A/N: So, I was listening to Noah Gundersen's "Oh Death", and I wanted to write a long dialogue between Dean and Death. Instead I wrote this, and I ended up being pleased with it.
When Dean opens his eyes it feels like he's just blinked, but he can't remember how he got here or where here is. It looks like a diner, but other than a bored looking waitress at the counter behind the cash register it's completely empty. The girl sitting across from him is a teenager, right on the edge of pretty, with curly brown hair layered around her face and dark blue-green eyes that remind him of something he can't put his finger on. She's wearing the classic Catholic schoolgirl's uniform, and her hair bounces when she leans in towards him.
"You were saying?"
What was he saying? He can't even remember getting here, let alone saying anything. He gives her a blank look and she smiles in a way that suggests understanding and forgiveness.
"I'm sorry. I must have blanked out. What's going on?"
"You were telling me about Sam. From the beginning. You'd just started with, 'when mom and dad'."
Was he? Well it felt right.
"When mom and dad told me they were pregnant-"
Dean's three, and the whole world revolves around his parents. Saturday mornings are pancake mornings, but there are no pancakes this morning and both of his parents are sitting in the kitchen looking at each other seriously. Which is frightening. Mom gets up first, and puts both arms around him. Dean lets himself be held, and then he hears his mother's voice in his ear. "Oh honey. Honey I love you."
Which is nice, but there are no pancakes and this is weird. "Mommy?"
Dad's there then, and Dean catches the smile on his father's face and relaxes. No matter what's coming dad wouldn't smile that way unless it was good. "Hey Dean-o. Good news buddy. You're gonna have a little brother or sister."
And to be honest that doesn't seem like good news, but Dean smiles anyway, because they both seem so happy about it. The pregnancy gives Dean time to think about that though. If there's a baby then Dean won't have their attention as much anymore, and that will suck, but he'll have someone to play with. He kind of hopes it's a sister because he can make fun of her and then teach her stuff. She'll cry a lot, but Dean will protect her. He likes that idea. Being a knight like in the movies on TV and taking care of his little sister. That's who Dean's going to be. Except then mommy comes home and they tell him it's a little brother.
Morning sickness is hard, and mom has a lot of trouble with it. Dean holds her hair back a lot and tries to be soothing, but there's not a lot he can do for her. So after a few months when mommy is very big and still sick Dean crawls up onto the couch with her and lays his head on her tummy.
"Hey baby brother. You don't have a name yet, but you will and when you do I'm gonna call you that. I'm gonna teach you everything I know, and we're gonna be best friends. You're not a little sister, but I'll still take care of you. You gotta give mommy a break though ok? You gotta give her a break 'cause she's real nice and you're making her really sick. So just settle down ok? If you do I promise I'll be the best big brother ever."
It's a hollow offer. Dean's gonna be the best big brother anyway, but it works because mommy doesn't get sick again. Not until the day before the baby comes, and by then Dean knows his name is gonna be Sam, and he's going to have the nursery across the hall. When his parents get back from the hospital the babysitter leaves quietly, and mom explains to Dean that he has to sit down before he can hold Sam. He sits very carefully, and then holds his arms as rigid as he can. Sam is tiny, and his little eyes are closed, but Dean thinks they'll be big and pretty just like mom's.
"That's your little brother Dean-o. You gonna take care of him?"
Dean looks up and meets his dad's eyes, because he's been told when a man makes a promise he makes eye contact, and this is a man's promise. "Always. I'll always protect Sammy."
"That's so sweet! You really said that?" Her eyes are bright, and she smiles and exposes a row of sparkling teeth. The waitress drops two plates in front of them and then disappears somewhere into the kitchen. Now they're the only people visible.
"Yeah. I said that. Listen how did I get-"
"So what happens next?" She sips from her soda and then leans over the table and catches his eyes. "Wasn't that what you wanted to tell me? What happens next?"
