Title: Proudly Codependent

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester have the most unhealthy, tangled-up, crazy relationship known to man and they wouldn't want it any other way. Brotherly!Feels. Hurt/Comfort. Angst. Readers' Choice/Prompt!Fic.

Warnings: Spoilers up to 12x09, bad language, graphic violence, graphic descriptions of torture, blood loss, PTSD, claustrophobia, panic attacks (there'll be more warnings added as we move along).

The panic started with an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, as if his muscles were trying not to let another breath in; to no longer supply his lungs with oxygen.

Then the breath came back to him, shallow, unsatisfying, unable to move against the invisible weight that pressed down on his chest.

Dean sat on the edge of his metal cot and drank in the oppressing silence of his prison cell, trying to turn his thoughts into static, trying to drown out the endless replay of horrors in his mind.

His fingers were fiddling with the sharp little metal screw he had loosened from his bed frame an eternity ago… his only companion in absolute isolation.

His eyes were screwed shut in an attempt to block out his surroundings and he was rocking back and forth, back and forth, again and again… heart racing violently in his chest.

A blood-curdling scream was ripped from Dean's throat when Alistair slashed a deep cut into his exposed thigh muscles with a rusty razor blade.

The pain was sharp and blinding in its intensity, shooting through every nerve ending in his body.

"Lovely singing voice you got there, Dean…" Alistair purred, his breath rancid and hot against Dean's tear- and blood-smeared face. He had a devilish grin on his face, yellow teeth blitzing maliciously from behind curled lips. "It does all kinds of things to me when a boy like yerself sings this prettily…"

Dean's glassy, pain-filled eyes became fixated on the wisps of black smoke that danced closer. His nose and throat became blistered from the toxic air, closely followed by the rest of his exposed skin.

It was a fire that didn't consume, it just kept on licking, biting, burning.

He wanted nothing more than to black out from the never-ending pain, his mind remained sharp and clear at all times, no relieve to be found, not even for a second, never.

Alistair trailed the sharp edge of the razor blade over Dean's stomach and quivering chest, higher and higher until it came to linger over the thin stretch of skin over his bobbing Adam's apple.

"How about we try that again, huh?" Alistair chuckled darkly. "Be a good boy and sing for me, Dean."

This time, the razor went all the way in, slicing through the muscle and sinew just below Dean's collarbone and Dean's mind short-circuited around a crushing wave of agony.

Breathing hard through his nose, Dean got up from his prison cot and drove both his shaky hands through his hair, clenching fistfuls of the spiky strands and pulling hard enough for it to sting.

The tiny metal screw dropped to the ground, bouncing off the concrete in unpredictable little arches.

Somehow the isolation, coupled with the lack of daylight, the deprivation of human touch and basic conversation, was proving to be a one-way-ticket down memory lane for Dean, bringing back memories he'd long thought forgotten.

Memories of hell.

And he wasn't ready to handle that- hell, he'd spent so many years trying to bottle all that shit from the past up and hide it in a far- far away corner of his mind. Needless to say, he wasn't too keen on opening that particular can of worms up again.

Slamming a fist against the nearby concrete wall, Dean rested his forehead against the cool surface, trying to envision Sam's face in his mind, trying to remember what his brother's voice sounded like- or the way his expression shifted when he was annoyed; the slight downward curve of his lips when he disapproved of something Dean said or did.

Every day, when the memories threatened to overwhelm him and the panic tried to claw its way up Dean's throat once again, the only thing that helped keeping the crazy at bay- the only thing that grounded him and gave him a sense of purpose was the thought- no, the knowledge, that Sammy was here somewhere, stuck in the same hell. Literally.

It wasn't a comforting thought, of course. But it was something to focus on, something to channel all his energy and thoughts into. It wasn't so much the idea of escaping that kept him sane, but the thought of getting Sammy out of here, because if months of isolation had reduced Dean to the tumbling, desperate mess he now was, he could only imagine what being cooped up in this windowless hell was going to do to his little brother.

So when none of Dean's prayers to Cas and even to Chuck, seemed to work, there was only one last refuge – one last potential ally that Dean could think of.

"Billie?" Dean's voice sounded weird to his own ears when he croaked out the name, hoarse and weak and filled with doubt over whether or not the reaper would show up.

But it didn't even take a full second for her to appear, clad in leather and with her curly black hair in a wild tangle around her face. "Ready to say your goodbyes, Dean? I thought the day would never come…"

Dean's lips thinned out in disdain but after so many months of absolutely no interaction of any kind, he couldn't deny the thick relief that pulsed through him at the sound of her voice.

