Come Back Into My Arms

"SAaaMMY! SAMmmMY? S-" Sam jerked awake to the sound of his brother's voice calling his name, making him jump as it hollered again and again for him. The man outside coughed and took a deep breath before pounding on the door again. "Suh-mmy, open the dooor," Dean called, slurring in his speech. Right as he was about to knock pound again, Sam opened the door with a wide-eyed expression. Surely this must be a dream. Never in a million years would Dean travel all the way to Stanford to see him. Heck, he hasn't seen him in two years. Not since it happened.

'What were you thinking, Dean?" He held his brother up by his elbows. Dean reeked of cheap beer and a faint flowery scent. Perfume from the last girl he shagged. Sam exhaled impatiently, half-walking, half-carrying his brother to the couch. Dean touched Sam's face, mumbling incoherent words silently.

"Ok. Ok. You just lay down here, alright?" Sam helped him out of his jacket. Suddenly, Dean pushed him off and stood up, wobbling a little. "I need to talk to youuuu, Sammy," Dean slurred, pointing at his brother. Sam watched as Dean sat down, rubbing his chin in frustration, only to jump back up and around like he'd heard something. "There's no one behind you, Dean. Now, you were saying about.. uh.. talking?"

Dean faced Sam with longing in his eyes, the kind that made him melt two years ago. It's the alcohol. It's the alcohol. Sam chanted in his head. He was having a hard time convincing himself because the last time Dean was drunk and needed to 'talk', it ended pretty bad. Real bad.

"I wwwant you to come home, Sammy," Dean said. "No," Sam replied gruffly. What was his brother's problem anyway? He didn't stop dad from letting him leave. He didn't stand up for him when dad told him he was wrong to every extend of the Universe. He didn't do anything. Dean was in the room while he packed. Dean drove him to the airport. Dean put Sam in his Impala's rearview mirror without even looking back one last time.

Sam shook the memories from his head and paced around the room, waiting for Dean to say something rational like "I need you to drive me home" or "Have you got quarters on you" or "Let's go get some pie"- or "I'm sorry".

"Sammy, you're packing," Dean insisted, grabbing his wrist to drag him to his room. "No, Dean! Leave me alone. I don't want to go home," Sam pulled his hand out of his brother's grip. "I'm not leaving. I'm not!"

"Sam…" Dean whispered, holding back his tears and took a few steps towards his little brother. In the car earlier, just before he entered Sam's dorm building, he'd been beating himself up about what he'd done or rather, what he hadn't done for Sammy. Dean knew in his heart that Sam was not wrong the day dad ordered him out. He knew it in his guts that dad was taken aback, only acting out of shock and doing what he does best: shutting them out. John Winchester was not an easy man, especially after the death of his wife in such a horrible fashion that he was convinced no good could ever come of the world again, except his two perfectly normal sons.

Dean drank himself dizzy, accompanied by the haunting thoughts of what has been and what will never be. When he finally had the courage to meet Sam, he made a fool of himself and now Sam doesn't look too eager to even look at him. Dean tried a softer approached. He needed Sammy. He needed to hold him, to protect him, to talk him to sleep like he used to. He wanted his Sammy back desperately.

"What, Dean?" Sam answered softly, sitting on the couch. Dean sat next to him too, a little too close to be brotherly. Before he could he react, Dean pulled him into a hug. Sam gladly hugged him back, missing the safety he felt in his brother's arms. Pull away, pull away. Don't let it happen again. Sam shuddered.

Dean began crying then, unable to hold his tears back any longer as the numbing effect of the alcohol slowly slipped from his head. "Please just come back, Sam. Dad's never home anymore. He drinks himself to sleep every chance he gets. I can't live like that alone and you know I can't leave."

"Why not? It's not like you're bound to him, Dean! Why is he so important to you that you never leave his side? He's not the man who used to love us. He's a Nazi freak, devoid of emotions, devoid of common sense. His judgments are clouded unless they're about that son of a bitch he's hunting!"

"Dammit, Sam! This isn't about being bound alright? I just," Dean punched the vase off his coffee table, sending the glass onto the ground in shards, "…want us all to be together… a family again. What's the point if you leave and dad checks out emotionally too, huh? I don't have anybody."

Sam didn't even flinch when Dean pushed his lips onto Sam's. He kissed back hungrily, needing Dean as much as Dean needed him. He didn't want to go then, but he's not sure if he wants to leave now. Sam's mind whirled with decisions and hurt and memories and no matter how much he tried to focus on Dean's lips against his on, all he could think was his dad yelling at him.

"Get out if you're so willing to leave. All these years, raising you two, protecting you and this is how you repay me?" John burst at his seams the moment Sam insisted he wanted to go to college. "We're your sons. Not your soldiers. I don't want to live under your thumb anymore," Sam spat. "What about all those nights back in the motel?" John asked angrily. "What about them?" Sam took a step back, heartbeat starting to quicken. "You don't think I know, Samuel? You think I was blind?"

"The way you held his hand in the ER, the way you never leave his side. That.. That was before I caught you two. But until this very day, that thought sickens me. My own sons. My own sons…

"Dean stop!" Sam pulled away, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. His father's disappointment, his disapproval of him, it scared Sam to death. It was like his father mentally disowned him with his words. My own sons.

Dean knew what went through his little brother's mind. He had heard it too. It haunted him night and day, for weeks, for months, for four years. John didn't look at him the same way ever since. Part of Dean wanted to bolt for the door again, feeling his father's disapproving eyes watching him. But Dean knew running away from it now wouldn't block it out later. So, he rebelled.

Sam caught the look in Dean's eyes and leaned into his lips once more. This time, Dean kissed him tenderly. Just like how he used to in the quiet nights at motels without John's omnipresent glare. He brushed back Sam's hair from his forehead, pressing a kiss on his nose. Sam inhaled his brother's scent, still alcoholic but mostly him now. They let their fingers roam on each other's body, lingering behind necks, tracing spines. Dean still had tears in his eyes that Sam wiped away with his thumb. Sam suppressed a sigh as Dean pressed another kiss to his nose.

"I'm sorry I didn't come back earlier or called or tried to stop you," Dean apologized, sobering up. "What happened the last time… I didn't… well, I didn't think it was right for me to have left so-"

"Abruptly?" Sam finished for Dean. Dean nodded. Sam nodded too, picking at the hem of Dean's shirt.

"You're not just here to make me come home, are you?" Sam asked.

"No. It was my mistake, Sam. Both times. I knew dad was wrong to let you leave. And the last time I came back for you, I hurt you," Dean cowered, not daring to look into his little brother's eyes.

"I love you, Dean. It's fine if you don't say it back but I just want to remind you again. I love you and it seemed so wrong at first. But these feelings, they're too strong and there really isn't any—"

"I love you too, Sammy. Always have, always will," Dean replied. Sam smiled for the first time that night. In all those days of stolen kisses and night-time cuddles, no matter how many times Sam whispered his love to Dean, his brother never reciprocated. He never said it back. Not even once.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. And I'm not going to let you go ever again," Dean kissed Sam's lips, hand resting on his chin, the other on the small of his little brother's back as Sam inched closer to his body.

My own sons… who loved each other too much to be brotherly.