"You didn't run, did you?" Sam asked without preamble. He was gazing blankly at the dashboard of the Impala.

"What?" said Dean, without taking his eyes off the deserted country road ahead of them.

They had left Nebraska that morning and were on the way to Pennsylvania to look into a case they had heard about from one of their father's friends. It was getting dark, and there was no music in the car. Dean had been strangely reluctant to turn on the greatest hits of mullet rock to break the eerie quiet. Sam suspected that his brother still had a headache from his encounter with the Reaper.

Sam took a deep breath and breathed the words out, "When the Reaper came to you, you didn't try to get away." It came out as more of a statement than a question.

There was no answer.

Sam turned his head and stared at Dean's shadowed profile. It was funny, for someone so used to faking identities and putting on a show of bravado, Dean was never good at lying for himself, especially about things that really mattered. He would try to divert the question or, if that wouldn't work, fall silent. Sam wasn't sure what he had wanted to say because he had known the answer already. When he had found Dean's picture on that damned altar, he had felt a cold knot form in the pit of his stomach. It had been growing tighter and tighter ever since.

"You thought it was okay, didn't you?" said Sam, a little more sharply than he intended. "It was fair because you'd been saved at the cost of someone else's life? Because Layla deserved to live more than you did? Is that what you thought?" He could hear a slight tremor and accusatory tone in his own voice, but he couldn't stop himself. "You didn't even fight, Dean! You were so damn willing to give up your life!"

After everything I've done to save you! After all the fear and misery I went through! How could you do that to me?

He wanted to shout at his brother, but he knew he couldn't. It was not fair to Dean.

Dean threw him a fleeting glance before turning his eyes back on the road. His posture was tense and nervous, but he didn't say anything. Sam looked away and swallowed a couple of times. He was beginning to regret he had opened his mouth at all. What had he wanted to accomplish by this?

He felt Dean's eyes on him. He turned around and saw – before Dean schooled his expression and turned away – a worried, anxious look on his face so open and sincere that Sam's chest tightened. At that moment, he felt a rush of affection for his big brother and understood what he had really wanted to say.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice low and warm.

"Yeah?"

"Just don't die on me, okay?"

Sam could see the tension leave his brother's body. Dean opened his mouth as if he was going to make a wise crack but closed it again. He settled on a simple reply.

"Sure, Samantha."

Sam tried to suppress a smile but didn't quite succeed. Dean's lips curled up. Shaking his head wearily, Sam let the smile spread across his face. He felt the knot in his stomach finally starting to ease.

End

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A/N: Many thanks to my great beta Ruth.