A Little Something
The impact of what he was seeing hit him with the weight of a thousand bricks, and he actually staggered a step backwards, holding on to the nearest counter to steady himself. "What – how the hell's this possible?" he mumbled to himself.
"Dude, you all right?" asked the girl behind the counter. She stopped chewing her gun for a second, opting instead to observe Dean.
"I'm fine," Dean lied, removing his hand from the counter. His heart was still running a mile a minute. He walked up to the cash register and asked, "Can I see that?"
The girl handed him the amulet she'd shown him. "Sure."
Dean stared at it, disbelieving. He dangled it from its chain in front of his eyes, trying to ascertain that it wasn't fake. The faded color, the well-worn leather strap from which it hung – plus that feeling of searing contentment he used to get just by holding it in his hands. It was all there. It was definitely not fake.
Somehow, it had ended up in this antique store, all the way from a trashcan in a backwards motel room in a city Dean did not want to remember. He'd regretted throwing it away a billion times over and then some, and now here it was, dangling innocently in front of his eyes, as if he'd never trashed it, as if he'd just taken it off so he could shower.
Swallowing his uncertainty, he asked the girl, "How much is this for?"
She eyed it, considering, before saying, "How much are you willing to pay?"
Dean did not even pause to think. "Anything."
Sam entered the motel room to find that Dean had already gotten back from his interrogation of the antique store's manager, and was taking a nap on the bed. Without reading too much into it, Sam took off his shoes and went to take a hot shower.
He returned to find Dean sitting upright on the bed, staring at a small object in his palm. Wondering what it was, Sam walked over, his hair dripping water all over the place. "What's that, Dean?" he asked.
Dean looked up at him, and the vulnerability and openness in his features startled Sam. Dean looked like the weight of the world had just been taken off his shoulders. "Dean, you all right?" asked Sam cautiously.
"I'm fine," Dean answered hoarsely. "I found something today."
"Information?" asked Sam, sitting down on his bed, facing Dean.
Dean shook his head. "Something else. I found this." He held up the amulet by its strap.
Sam's mouth fell open as he tried to register the sight in front of him. He stared at the amulet for a minute or so before closing his mouth and blinking, evidently trying to get rid of the moisture in his eyes. "W-where'd you find it?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"The antique store," Dean answered. "I don't know how it got there, Sammy, but it's the same one, I'm positive it is."
Sam nodded. "But – how?" he all but whispered. His heart was running around doing somersaults inside his chest. After all these years that he'd hurted when he'd thought of the amulet, here it was, like it had never been missing from their lives.
"I don't know," Dean answered, his voice dropping in volume too. "But I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm keeping it, Sammy."
There was something stuck in Sam's throat, and it didn't let him speak. Dean understood – he always did. Without waiting for Sam to reply, he held out his hand, the amulet sitting on his palm.
"Please, Sam?" he asked, his gaze imploring. He needed to know that Sam had forgiven him for that act he'd done in a moment of despair, that Sam knew why he'd done it and realized that he'd beaten himself up for it everyday since, especially in the morning when he looked in the mirror and saw how bare and vulnerable his neck looked without it. He needed it.
And Sam understood too. Wordlessly he took the amulet from Dean and undid the clasp. He leaned forward until his knees were touching Dean's, and then he slipped the amulet around Dean's neck, securing it at the back. Then he sat back and looked at Dean.
It felt wonderful, Dean realized. He felt complete again, for the first time in a very long time. After four years it no longer felt like a part of him was missing, like he was trying to survive without a limb or a vital organ. He brought his hand up to his neck and clutched the amulet tight. "Thank you, Sammy," he whispered.
Sam offered him a small smile. "Don't thank me, Dean." The look that passed between them said all else that needed to be said, and in that look Dean knew he was forgiven.
Reviews ensure Dean gets to wear the Samulet forever.
-Peace