Sam and Dean need more brotherly moments. So I wrote 'em one. Spoilers for The Born Again Identity and anything before that! Read at your own risk.

Still Breathing

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"How are you feeling, Sammy?" Dean murmured while keeping his eyes focused on the road. He appeared calm, but Sam knew better–both hands were gripping the steering wheel and his knuckles were as white as paper.

Sam repressed a sigh and turned to look out the window. He leaned his head on his hand and muttered, "I'm fine, Dean–I feel great, actually; somewhat normal, for the first time in a while. How many times are you going to ask me that?"

Dean's eyebrows furrowed and he risked a glance at his brother. The bags under his eyes didn't look fine. The pale, colorless appearance to his normally tanned skin didn't look fine. "I'm just worried about you," he insisted, and one hand reached out to squeeze Sam's shoulder, but he stopped short and returned it to the steering wheel with a frown.

"Cas fixed me. Everything is okay, so stop worrying."

"Dammit, Sam! Everything is not fine or oaky or great or whatever. You were dying. That is not okay!" No matter what he did, nothing could make him stop worrying about his little brother. It was something that had been drilled into him since he was four years old and there was no getting rid of that.

Sam immediately sat up and turned to give Dean an incredulous look. "We almost die every day, you know. We're hunters, it happens. This time isn't any different."

Dean closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. He pushed back the automatic urge to lash out and punch something, and he said quietly, "You were dying from something… human. If I hadn't found Cas… there would've been no way to save you. There was nothing I could do, and my little brother was dying right in front of me."

Sam didn't say anything; he just looked at his brother for a long moment. "This is bothering you that much? What do you mean human?" He had no idea where Dean was coming form, and no matter how well he knew his brother, he couldn't tell what was going through his mind. Honestly, though Sam was 90% sure he wouldn't admit it aloud, it was kind of freaking him out.

Dean released a long, drawn-out sigh, and he was beginning to regret saying anything at all–but Sam needed to know how he felt. He'd already learned that keeping things from each other did more harm than good. They both needed to start being honest with each other, because this lying and beating around the bush thing wasn't getting them anywhere and it was really getting old.

"The hallucinations–yeah, they were caused from going to Hell. Something supernatural. But the whole not-sleeping thing… It's a response to post-traumatic stress, from the memories," Dean admitted cautiously. "Your doctor explained it briefly and… I read about it. It's a human disorder that doesn't have many supernatural solutions, Sam, I couldn't go and make a deal and fix it, dammit–"

"Dean…" Sam started, his gaze hard as he focused on his brother, who was anxiously tapping the steering wheel. "Everything comes down to a 'human problem', because we are human. Like when Jake–stabbed me in the back." Sam ignored the tight clenching of Dean's jaw and his narrowed eyes (and his own churning stomach as he felt the ghostly, sharp pain racing up and down his spine). This was not a light subject and they'd never really talked about it before, and not to mention so bluntly, but Sam continued. "None of those were really human issues to begin with. We were all psychic kids with some kind of weird trait or power or whatever you want to call it. But being stabbed; that was human. It hurt and I was–I was dead.

"There was a way to fix it. Kind of." Not a very good solution, but Sam didn't touch on Dean making the deal. It wasn't the right place or time to bring it up (but now that he was thinking about it, there were a lot of things that they had never talked about before, and maybe they really should start getting everything off of their chests).

"Or when you were dying, from being electrocuted." Sam stopped again for a moment, swallowing past the lump in his throat. To talk about Dean, dying, was as hard as it was for Dean to acknowledge the fact that Sam had died before. "That was caused by something human, which was the heart attack. The root cause was supernatural. The solution… was also supernatural. Everything is eventually a 'human' problem, whether or not the cause or the solution is supernatural."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed and he didn't say anything for a long moment; the silence was deafening and uncomfortable because Sam wasn't used to it.