What's odd is that Dean does want to tell her what's next. Wants it very badly.
There's the fire, and the beginning of the end of normality. Dean understands that daddy has things he has to do, and that the look he gets in his eyes sometimes doesn't make him an Iactual/I stranger. It just makes him look like one. Sammy cries. A lot. Dean thinks at first that this is all Sam can do, and he's almost afraid of Sam. What if his little brother is broken? Don't babies needs mommies to make them healthy? Dean knows logically that mommy is dead, and that she's gone to Heaven just like daddy said, but what if Sammy is going there too? When he asks daddy just cries, and Dean can't stand to see that either.
He resolves, then and there, that he will not cry. Sammy crying made him ask, and then daddy cried, so Dean will not cry. He will not make either of his remaining family members cry ever again. He just can't. Instead he pays close attention to the people they stay with and he learns how to change Sammy's diapers, how to feed and burp him, and how to put him to sleep. Sammy responds best to softly sung rock songs, back rubs, and a gentle popping of Dean's hips as he walks his brother around the room. When Sammy starts getting bigger it's ok because Dean is getting bigger too. He bounces Sam to sleep for as long as he can, until Sammy's too big for that.
By age eight Dean knows the truth of mom's death and dad's new job. He understands why they move and why they hide, and he knows how to make sure no one else ever knows. He takes care of Sam, and when dad is too drunk to tuck himself in Dean takes care of that too. Some nights he's so drained he sits next to Sammy sleeping and curls his hands into fists so tight he can't feel his fingers anymore. If he doesn't he'll cry, and he made a promise. Looked Sammy in the eye and made a man's promise. Dean never cries. Not the night Sam finds out the truth and he holds his little brother and rocks him when he cries. Not when he almost gets Sam killed. Never.
When Sam is nine he comes back from school with his hair rucked up, dirt on his face, and tear tracks trailed through it. He spends the first thirty minutes with his face pressed against Dean's shoulder, weeping out his pain and frustration, but it takes longer than that to find out what exactly happened and why. It all comes out though, eventually, and Dean watches Sam eat Lucky Charms as he explains that Lee Dorneau, who is supposed to be Sam's only friend, found out Sam couldn't ride a bike and told everyone. They called him a retard, then Lee and two other boys pushed Sam down when he said if they could ride, then riding bikes wasn't a necessarily skill for being intelligent. Dean makes sure to wash all the dirt off of Sam's face, and the tears come with it like magic. When it's done his little brother is smiling up at him again like he's a hundred feet tall and capable of anything. There's no greater moment then when Sam looks at him like that.
Dean makes the plan instantly. He sets Sam up in front of the TV and turns the cartoons on before he slips out of the house. Lee lives three blocks away, and Dean makes his way there carefully before he scopes out the yard. No one appears to be outside, and his target is dropped carelessly in front of the garage. It isn't hard to take, because Lee is one of those kids that gets what he wants and then never takes care of it. Dean's seen it a million times, and he picks the bike up and walks it halfway before riding it the rest. He tests the brakes fifteen times before he's sure it'll be safe enough to try. There's a field behind the little house dad is renting, and beyond that there's a ring of trees that hides a parking lot to an old shut down factory. He stashes the bike in them and then goes back inside to find Sam fascinated by a Transformers rerun.
"Hey Sammy. I wanna show you something." He wishes the little son of a bitch had left his helmet out too, but if he's careful Sam should be fine.
His brother doesn't ask, instead he bounds along and follows Dean. They cross the field with Sammy chattering about what it could possibly be that Dean wants to show him. When he pulls the bike out Sam's face goes blank for half a second, and then his eyes get huge and the smile is so broad it should reach his ears. Dean tries to keep a serious face on.
"Ok Sam. I'm gonna go first and show you how ok? Then I'll hold the handlebars and you'll try it. Eventually you'll be going on your own ok?"
The smiles falters, and then Sam's looking at him cautiously. "Dean can I-what if I'm no good?"
