression. Sam knew more than anybody about Dean's struggle to adjust. He had been there through the flashbacks, the nightmares, and the violent reactions. Sam had witnessed it all and done whatever he could to help Dean through it.
"And what about when you came back from the cage? You don't think you had to adjust from over a century in hell?" Dean questioned softly, his voice cracking as he spoke of the cage and mentioned the egregious amount of time his kid brother had spent there being torn apart.
"You know that I did." Sam croaked.
Dean nodded, cause hell-yes he did. He remembered it all. He could never forget seeing his little brother so broken.
"We've both had to adjust at times. It was hard, and it sucked, but we did it. And we did it together. Because that is how family works." Dean declared.
Sam found himself nodding. Part of him wanted to defend his mother, for Dean's sake, but he couldn't deny his brother's truth.
Dean relaxed slightly, Sam wasn't sure if it was because he was no longer fighting to prove his point, or because some of his anger had been released. Either way, he was happy about it.
Dean made to move away, only to realize Sam still hadn't released his shirt sleeve, his kid's fingers tangled in the fabric at his elbow.
"Sam?" He prompted, a smirk on his face as he tugged at his shirt trying to get Sam to realize he was still holding it.
Sam either realized and didn't care, or he failed to notice, because his grip didn't loosen.
"I'm still sorry." He whispered.
Dean's heart-swelled at the level of compassion bleeding from Sam's puppy-dog-eyes.
"Sam." The older man sighed, thinking he had already made his point clear.
"No, not about that. I'm just sorry that she left. I know how badly you wanted us to all to be together. And she just…I'm sorry you go hurt like that." Sam summed up.
Dean had to look away from his little brother's gaze, swallowing to keep his emotions in check.
"I wasn't the only one, Sam." Dean pointed out.
Sam bit his lip again, and Dean found himself tempted to smile at the classic-little-brother-behaviour. Sam had been doing that ever since he was a little kid. The one thing that kept Dean from smiling, was that Sam often did that when he was nervous or knew he was about to say something his big brother wouldn't like.
"No, but it was worse for you."
Bingo, there it was.
Dean immediately made to object, but Sam didn't give him the chance.
"I'm not saying it doesn't hurt. Because it does, like hell. But I know it has got to be worse for you.
"And why would that be, Sam?" Dean questioned with an exasperated sigh, wondering how the fuck this little brother came up with this shit.
"I love Mom, really I do. I just don't have the connection with her that you do. I don't remember her. I didn't really have any expectations or anything." Sam admitted quietly, feeling a little bit of shame for confessing those thoughts aloud, but knowing it was the truth.
"It's different for you." He added, catching Dean's eyes. "You have memories of her, you depended on her, you two had a connection, you still do. I don't have any of that."
"Sam." Dean croaked, his hand reaching forward to wrap around his brother's arm, just above his elbow.
The younger man could hear the despair in his older brother's voice, and he shook his head, he didn't want Dean hurting for him, Dean had enough of his own hurt.
"No, don't. It's okay. Cause I always had you." Sam declared, a small smile pulling on his lips.
Dean swallowed back the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.
"I always had you. Could always count on you. Even when there was nobody else, there was always you."
Dean felt Sam's grip on his sleeve tighten, the fabric biting into his arm, as a tear trailed down Sam's face. The older hunter was losing his own fight to swallow his emotions.
"But you, all you had was Mom for a few years, and then Dad, when he was actually around. Then you got Mom back, just to have her disappear again. I just, I'm so sorry, De." Sam choked out, his head hanging as he looked down at his feet.
By the end of Sam's little speech, he was nearly sobbing, tears streaming unobstructed over his cheeks. Dean blinked the moisture from his own eyes, his hand tightening around his brother's arm as he instinctively swiped the hair away from where it was hanging in front of Sam's face.
"Sammy." He rasped.
Sam wiped at his eyes, his stare remaining focused on the floor.
"Sam, look at me." Dean ordered softly, trying not to completely crumble to pieces when two sorrowful hazel eyes returned his gaze.
"I think you're forgetting someone, kiddo." Dean stated, attempting to sound casual as he quirked a small smile.
"Bobby?" Sam hiccuped.
"No, dude. You."
Sam frowned, so Dean continued.
"I had you. You were always there. You always did everything you could do help me out, before you even really understood what was going on, you still found a way to be there for me, to make things better for me." Dean declared, recalling the countless number of times Sam had made him smile, or made him feel loved, or important. Sam had been his sanity and his anchor before he was even able to walk. The kid had been his peace and his hope before he even learned to tie his shoes.
"I wasn't there, Dean. Not always." Sam confessed, self-loathing just pouring off of him.
"Dude. You went to school. You didn't ditch me. You didn't abandon the family. You just went to school. I'm not Dad, Sam, okay? I never saw it that way, not ever." Dean adamantly insisted.
Sam snagged his lip between his teeth, moisture building in his eyes again.
"Come on, man, how do you not know this?" Dean inquired in disbelief.
"I hurt you." Sam admitted, his voice breaking.
"I was upset with how things went down. It hurt me that our family seemed like it was splitting apart, but the fact that you went to school, did not hurt me. You don't think I saw higher education coming from a mile away?"
Sam's brow furrowed.
Dean rolled his eyes in silent aggravation.
"Who taught you how to read, Sam?" He questioned.
The younger man was thrown off by the inquiry, but responded instinctively.
"You did." He replied, wiping at his eyes.
"Who helped you with your homework? And stuck all your report cards to the fridge?"
"You." Sam rasped again.
