Most of the things Sam says near the end are things I wanted to say to my brother recently. Please let me know what you think of this.
And if you, like some others I've shown this to, find present tense difficult to read, I would be happy to send you the story in its original past tense, as I usually write in past.
Shit.
"Sam, what the hell are you doing?" Dean doesn't wait for an answer. "Oh, stupid question, you're doing shots. Tequila shots. At seven in the morning."
"Shut up, Dean. Go find another random chick to bang." Sam downs another shot. "That's all you do anymore anyway, you just drink and have sex and hunt. You're like an--an even worse version of yourself. I'm done, man, I'm done."
"Yeah, I'll say," Dean answers, stopping his brother as he reaches for the nearly-empty bottle. "Come on, you lush." Dean pulls Sam off the stool and starts to lead him toward the door.
"Hey," grunts a gray-bearded bartender. "Guy didn't pay me."
Rolling his eyes, the eldest Winchester pulls out his wallet and slaps a few tens on the bar. "Keep the change, Gandalf."
ϯ
A short and tense drive later, Dean hauls Sam's ass into their motel room.
Turning away from his younger brother, Dean pulls off his jacket and hangs it up, an annoyed expression still present on his face.
"So," he says, facing his brother, who sits on one of the beds, staring off into space. "I thought we agreed last time that heavy drinking during a job equals a time out and suspension of driving privileges."
"Go screw yourself," Sam replies hoarsely, before stumbling into the bathroom.
Dean looks affronted as he watches him go, feeling…irked is the word that comes to mind. Yeah, that works.
He moves toward the bathroom, listening to Sam mumble as he runs some water.
"Always cracking jokes, why does everything have to be funny…"
"Sam."
Without a word, Sam turns off the water, dries his hands and face, and pushes past Dean roughly, staggering slightly as he goes.
Dean follows his younger brother, grabbing him by the shoulder to turn him around.
"Sam! The hell is wrong with you?"
Sam clenches his teeth and looks at Dean darkly. "You just answered your own question. I'm going to bed."
Dean stops for a moment, trying to work out his brother's drunken response in his head.
Then it sinks in, and pain flits across his features.
"So this is how it's gonna be? Is this what you're gonna do when I'm gone?"
"Don't. I don't need to hear this shit from you."
Dean draws his shoulders back, not liking where this is heading one bit. "Yeah, Sam, you do need to hear this. I'm checking out in three months, and you're downing shots on the job?"
"What do you care?"
"I do care, and I can't believe you think I don't! This is not gonna fly, I'll tell you that right now."
"Yeah? Try and stop me, stumpy."
Dean freezes and his face turns dark. "You know what? Just forget it."
Sam too looks angry now, pissed, even. "Why not? That's what you always do. You just screw around and act like everything's better than ever while I-"
As if he has said too much, Sam's cuts himself off. He shoves his hands in his pockets and the anger slips off his face. Suddenly, he simply looks tired. Lost.
Dean frowns at this. "While you what, Sam?" he asks quietly.
Sam is unable to meet his eyes, which scares Dean more than anything. Sam has lost his previously aggressive stance. Now he just seems so…vulnerable.
He turns his back to Dean, moves a few steps, his mind sluggishly telling him to change the subject, but he can't. Because he's been holding this in for months, and if he doesn't say it now, he'll probably never get the chance.
Sam takes a deep, shuddering breath, and angles himself just enough to offer Dean his profile. He can't face him, it's already too hard to do this.
Now he can do it, but where does he start?
And then, just like that, it comes out.
"I hate you."
The words are like a blow with the force of a freight train to Dean. He finds himself struggling to take a breath, as though the air has been knocked out of his lungs.
Tears form in his eyes, even as the logical portion of his brain insists that it can't be true, he's plastered, he doesn't know what he's saying…
"Sammy-"
Sam holds up a hand and Dean can see his jaw clench tightly.
"Let me do this. Please, I have to."
Literally shaking, Dean prepares himself for whatever his brother has to say.
"I hate you for saving me. I hate you for thinking that I could…" Sam has to pause, his throat is closing up and the tears are coming hot and fast and his head aches from holding them back. He presses his left palm to his temple, shutting his eyes and willing the pain away.
He gives up, drops his arm, and lets the tears come.
"I hate you because you think I can do this without you, and I don't mean hunting, I mean living, being a person…I hate you because you think that I'm so much better than you…"
Now they're both crying, Sam fighting back sobs that break through anyway, but he can't stop, Dean has to know.
"I hate you so much. I just can't understand why you think you're so worthless! And every day, having to see that in your eyes, it's killing me, Dean. Ever since you made that deal, you act like it doesn't matter. That in the end, it doesn't matter what happens to you, as long as you did your job, as long as I'm alive, even if I don't want to be…" Sam sniffs, still not daring to look at his brother's face; he can feel his pain, he doesn't need to see it.
"You think I'll be able to just pick up the pieces after you're gone, six months or a year later, and I'll be okay without you, but…" A loud sob rips through him. He puts a hand on his stomach, as if to hold himself together. "I won't, and I can't ever be okay without you, Dean, even if I had Jess and Mom and Dad, because you're my big brother, you're supposed to always be there for me and be okay. I'm supposed to be the one who screws up and you're supposed to be there to fix it. You're not supposed to die, please, you can't…you can't die for me, Dean. I can't lose you, not you. I've looked up to you my whole life, please don't leave me…" He knows it's stupid to beg, it won't change anything, but just like everything else, there's no stopping it.
Hearing his little brother like this, broken and begging, sends shockwaves of pain through Dean's chest, but he just stands there.
They both stand there, roughly five feet apart, tears coursing down their cheeks, the occasional sob coming from one or the other. They just stand there for a few seconds, unable to speak.
"I just want you to know that you're wrong. Wrong about me, and wrong about you. You're stronger than I am, Dean, you're not worthless.
"I don't care if you can protect me from the world. That doesn't matter to me, in fact, to me, it's the least important thing about you.
"You don't think you mean anything to the world, and I need you to know that that isn't true. Because you mean everything to me. You don't think I need you, but I do. You're my brother, and it doesn't matter how much time passes after you're gone, I will never be okay without you. I'm not the better one of us…"
"Yes you are, Sammy," Dean chokes out, his throat constricted.
"I'm not. You're so much better."
Finally, Sam's sobs quiet. He sniffs, and he raises his head, and he looks his big brother in the eye.
"I just wish you could see that."