"You'll be fine Sammy. You're the smartest kid I know." He rides slow, shows Sam how to hold the handlebars and how to use the pedals to brake. It's surprisingly hard to think about the actions and repeat them, instinct is difficult to describe, but Dean pulls it off and then it's time to get Sammy on the seat.
It takes a bit to get his brother comfortable. He's shorter than Lee, but he can reach the pedals pretty well and he listens to every hint and tip Dean gives. When it's time to let go Dean does, and Sam wobbles several times and almost gives him a heart attack. Then his little brother picks up speed and turns to look at Dean as he goes in a long loop.
"Dean! Dean! I'm riding a bike Dean!"
Dean nods, swallows hard, and waves as Sam gets bolder with each turn and swoop. Watches the hair fly back from Sam's broad smile as he keeps going. They stay out there until just before dark, and then Dean makes Sam get off the bike and go inside. In the morning he wipes the bike down, pushes it a mile away, and dumps it into a creek after taking the chain off and disconnecting the seat. Fuck Lee Dorneau.
Tears, Dean finds, are as easy to lose as the sensation of what it was like to live in a big home and be loved by both parents. Everything leaves, everything gets lost. Everything but Sammy, and the ever present need to take care of him.
Her mouth is full of fries when he takes a breath and looks at the cheeseburger in front of him. It's half-eaten but he can't remember biting into it and he's not sure he wants it now. His stomach feels like a lead weight.
"You never cried?"
"Not until much later." He pokes the cheeseburger once and then looks around the empty diner. "Where is everybody?"
The girl grins once and leans back in the booth, sipping from her soda and twirling hair around her fingers. "I thought it'd be easier to share in private. Don't you think it is?"
Dean nods once and then takes a deep breath. "Where's Sam?"
The blue-green eyes flash once and then her smile is firmly back in place. "You know where he is. You just forgot. It's ok Dean. Tell me about Sam some more."
"What does any of this accomplish? Why are you so interested in him?"
There's a moment where Dean thinks she won't answer. That he'll just be left sitting here wondering what the hell is going on and why he's so confused about time and place. Really it's a little fucking annoying. Then she bites into another fry and taps his hand with her free fingers. "Because there's always a price Dean, and this is mine. Now tell me about Sam and the time you don't like to talk about. Tell me about the beginning of the end."
Sam's fifteen the first time Dean sees that he's not a little boy anymore. They've shared a bed most of their life, and there have been a number of situations in which Dean's realized it may be time for Sam to have his own bed. This is the first time though that Dean's actually been uncomfortable in his own skin around Sam. He lays beside his brother and takes long shallow breaths while trying to figure out what exactly has changed about Sam's smell. When he lost that scent of little boy and baby powder and gained this musk, this whatever the fuck it is that's making Dean hard as stone. He slips out of the bed as silently as he can and jerks off in the shower, guilt and lust so heavily intertwined they're like one emotion.
Sam's fourteenth birthday had ushered in a change in his little brother. The smiling little boy that Dean has loved for so long has become a gangly and sullen teenager. He's all limbs and angles, and Dean has watched the growth spurts and wondered if they'll ever stop. Sam's only an inch shorter than him now, and the way he's packing away food suggests that this won't be the case for long. To make matters worse Dean has started going on hunts with dad, and Sam spends a lot of time alone in motel rooms brooding and complaining. Where he once agreed instantly with anything Dean said it's now a fight to get him to do anything not related to eating or school. Sam won't be shitty with Dean, he reserves that attitude for dad, but he gives Dean these looks that seem foreign on the well-loved face. Where once Dean saw Sammy's dimples three or four times a day, now he sees them once a month. It's hard to adjust to, but Dean knows that there's not much he can do about it. Sam's a teenager. Sam's in that age where everything is just gonna rub him the wrong way.