"Yeah, me. I always knew how smart you were, I knew by the time you won your first spelling-bee that you were destined for higher education. And then when you got a full ride to Stanford? Shit, Sammy, I was so fucking proud. I was always bragging about you to everyone I met. Telling anyone who listened about my kid brother who earned a full-ride to one of the best schools in the country." Dean recollected with a smile, ignoring the wetness he could feel sliding down his face.
"But I just left. Like Dad did all those times, and like Mom." Sam's voice cracked and he snapped his jaw closed, trying to hold back the sobs, not wanting to break, not wanting to fall apart, because Dean shouldn't have to fix him. He was supposed to be the one helping Dean.
"No, Sam. You didn't. You went to school. It felt like more because Dad made it seem like more, but it wasn't. It wasn't desertion, or abandoning your family, it was just going to fucking school. Besides, I know how badly you wanted me to go with you." Dean reflected, a tearful smile on his face.
Sam choked out a sob, his one hand still clenching Dean's sleeve, as his other one moved up to grab onto his older brother's shirt pocket. His tears falling faster as his body trembled.
He had wanted Dean to come. He had spent weeks, months even, researching a trade school that wasn't too far from Stanford, somewhere Dean could perfect his knowledge of motor-vehicles and become a mechanic. Sam had searched for apartments they would both be able to afford. He had pitched the idea to Dean, begging him to come with him; and to this day he would never forget the look his big brother had given him. His green eyes shining with both love and despair as a sad smiled pulled at the older hunter's lips, pride and misery patterning his expression as he told Sam in the softest voice his little brother had ever heard, "Sorry Sammy. This is one place I can't follow you. But you be safe, okay, little brother?"
The memory tore at Sam's heart just as much as the moment had. He knew Dean was choosing to stay behind, not because of his love for the hunt, but rather his commitment to their father. Dean had decided to stay with John, and watch his back, because he knew that at that moment, their father needed him more than Sam did. Though there were many days during his time at school, when Sam would have argued against that fact.
"You didn't want to leave me, Sam." Dean stated with every ounce of conviction that he possessed. He knew that, he had always known that. His distress and loneliness had clouded that fact on occasion, but he had always known the truth in his heart. That was why he had never asked Sam to stay, though he had wanted to so badly on that night the kid left for school, that night his family and his heart had been torn in two. But he couldn't bring himself to ask, because he was terrified that Sam would; and Dean would never forgive himself for stealing away his kid's dream and keeping him trapped in a life that was breaking him down. No, Dean never wanted that for Sam, so he never asked him to stay.
"And when I came knocking, when I asked you to come with me to find Dad, you came. You had a girl, school, interviews, you had a life, but you still came. Because I asked you to. You have always been there for me, Sam. Don't ever doubt that." Dean reminded his little brother, his love and appreciation for the younger man coming across loud and clear.
Sam nodded, sucking in hiccupping breaths as he tried to reign his emotions back in. Even through all the tears and the heartache, Sam felt like a piece of himself – one he hadn't known he'd been missing – fell back into place. It was as though one of the scars marring his soul had been healed.
They both stood in the room, still clutching on to one another. Tear tracks on both their faces, as they each worked to level out their breathing.
"This is stupid." Sam huffed out after a moment.
"I thought you loved this chick-flick shit." Dean snorted with a grin.
"Nah, that's you." Sam quipped, releasing a wet laugh, his grip on Dean's shirt relaxing, but not releasing.
"You alright?" Dean asked in all seriousness.
Sam nodded, chewing on his bottom lip.
Dean didn't fail to notice. "What is it?"
"I came in here to help you." The younger hunter explained quietly.
Dean's expression became impossibly softer.
"You did, Sammy." He assured.
A shy smile pulled at Sam's lips, as he slowly let go of his older brother's plaid shirt.
Dean just grinned at his kid, pride and love flowing through him, filling up all the places that had been dominated by hurt and anger only a short while earlier.
"Your sandwich is cold." Sam mumbled with a frown, staring past Dean at the table.
"It's alright, dude. I can warm it on the frying pan while I make yours." Dean stated casually, reaching back to grab the plate.
"You don't have to."
"Oh, does that mean you made your own?" The older man questioned knowingly, making his way toward the kitchen, his fingers still wrapped just above his brother's elbow.
Sam glanced up at the ceiling, being blatantly avoidant.
"That's what I thought." Dean sighed with exasperation. "What would you do without me, dude?"
Sam knew it was meant to be a joke, but the question stole his air. He felt Dean squeeze his arm, and looked over at his brother.
"Just a joke, Sammy."
Sam nodded.
The brothers went to the kitchen, Dean heating up his sandwich as he made one for Sam. Just the simple act of making dinner for his little brother, of helping take care of his kid, it fixed Dean in ways that nothing else ever could. Reminded him of who he was and all he had.
They both sat across from each other at the table, trying not to think about how last time they had sat there, there Mom had been present.
"And then there were two."
Sam's hushed comment, drew a surprised bark of laughter from his older brother, Dean nearly choking on his grilled-cheese.
"And then there were two." Dean repeated, a smile on his face as his held his beer out, waiting until Sam tapped his own against it before taking a swig.
Both the boys smile at each other.
They both felt a sense of peace settle over them.
There was still pain, their mother walked out on them. She had her reasons and she may not be gone for good, but the reality was, she left. That level of hurt wouldn't be healed by one conversation, it wouldn't go away overnight. It might never fade at all.
But regardless, Sam and Dean would be okay.
Because they had each other.
That was all they had ever had.
And it was all they had ever needed.
It was them against the world, and it always would be.
The End
Note: I would love to hear your thoughts on this! I am going to start replying to comments and reviews again, because I always used to do that, but I am going to try to start it up again! Thank you so much for reading! - Sam