Hell, at this point, he would have probably preferred Crowley's snide remarks or Sam's hairspray-music to the suffocating silence that had nagged at him ever since he got locked up.

"Is Sam alright?" Dean asked before he could even really think about it.

He hadn't seen or heard from his brother since the day they had been brought in and the involuntary distance to his sibling- the lack of contact between them- had damn near killed Dean.

Billie's eyes narrowed and she snorted, one hand propped against her hips. "That what you called me here for? To check up on your darling brother?" she cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him as if she took personal insult in his words.

"Is he alright?" Dean insisted, voice taking on a pleading tone. "Please, Billie, if you know anything—"

"Oh, I do know," she said, clicking her tongue. "But I'm not ready to share and care. Not unless you offer me something in return…"

Dean would have rolled his eyes if he still had any fight left in him, but right now all he could focus on was that Billie was right here and that she was the only one who could get them out of here.

So whatever she wanted, whatever she was asking for – if it was a choice between that and them rotting in these godforsaken cells until the end of days, possibly never getting to see each other or talk to each other again, it wasn't really a choice at all.

At least, not for Dean.

"I want out."

"Out?" she asked, calmly, rolling that one word slowly off her tongue.

Dean took a step forward, his expression filled with cold determination, even as his heart beat rapidly in his chest and his palms grew sweaty. "Out of this cell, out of the goddamn prison. Me and Sam, you think of a way to get us both outta here and I'll—"

"And you'll make another deal with me," Billie finished for him, meeting Dean's dazzled expression with a self-sufficient smile of her own. "I'm gonna get you out of here, but in exchange, I'm going to reap a Winchester come midnight. Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars. No second chances this time around. You go and you stay gone. Forever."

Dean didn't really have to think about it.

He had always known he was going to die on the job, guns blazing, taken out by some run-of-the-mill monster they were hunting or some pissed off dick-angel. He didn't mind dying if it meant he was going to see his brother one last time.

He didn't mind dying in exchange for his brother's freedom.

In fact, he was fine with it. At least, that way, they could both spend a couple of hours together before Billie was going to take him out. At least they'd be able to say their goodbyes, make their peace with each other and with the world.

"Alright," he said and then held up a finger in warning. "But you gotta talk to him first. Get him on board with the plan, let him know what we're doing."

Because they had been down that road before and no matter how much Dean wanted to strike that deal with Billie, he also knew that he couldn't do it behind Sam's back.

He couldn't do that to him.

He wouldn't.

Their brotherhood had been strained and damaged too much in the past by some of the decisions he had made without consulting Sam first.

"If it soothes your conscience."

Dean watched her turn around and his heart gave a start in his chest. "Billie?"

"Yeah?" she didn't turn back around to look at him.

Dean swallowed. "Tell him… tell him that I…"

"I'm not your errand boy, Dean," Billie said in a smooth voice. "You're gonna have to tell him yourself."

Dean came back to life with a surge, sputtering and gasping and greedily sucking in air.

His eyes were roaming the area around him for a sign of hazel eyes or dimples or gangly arms or a brown mop of hair, but he came up empty and that frightened him more than any damn lack of oxygen or coming-back-from-the-dead experience ever could.

"You good?" Sam's familiar voice croaked out from behind Dean and Dean felt such a strong surge of relief- such a massive wave of emotion at the sound of his brother's words that he could have cried.

He closed his eyes against the embarrassing sting of tears, trying to catch his breath and regain his composure.

"Yeah," he said, sniffed and then turned around to stare into the deep and meaningful gaze of the pair of eyes he'd envisioned countless times in his mind in those past months of isolation. "Yeah, I'm good. You?"

Sam looked strong and tall and healthy. Kid had shadows beneath his eyes, speaking of restless nights and lack of sleep but he hadn't lost too much weight and it looked like he had been keeping in shape too, working out in his cell to keep himself distracted from the loneliness… the creeping thoughts of loss and grief and hell that probably threatened to drown him.

He tried to give Dean a smile but it was wavering and crumbling before it could blossom on his lips.

"Yeah, just—" he cleared his throat in that uncomfortable little way that meant he was insecure or troubled and Dean wanted nothing more than to get off that damn metal tray and yank Sam against his chest hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

"It's good to see you," Sam finished in a quiet voice and then his gaze shifted away because he was probably thinking about Billie and about the deal they'd made and how their reunion would be short-lived.