Which is bad wording considering what happens the night Dean comes home and finds his sixteen-year-old brother sprawled out across the bed asleep with a horror movie droning away on the TV. Sammy's always hated horror movies, so Dean imagines the kid fell asleep before it came on. He crosses the room silently, drops his duffel on the floor beside the bed, and then toes off his boots. He needs to shower, because there's blood on him and Dean suspects that some of it is his own. Dad's moved on to scope out another hunt, and they've got about two or three days before they leave the town entirely. Which gives Dean a very short amount of time to convince Sam not to scream at dad about it.
He makes his way into the shower as quietly as he can, and then sinks into the soothing heat of the water as it runs rusty red down the drain. He's used to the smell by now, but it never fails to amaze him how intense it can get in these steamy little rooms. Maybe it's the heat, or the exhaustion, or the tension of the upcoming fight. Who knows? Whatever it is Dean's not paying attention until the curtain starts to slide back and he feels a breath of cold air. He's moving before his brain can engage, and he has a handful of bony wrist and pulls forward so his attacker is falling and off-balance. As the body goes blurring past him towards the wall though Dean realizes it is distinctly Sam shaped, and he manages to grab Sam fast enough so that his little brother isn't brained against the wall. Which is all well and good, but Dean's naked and covered in soap. Later he'll blame that for everything that came next.
His feet go out from under him, and Dean curls enough so that his ass takes the blow as they hit the floor of the shower. Sam, dressed in his sweats and nothing else, is blinking up at him with an adorably confused expression as he gets pelted in the face with water.
"Dean?"
It takes a full two seconds to untangle themselves from each other, and for some reason Sam doesn't get out of the shower. Instead he just stands there, pants clinging to all the long inches of him, as he stares at Dean with an unreadable expression. That's another new thing that cropped up in Sam's teenage years. Dean not being able to easily read him. He doesn't particularly care for it.
"Dean?"
He can't answer though. Can't manage words because suddenly there's Sam. Long lean lines dripping water and shaggy hair hanging around eyes that Dean has stared into for years without ever seeing this in them. There's a heat there that Dean recognizes all too well. A heat Dean's seen in bars, approached slowly, devoured just as easily. He's afraid to look down, afraid to see if Sam's feeling that heat everywhere, but he knows that he's already half-hard. Without his permission his hand moves up and brushes across the mole beside Sam's nose, moves slowly and softly down to the plush lips he's never given a second thought to. The ones he kissed when Sam was still a little boy instead of a man standing in the shower with him. The lust and sickness that hits him then is dizzying, and it doesn't help that Sam leans in and presses those lips against Dean's.
He's not able to stop himself. He takes that mouth, fingers grabbing the familiar sharp chin and tilting that beloved face so that he can lick into the seam of Sam's mouth and taste him. Gummy bears and soda and sweetness, Sam is innocence and light in a way none of his one-night stands has ever been, and Dean takes. Takes and takes without thinking about anything else. His hands are moving along the planes of Sam's chest, feeling the width that's been growing there and the muscles that are becoming defined in his pectorals. Sliding along the delicious friction of wet skin 'til he finds Sam's abs, and then lower and Sam is gasping into his mouth and saying his name.
Dean comes back to himself when Sam's hands land on his hips, and he pulls back so fast his feet slip again and he hits the wall hard enough to drive the breath out of himself.
"Dean?" Sam's eyes are half-closed, heavy-lidded and hot as he takes a step forward, but Dean can't do this. Can't do this to Sam. Not Sammy.
"Get the fuck out of here Sam."
There's confusion then, pain bleeding through the hunger, and Dean tries to ignore it. "But Dean-"
"Stop acting like a freak and get the fuck out."
The word is enough. Dean knew it would be. Sam leaves, and Dean refuses to give attention to his throbbing cock as he bites his lip until it bleeds and punches at the tile wall.
