The single gunshot that rang through the air was no louder and no different from all the gunshots Dean's heard in his life.
But this one made Dean shake, made his heart race and tears flow from his eyes.
After the air grew deadly and uncomfortably silent, Dean hurriedly wiped the tears away, not wanting Sam to see.
He walked calmly into the next room, where Sam was kneeling over the body of Madison, his girlfriend, whom he had to shoot in the heart after she turned into a werewolf.
Dean quickly and calmly took the gun away from Sam, knowing better than to leave a weapon in the hands of an emotionally damaged person. He lay a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed it gently.
"Sammy? We have to go, okay?" Sam nodded and rose, stumbling as he stood. Sam walked out the door and to the impala with a glazed over look in his eyes, Dean's arm wrapped around his waist to keep him steady.
They drove until the tank was empty, and the murder scene was far, far away. Sam was silent the whole drive, and Dean's many attempts at lightening his mood were futile. They stopped at a nicer hotel than usual, and Dean got a room with a single king size bed, whether mistakenly or not Sam will never know. Dean tossed their luggage down and joined Sam, who was sitting on the bed with his eyes staring blankly ahead.
Dean lay a hand on his brother's knee and sighed. "Sammy, you know that you…" What Dean wanted to say was "you did the right thing," but decided against it. Sam nodded in understanding, and stood up. "Yeah, I know, I did the right thing," Sam said, looking down.
Dean stood up and took Sam's hand. "Do you want to talk about it? You shouldn't hold it all in," Dean whispered, the hand he was using to hold Sam's hand was making its way up his arm and around his neck.
Dean tried to awkwardly pull him in, but Sam yanked away from his touch and stalked to the end of the room. "No." Sam said simply. Dean shrugged, glad that at least Sam was talking. "Sammy, please, just talk to me," Dean said, walking up to Sam once more. "I can't do this anymore, Dean, I just can't. It's too much, everyone I love dies. First Jess, now Madison. I just can't, Dean." Sam said quietly, eyes turned to the floor.
"Hey," said Dean, lifting his chin so that Sam faced him. "I love you, and I'm not going anywhere, okay?"
Dean wound his hands around Sam's neck once more, and gently pulled him in.
Sam didn't resist, and bent forward slightly when he realized what Dean was trying to do. Dean kissed him, sweet and slow, all the while stroking the back of his neck.
The kiss wasn't wrong, or even sexual, just a loving gesture that meant so much. Sam felt Dean smile through the kiss and sighed happily, pulling away. He fell into the waiting arms of Dean and let the long-repressed tears fall.
Dean caught him and slowly sat on the floor, supporting Sam's dead weight as he collapsed into his arms. Sam curled up in his arms like a child, clinging to his neck and sobbing.
Dean whispered every promise of love, comfort and affection he could think of, while running his hands through Sam's hair and stroking his neck and back. They stayed that way for what seemed like hours, curled up in each other.
Eventually Sam's sobs dissolved and he simply laid perfectly still against Dean. Dean wiped away the mess of tears and snot from his face before saying "Hey, you wanna lay down?" Sam simply mumbled and curled deeper into Dean's arms.
Trying not to make a sound, Dean supported Sam's back and the backs of his knees, Dean carried him in to the bed, settling his baby brother down before laying next to him. He leaned over and kissed him once more, this time tasting the salt of tears.
In the morning when they would wake up, there would be questions. Why they had kissed, why hadn't they kissed before, why were they sleeping in the same bed, was this a one time thing or should it become a habit. But for now, it was just the two of them, tangled up in each other in happy, ignorant bliss. And for now, that's all they both needed.