Dean opened his mouth but that was when they heard footsteps and both of them tensed in apprehension. They couldn't afford to get distracted now or their deal with Billie would have been for nothing.

Dean slid off the metal cot and Sam followed suit, hunter instinct taking over.

Time to get the hell out of here.

"Dean we need to talk about this—"

So far, Dean thought that they'd done a pretty good job at avoiding the topic. Why spoil the mood when they were out in the woods in prison jumpsuits and having the time of their lives?

"I know," Dean said, making sure to be two or three steps ahead of Sam, just in case of any snipers hiding in the woods in front of them. The chance of them hitting Sam with Dean blocking their vision was relatively low and right now, that was all Dean wanted to think about- all he wanted to focus on.

Getting Sam out of this godforsaken place in one piece so he could have a few more years on the road, kick some ass with Cas and their mom; saving people, hunting things, the family business.

That was what Dean wanted.

He'd said it before and he was going to say it again if necessary: Sam getting old and married and having two-point-five kids and a dog and a house -that was his version of a happy ending. And it was the only one life held in store for him.

"Dean—"

"Not now, Sammy," Dean said the nickname with a pleading edge to it, knowing that Sam wouldn't see things his way, that he would offer himself up instead and come up with arguments for why Dean should be the one to live.

'I was ready to die, Dean. I've been ready to die for years and I'm ready now. It's okay, I'm fine with it. Just, for once… let me do this?'

Dean's jaw tightened at the mere idea.

He had changed a lot over the past twelve years since he and Sam had been doing this.

They had both changed a lot, both in good and not-so-good ways.

But the one thing that Dean had never learned to accept, the one thing he was never going to accept- no matter what- was for Sam to leave this world before him.

He didn't have it in him to watch Sam die and continue living like he wasn't broken inside.

"Dean, we can't just pretend—"

"Shh," Dean held Sam back with an arm against his chest in a protective soccer-mom move. He motioned to the right, having noticed some faraway movement, secretively thankful for the distraction.

They had five more hours until midnight and Dean was going to spend them doing what he did best, protecting his brother and using every goddamn skill his dad had ever taught him to kick some highly-trained FBI ass.

"They're coming."

"So, who's it going to be?" Billie asked and Dean's heart dropped.

Not because his time to finally kick the bucket had arrived, not because he was about to dissolve into nothingness or whatever else 'the empty' had in store for him, but because one way or another, it was going to break his brother's heart.

Sam looked so heartbroken out there, in the darkness of the woods – so lost under the expectant stare of Billie's eyes.

And Dean kind of wished they would have had time for one more decent talk.

One more hour spent sitting in companionable silence.

Or driving down the road together in the Impala, ACDC blaring from the radio.

He wished they could have gotten one more hug after months of that goddamn shithole keeping them apart, just to reassure himself that Sam was whole and safe and right there.

But even if they didn't get to do any of that, Dean was still okay with the deal they made and what it would mean because making sure his little brother was okay ranked higher on Dean's priority life than saving his own hide.

Dean's eyes flickered over at Sam's full of sorrow, his mouth already shaping the first attempts of a goodbye when his mom suddenly spoke up. "Me. Take me."

It was late at night and Dean couldn't sleep.

Which was strange, considering that he'd been sleeping on a goddamn metal rack for the better part of the past months, waking up with a stiff neck and mind-numbing back-pains every goddamn morning.

Rationally speaking, the mere thought of his memory foam mattress should have been inviting enough to have him curled up in bed and happily snoring, but for some reason, his mind just wouldn't stop conjuring up images of that daunting cell and… Alistair.

He passed Mary's room on his way to the kitchen and stopped for a second to peek inside the crack of the open door and see his mother's sleeping form beneath the blankets.

The sound of her even breathing was comforting and Dean allowed himself to creepily stand in the doorway and stare, just soaking in the fact that –for once- their mom had taken them up on their offer to spend the night at the bunker.

Eventually, Dean made it to the kitchen, not really sure why he'd come here until he noticed Sam's tall form hunched over a steaming cup of coffee on their breakfast table.

Dean blinked, surprised to see his brother still awake at three in the morning, but decided not to dwell on it. If the images of hell still haunted Dean, there was a fair chance of Sammy being tormented by similar thoughts, including his years in the cage and his possession by Lucifer…

"There any coffee left?"