Her eyes. There's something so familiar about them and Dean can't remember what it is. He can't seem to even call up her name, and that's more than a little frightening. He's always been good with names. It's a part of the process, something ingrained in him by his father since he first started working with the man. He should know her fucking name. He's just about to ask her when she pushes her plate aside and rubs her stomach in a thoughtful way.
"So you were in love with him? But you wouldn't let him know and you wouldn't act on it?"
Dean nods once, tightly, and then pushes his own empty plate away. When did it get empty? He can't remember, and he doesn't have the pleasantly full experience usually achieved after such a large meal. Instead he feels empty, and cold. Very fucking cold. He's wearing his jacket though, and she doesn't look the least bit uncomfortable in her short skirt and white button down. "He was too young. It wasn't-"
It wasn't what? Feasible? As if age was the problem. As if age was the only barrier between them. She seems to understand his internal monologue, because she nods and then snaps her fingers. The waitress comes out with two pieces of pie and milkshakes. Her face lights up.
"These are the best milkshakes on the planet. Did you know that Dean? The chef has a special recipe, I can't tell you the ingredients, but it's always as pleasing as the first time. Very few things retain that sort of quality. Eventually we get tired of everything. I know I do anyway. So if Sam wasn't young, and if he wasn't your brother, what would you have done?"
The answer comes out before Dean even has time to formulate it. "I would have fucked him up so bad he wouldn't be able to walk. Would have held him down and made him unable to think about anything else. I would have held on."
"But you didn't, and then he left right? Why did he leave? Just that he hated hunting?"
Dean remembers the look in Sam's eyes when he showed him the letter. The hope that burned so deep, and how he seemed shorter and lesser when Dean laughed at him. Told him he should go, because fuck it he'd never been that good of a hunter anyway. How the fight with dad had been so much worse than any of the ones that came before, simply because Sam had carried it out like an uninspired actor on a small stage. All of the words scripted out and delivered flatly. Dad had been shouting, but Sam had already given up.
"No. He left because of me." Dean's never said it out loud. He's thought it though. Thought it over and over as he lay in an empty bed beside dad, aching from whatever new injury he'd gained and wondering about Sam. Thought it when he parked the car down the block and snuck along shady streets to watch his brother live a life Dean could never give him. A life Dean couldn't even have dreamed. After all, he was a good soldier. A good hunter. He wasn't a dreamer.
He shakes off that memory and looks up to see that she's sympathetic instead of pitying. "I understand that. My son left for the same reason. I always wondered if there wasn't a better way to handle things, but sometimes you have to let what you love go. Sometimes there are things that are more important."
Her son? She's too young for that, but Dean doesn't believe she's lying. He wants to ask, but when it crosses his mind her face goes hard. "No. We don't go there. This is about Sam. Tell me more about Sam. After he came back."
It's Heaven and Hell to have Sam back with him. They have to deal with everything that lies between them, and Dean can't. He just can't. So they dance around it. They fight about it without ever talking about it. They fight.
Dean doesn't care how ugly it gets though, because at the end of the day when he goes to sleep in the bed beside the door Sam is in the other one. Sam is only that short little aisle away, and that's all that matters to Dean. If he needs his brother he'll reach for him, but Dean never does. Instead he listens to the soft snuffling sounds Sam makes in between bouts of snoring. Listens to the way Sam rolls and moves under the covers. Listens.
The number of hookups he makes doubles, and then triples, and every one of them has eyes just a shade off, isn't the right height, and his fingers burn with that memory of just-defined muscles and sugary innocence. Except Sam isn't technically innocent anymore. Dean knows that, but the knowledge doesn't change much of anything. There's still that burning behind his words, still that aching need he has to work so hard to get rid of. The night he finds Sam drunk out of his mind in the inn, wrist still in a cast and eyes full of tears Dean is almost tempted to give up. He's been fighting himself for so long, and Sam looks haggard. Broken. It's Dean's job to take care of him, to protect him, but Dean can't do that. Can't help Sam with this because he's a part of it. Has always been a part of it. He put that word there, freak, and now he's putting out Sam's death sentence. It's too much for his gentle-hearted little brother, and the look he gives Dean says his big brother could fix all of it with a movement of his lips or a touch of his blunt fingers. Instead Dean manhandles Sam into bed and watches him sleep it off.