"But Cas–yeah, I'm glad I found him and all, 'cause if I didn't… he was able to use some of his angel mojo or whatever and fix you. I couldn't do a damn thing! What kind of brother am I if I can't help you? If I can't protect you? I can't even do my own fucking job that I've had since you were born, Sammy. All I could do was watch you die." His voice lowered to a whisper as his out of character rant came to an end. "I'm… sorry, Sam. I left you in there, in a place for… for crazy people, alone; I don't know why I did it. I don't know why I didn't bring you with me. I'm sorry."

The younger Winchester's gaze immediately softened, and he shifted almost awkwardly in his seat. He was glad Dean finally told him something, instead of keeping it bottled up, but he wasn't quite sure how to react. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for, Dean," Sam consoled quickly, his voice light but firm. His hand twitched, and he thought, what the Hell – they were already way past a 'chick-flick' moment. Now it was like a full blown chick-flick movie.

So Sam reached a hesitant hand out to his brother and grasped the hand that was lying loosely at his side. "Dean," Sam said again, in case the whole hand-holding thing hadn't caught his attention (unlikely, but plausible). "You have done more than enough. You have been–are–the greatest brother anyone could ask for, and you've already done so much for me."

Dean scoffed, and it echoed loudly in the silence. In response, the younger brother pounded a fist lightly on the dashboard (he forgot that they weren't currently in the Impala). "I'm serious! You've almost died for me more times than I can count! You… you went to Hell for me, and you knew what you were getting yourself into. Not many people would do that for someone; not many people have someone that would be willing to die for them, either, and I don't know if I've ever thanked you for that." Sam released a shaky, unsure breath as unwanted, lonely memories flooded his mind. "You have saved my ass time after time. Sometimes there might not be a chance, and that's okay."

This time it was Dean who shifted around uncomfortably. His hand in Sam's tightened quickly, and he took that as his sign to let go. Dean murmured slowly, "That's what I'm afraid of. Not being able to save you." His tired green eyes drifted to Sam, almost expecting him to get mad, but instead he just sighed. "I don't want to lose you, Sammy. You're all that I have left. I don't think I can do this alone."

Sam turned to look out of the window–ignoring his ghastly, drained appearance in the reflection in the process–and focused on the skeletal trees flickering past. "I don't blame you," he admitted, "because I feel the same way about you. But we're not superhuman. No matter what we hunt. No matter how many times we die and somehow crawl our way back into the world that we hate and for some reason desperately hold on to… We're still human. There's going to be a time when we really do die, for good, and we can't keep sacrificing ourselves to get each other back. We're only bringing more pain."

The silence lingered over them again as they refused to meet each other's eyes, before Dean let out a shaky laugh that startled them both. "You should be some kind of spokesperson or political figure, Sammy, making speeches like that."

Sam wasn't sure if this sudden change in his brother was a good thing or not, but he released his own cautious, relieved chuckle in response. "You think so? Maybe I can replace Dick Roman once we gank him," Sam said lightheartedly, but regretted even mentioning the Leviathan. Of course, leave it to him to ruin things once they started to be okay. It definitely wasn't the right place, nor the right time.

To his surprise, though, Dean didn't seem too affected by it. "After that, I'm taking Justin… Bieber's, or whatever the hell his name is, place."

Sam turned to Dean, wide-eyed and said incredulously, "Justin Bieber is a Leviathan?"

Dean laughed again, though this time his voice was filled fully with mirth and his shoulders lost the tension that had been there for as long as Sam could remember. "No, not that I know of. He's just filthy stinkin' rich–plus, have you seen all the chicks that follow him around and obsess over him? Dude! I could have like, five girls–or more–a night!"

Sam really didn't want to ruin his mood right now by telling him that most of those girls were only around thirteen, so he just laughed again. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt this light. He couldn't recall the last time he and Dean had laughed like this. It was relieving. Not everything was ruined and broken between them. It could still be fixed.

Everything was okay. It wasn't great and it wasn't perfect–but it was better than bad or terrible. It was okay, and that was more than either Sam or Dean could ask for.

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