"I can make you some," Sam offered softly, giving Dean a weak little smile.

Dean sat down on the bench opposite from him, purposefully bumping their knees together beneath the table. "Nah, it's fine. Not really in the mood for it anyway."

Sam let out a soft grunt of acknowledgment and then they both fell silent again, both lost in their own world of thoughts.

"Do you think she would have done it?" Sam eventually asked, peeking up at Dean from behind a fringe of unruly hair. His curls had grown out in the months of their separation and Dean made a mental note of giving his younger brother a haircut sometime in the near future.

"I don't know," Dean honestly answered.

He didn't need to ask what Sam was talking about.

"Would you've… what would we have done if—"

She sacrificed herself to save them?

If Cas hadn't stepped in to save the day?

Dean shook his head and lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug. "I prefer not to think about it. Just glad we got out in one piece, for once."

"Yeah…" Sam put his empty coffee cup back down with a soft frown marring his forehead. "Think I'm gonna try and catch some shuteye after all."

"You do that," Dean nodded his head in approval. He would have, for once, enjoyed to talk some more, but he knew Sam needed his sleep and he wasn't about to keep him up for longer than necessary. "Get some rest, Sammy."

Sam pressed his lips together and got up, lanky frame unfolding as he took two steps at a time, ready to leave the kitchen. Then he stopped in the doorway and turned around, sending a last, intense look at Dean over his shoulder. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you."

Sam's voice was small and grateful when he spoke, his expression filled with the kind of big-brother worship that had gotten Dean through his childhood and most of his adult life.

Dean felt his heart clench tight in his chest, emotion clogging his airways.

He had spent hours, weeks, months, thinking of his brother, hoping that Sam was alright; that he ate enough and slept enough and that he was going to make it out of that place alive, whole and safe.

He had tried to recall what his brother's laughter sounded like because that was the first thing he'd forgotten after mom, dad, and Bobby…

And now Sam was right here in front of him, smiling softly in the dim kitchen light and before Dean knew what he was doing he had gotten up from his seat and crossed the kitchen, before pulling Sam in for a brief but heartfelt hug.

There was no need for words, no need to return the sentiment because it was all right there, in that one gesture. Months' worth of separation, of sensory deprivation and loneliness had come to an end and if that didn't call for a chick-flick moment between them, Dean didn't know what else did.

He felt Sam's long arm winding themselves around his back and squeezed his little brother tighter, eyes squeezed shut as he drank in the smell and feel and sound that was Sam's presence, reminding himself of what Cas had said earlier in the woods… about them fighting the good fight, about how the world needed them. Them- plural.

Because they came in a package deal.

And Dean wouldn't have it any other way.

"Goodnight bitch," Dean snorted softly, trying to mask his own emotionality as he slowly withdrew from the embrace, clapping Sam's neck in the brotherly code for 'let's stop this from going any further before we grow ovaries'.

Sam's grin wavered for a second, eyes flashing with memories.

"Night, jerk," he returned softly, rolling his eyes to lessen the emotional punch these words still packed for both of them.

Dean watched him leave with a softened expression on his face.

Then he dug his car keys from his pockets and thumbed them lightly, tracing the cool metal with his fingers like he didn't have the smooth dents and edges of the metal memorized.

He needed to clear his head, take back control of his life and what better way was there to do that than to go for a little midnight trip in the Impala?

Maybe tomorrow he would talk to Sam about his dreams his memories.

But tonight he was going to take his baby out for a midnight spin and drive like a madman until every last thought was gone from his mind.

Home sweet home.

So yet AGAIN we have witnessed a significant reunion between the brothers in season 12 without any meaningful brotherly interaction and I'm done. Not permanently, but I have decided to quit watching the show for a while - at least until these writers remember that this show is about Sam and Dean's brotherhood and nothing else. In the meanwhile, I have decided to write this prompt fic, where I will fill a new prompt in each chapter. Here are the rules:

*) Any missing tag or coda to any episode

*) Can be Pre-Series or even Post-Series

*) Focus must be on the brotherly bond so please no prompts with a heavy focus on any characters other than Sam and Dean unless that character had played a major role in shaping the brother's relationship (fe. John)

*) I don't mind writing Outside POVs or AUs as long as the focus remains on the brothers

That's basically it. Please send me your prompts in the comments or per PM. And don't forget to let me know what you thought about the first chapter! Thank you so much for all your support! I'm looking forward to hearing from you!