Dean can't think about Sam dead. Can't think about what it was like to be driven to the Crossroads demon, or how it felt to admit that he had let Sam die. He cries, cries tears he's held in for years as he stares at Sam's body. It's not the leaks that have happened with increasing frequency since his brother came back into his life, it's a dam bursting somewhere inside his head. He spends over an hour on his knees crying into Sam's stiff and cold length. Just crying. What was he supposed to do?
But the the deal is a wedge between them. Sam's eyes are still hungry, but they're looking for something else now. Staring at something in the distance that Dean can barely understand. The last time Dean sees that need in Sam's eyes before Hell is in his last month on Earth, and Sam reaches for him but Dean shuts him down so fast it may as well be a joke. He's going to Hell. Sam's not. Never Sammy. Dean deserves to be there. Dean did this somehow. He taught Samy to walk, to ride a bike, to read, and apparently he taught Sam to lust after his own flesh and blood. It's Dean's fault. Has to be.
When he comes back from Hell though it's a different issue. Dean can't stand anyone's touch but Sam, and he makes jokes about it but it's all there. He's afraid of fingers coming near his flesh. It's too reminiscent of his time on the rack, and there's the knowledge that he was damned before but now he is only one step away from being a demon. A filthy fucking demon. Sam denies it. Sees it, but denies it, and Dean's grateful and angry. Wishes that for once Sam wouldn't have that look about him. The ghost of the admiration he once had. Sam insists Dean did his best, that he held out as long as anyone should, but Dean knows the truth. Knows that dad held out longer. He's a failure, and Sam's the only one who doesn't understand.
When he sees what's been going on behind his back though? Realizes where his little brother has been venting all the hunger and need he used to look at Dean with? Well he loses his shit a little bit, and who could blame him? Sam's supposed to stay clean. Pure.
Sam was never supposed to be like Dean.
"So you still denied him. Then you blamed him for going somewhere else?"
Dean's fist hit the table, and he heard the waitress let out a tiny shriek before she fled back into the kitchen. "To a goddamn demon! He went to a goddamn demon you bitch! Everything we ever learned, everything we ever saw, and he let himself be fucking tainted by that vicious-"
Her hand is up and he stops, takes several shaky and deep breaths trying to get control of himself. "We'll keep this civil Dean Winchester. I don't have any love for her either, but that doesn't change the fact that you will use a respectful tone when you speak to me."
For some reason, Dean feels chastised and horrified. "Sorry. I'm sorry."
She nods and then runs her fingers along his hand. "I get it. It's alright. Just calm down." And he does, like a magic trick all the tension bleeds out of him and all he can see are those dazzlingly bright teeth and her dark eyes.
"Who are you?"
"You know who I am Dean. You went looking for me with Sam and Castiel. You called me here remember? We're almost done. I promise. Now tell me about Sam. Really tell me. Not the stories, not the guilt, just the honest and plain truth. Tell me why I should bother with him."
Which is when Dean remembers what he came here for, but he still can't remember who she is. Sam is in trouble. Real trouble, because Dean can't protect him anymore. Dean can't keep Sam safe from Fate, and he can't keep Sam safe from himself. Dean just can't. Tomorrow Sam is going to say yes in Detroit just like the future version of himself said he would, and Sam will be lost to him. Dean can't hope anymore, because all of it's been taken from him. Every last bit. All that's left is whatever he's done to end up in this diner having this conversation. All that's left is this schoolgirl. They're fucked.
