When Sam returned, Dean was nowhere to be found. He had expected him to be in the kitchen, expected to see his back end sticking out of the refrigerator, but instead all he found was the quiet hum of electrical appliances.
"Dean?" He called. No gruff response greeted the younger Winchester. Sam couldn't choke down the rise of panic. What if they really hadn't cured Dean, what if it had been a trick? Carrying the bag of deep fried cholesterol that Dean loved, he started quickly looking through the bunker. No signs of his brother were forthcoming. Nothing that indicated he was there, nothing that indicated any source of life. That lack of sound, that profound silence, that had been all too common in the last several weeks was back, and it shook Sam to his core. The short time his brother had been back in the bunker, whether he was bursting down a door trying to kill him, or sitting in their make shift demon holding cell, just simply breathing, the silence had been broken, there was life in this bunker. But life seemed to be missing again, because all that greeted Sam was that silence he had endured while his brother had been MIA and that scared him more than anything.
"Dean?" he called again panic tinged his voice. No sound. Sam began to walk faster and faster until he was right on top of Dean's door. He didn't knock, he just burst in. Dean looked up, his wide green eyes slightly startled, but they were green, they were Dean's, they weren't tainted with black of any sort, Dean was, in fact, still Dean.
Sam sagged with relief against the doorframe. "Why didn't you answer me?" he asked exasperated.
"I'm sorry." Dean said as he swung his legs off of the bed. "I didn't hear you."
"That's crap Dean. You always hear me."
"I didn't hear you this time. I'm not exactly on top of my game today." Dean said with a small self-conscious chuckle.
"You feeling okay?" Sam asked and put the bag of food on Dean's desk, he took two long strides and was standing in front of his brother, a hand on his forehead. "You don't have a fever. Maybe you should lie down." Dean backed up from his brother's probing hands, and his probing questions.
"I'm fine." Dean said automatically. "Just a little tired. Apparently demons don't sleep." He said leaning against wall, ankles crossed, arms crossed, trying to protect himself against Sam's inevitable desire to talk about what just happened. Usually, he didn't want to talk because he didn't want to get in too deep emotionally, didn't want to admit how he felt, but this time, he wasn't worried about having to share *his* feelings, he was worried that he would have to endure hearing Sam's feelings. And Sam's feeling probably weren't going to be warm and fuzzy. Sam would admit how he felt about his brother coming at him with a hammer. Dean couldn't take it right now if Sam decided he wasn't worth it, if he decided to say similar truths to the ones that he told after Dean allowed, encouraged even, the angel to possess Sam. Right now everything was so raw, he couldn't take it if Sam told him to get the hell out and never to come near him again.
"You don't sleep when you're soulless either." Sam said with a small laugh. "I remember that tired. I could have slept for days."
Dean was surprised by Sam's admission, he was trying to commiserate with him, how in the hell could Sam want to do that? After what he did, after what he said, how was it possible that Sam was willing to sympathize? "I think you did sleep for days." Dean said slowly, unsure of where this conversation was going.
Sam shifted from foot to foot, he suddenly didn't know what to say to his brother. He wanted to say something, anything about what had just happened, about how he understood, about how Dean shouldn't worry, but he couldn't come up with anything, instead he simply said: "I brought you dinner." Sam gestured towards the bag on the desk. "From that place you like in town. The cashier asked after you. Said she hadn't seen you in a while and wanted to make sure you were okay. Told her that you'd been sick but we got it together."
"You went and got me supper?" he asked slightly incredulous.
Sam, confused, said. "Yeah? Of course. You said you were hungry. Why wouldn't I get you supper?" Sam had no idea what a large can of cursed worms he had just opened.
"Sammy, I went after you with a hammer. I was going to kill you. I wasn't just thinking about it, I was going to kill you."
Sam nodded with a chuckle. "I know. I was there Dean."
"I said you were the reason for mom's death. I said…"
"A lot of things. A lot of hurtful things. I know."
"Then? Why? Why haven't you kicked me out of here, told me never to come back? Why?" Dean asked, breathing quickened by the fear that Sam might actually take the time to do that right now.
Sam thought for a moment, not because he didn't know the answer, but because he wasn't sure how to articulate it. He looked back up and into his brother's eyes.
"Because I finally understand."
"Understand?"
"Yeah, understand what it feels like to be on the receiving end of "truths" that aren't so true, but are said when you aren't you and you're mad and you just…aren't yourself." Sam shuffled his feet and looked down, licked his lips and looked up at his brother's wide scared eyes. "I've told you a lot of "truths" over the years, some of them I've said because I knew they would hurt, they would make you do what I wanted you to do, and some were said when I wasn't me, said when my soul was in hell, said when I was so addicted to demon blood I couldn't think straight, some were just said because I was mad and I wanted you to hurt like I hurt." Sam snorted a laugh. "I never understood how much those things hurt, never understood what it felt like to be on the receiving end. So, the fact that you haven't gone after me with a hammer before this…says something about you Dean." Sam gave a little laugh.
Dean shook his head, uncrossed his legs and arms and finally laughed, the fear draining slowly from his eyes. "It says that I'm awesome."
Sam actually laughed, it was such a Dean comment, and it was true, but Sam would never tell his brother that.
"Yeah, you're awesome. Just like you're Batman." Sam said with a roll of the eyes.
"And don't you forget it."
"Come on, Batman, let's go to the kitchen and eat."
"Since when do you care where I eat?"
"I don't, but the whisky is in the kitchen."
"OHHHH the I-or-something-just-saved-my-brother-form-a-fate-worse-than-death-or- possibly-death-and-I'm-not-sure-of-the-fallout liquid diet. That is a mighty numbing meal let me tell ya." Dean took the bag from his brother, and he quietly bumped shoulders with Sam on their way to the kitchen to enjoy their meals, an ease between them that hadn't been there in years. Dean knew that this wasn't the end of these conversations, but for the moment, all was well in the Winchester world.