When Sam was placed in his arms as a baby Dean knew that Sammy belonged to him without his parents saying it. The emphasis was always on your, and Dean didn't need the reminder. It was Dean's out-stretched arms that Sam tottered towards for his first steps. It was Dean's name that rolled off of Sam's lips first. It was Dean that could get Sammy to sleep, and Dean that taught Sam how to use the potty.
It's those memories that color all of his thoughts of Sam as a man instead of a little boy. All the dirty and wrong urges and longings are mixed in with those memories, but at the end of the day it's Sam that shines through. Dean knows just how fucked he is the night after the Bloody Mary incident. He's sitting there, staring at Sam and knowing that no matter what he wants to believe his brother is probably right. There's something going on, and it's beyond Dean. The possibility is scary. Dean's always felt that this need he has for Sam is something that stretches beyond his comprehension. He has no pretensions about his abilities or his skills. He knows that when it comes to thinking outside of the box it's Sam that always excels. He knows what he wants and what he'll get, and he knows where to go for it, but it's Sam that dreams beyond that. Dean can't pursue what he wants with Sam because he can't imagine a world in which he has earned Sam. In which he deserves Sam. He may have learned to cry since Sam got back, but he certainly hasn't learned to dream.
So here's Sam, and his little brother is carrying around the same kind of self-debasing guilt Dean's found builds up his own core. There's no other way to see it, and Dean wishes like Hell he could do something about it but all he can do is sit here and watch Sam sleep. Sit here and try like Hell to imagine a way in which he could make things better for Sam. If he didn't mind what it would do to his little brother he'd pull him into his arms and kiss him. He would lick his way back into Sam, touch and taste and burrow until there was no distance left between them. Until they were the one person Dean's always secretly believed they were supposed to be.
But he can't. He can't, and the simple truth of it is overwhelming. Sam could have died tonight. Could have died a lot of nights actually, and by bringing him back into this life Dean is only hastening that death. Dean is only pushing Sam closer and closer to the day when the lights go out and there's nothing he can do to stop it. It's better this way, because if Dean can see the danger coming he can take the bullet first. If Dean can watch Sam close enough he can step in front of death before it comes and let Sam escape unharmed.
The moonlight is straining through the crack in the motel curtains, and it picks out the angles of Sam's jaw and cheekbones, glistens silver along the too long hair Dean loves, and shines against the sharp line of Sam's nose. His lips look so soft and delicious that Dean licks his own while he grips his own elbows and holds himself stationary on the bed across the way. Which is stupid, because Sam is out. So gone that Dean knows if he grabbed his little brother and moved him around Sam would only make that grunt low in his chest before settling into Dean's side. He's been doing it since he was a baby after all.
Which is why Dean crosses that space that's taunted him for so long and slides into the bed beside his brother. Lets Sam settle deep into him, legs tangled into his own and lips pressed against Dean's chest. He can feel the wet heat of Sam's breath through his t-shirt, and Sam's huge hands travel up and down Dean's ribs as he settles into the feel of him. Dean takes a deep breath, absorbs all of Sam he can, and then kisses the top of his baby brother's head. No nightmares or premonitions or whatever the fuck they are tonight. Dean won't allow it. Sam will get a good night's sleep. Dean can do that much. Can ease a little of the ache his brother is obviously suffering.
This is Sam. There's a universe contained into one little word, a whole system of language that is built into a man Dean has missed with every fiber of his being for longer than he was actually gone. This is Sam who once told him that Lucky Charms were God's gift to stomachs. Sam who once laughed so hard he grayed out and Dean had to catch him. Which hadn't gone so well because Dean had been laughing just as hard and they'd ended up on the floor rolling around and elbowing each other. This is Sam. Dean could spend an eternity describing and quantifying his brother and never reach what's at the heart of the matter. The tilt to Sam's eyes or the dimples that appear with his smile. The rumble in his laughter and the gentleness of his giant hands.
Fucking Sam.
And Dean would do anything, just anything, if it meant keeping this safe. Keeping Sam here, pressed against him and whole. He listened the little sounds, soaked in the warmth of Sam, and imagined what it would have been like if they had just been someone else. Anyone else. If they could have had this. But they couldn't, and the best Dean could do was stand back and pick up the pieces of Sam when they fell off. Reassemble everything into the shape he held in his head, and make sure that no one else ever came along and broke Sam beyond the fixing point.
It's in this moment that Dean really understands the meaning of that night so many years ago. Taking Sam out of the fire the first time. Dean had left mom, left dad, left his goddamn home behind so that he could take Sammy to safety. He hadn't done it because it was an order, or because he was afraid of the fire. He did it because he'd leave everything for Sam. It's been an unspoken understanding, a simple truth, but realizing it means so much more. He'd die for Sam, he'd kill for Sam, and if it comes to it Dean will destroy every shred of dignity and happiness within himself if it means Sam will breathe and smile for one more goddamn day.
She looks up from the table and bites one pink lip for a moment before smiling broadly. "Really? All of that? Are you sure Dean?"
"Yes. I'd do anything."
"Except keep your faith. Right?" Her hand comes up from under the table and extends, his amulet dangling from her fingertips. The one he threw in the trash when God used his gardener to turn them away. When he saw that Sam's Heaven was other people. "Take it Dean. I won't offer twice." He grips it slowly, and hisses when the scorching heat burns his fingers. Hisses but doesn't let go, because this is his second chance. His last one.
"I won't-fuck please. Please. Let Sam live and I'll do whatever you want. Just don't make him go to Hell. Don't take him from me."
"When Lucifer said he was leaving, when he tried to overthrow Heaven, do you know what his father said to him?"
Dean shakes his head and grips the amulet tighter, feels it melting through the flesh of his hand and melding into his bone. The pain is sharp and sweet.
"Nothing. He said nothing. He simply let him go. There hasn't been a moment since that day that his father hasn't regretted his decision. There is nothing worse Dean Winchester than regretting what you could have done. I can't promise that Sam will not be taken from you. He'll have to suffer. He's earned it. I can promise he'll come back, and when he does you will need to do whatever is necessary to make sure he never leaves again. Sam will make you swear not to try to get him back. He'll make you promise to live a normal life with Lisa. You won't do that. You'll stay with Castiel, and keep an eye on him. You'll wait, and when he comes back you'll do the right thing. That's my price. You must be honest with him. You must take what has always been yours. It's what you were supposed to do all those years ago when you slipped in the shower. Man up son." She stood then and dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table. "Now go back. We're done here."
"Wait! I still don't remember who you are."
Her eyes are soft and kind when she leans over and kisses his forehead. Dean's reminded of his mother and his father, reminded of time when home was solid concept and all he had to worry about was which game to play the next day. When he used to kneel beside his bed and pray to the angels his mother told him watched over him. Thank God and pray that everything would always be this way.
"You've never forgotten me. You've just been very angry with me. I doubt that will change."
When he wakes up Dean can't remember what he was dreaming, but there's a taste in his mouth like ice cream and his hand hurts so much that it's hard for him to think. He must have hit it or strained it, but he can't remember how or when. Sam's already awake, sitting at the little table with a cup of coffee in front of him and a blank expression on his face. The time has come, and where before Dean felt only rage and helplessness there's something warm and odd curled up in his chest. Sam's going to do this, and Dean won't stop him. Can't. But he can have faith that Sam will do what's best. What's right.
Something, Dean's not sure what, moves his hand after Sam consumes the demon blood. Something raises his fingers and brushes them against that same mole before he leans in and places a kiss on Sam's mouth. Castiel is staring openly, but Dean doesn't care. Doesn't even care that Sam tastes like blood, or that he's looking at Dean like he's lost his damned mind.
"What was that for?"
"Come back to me. I'll tell you then."
The rest of it is agony. When it's over, when the Lucifer is back in the cage and Sam's gone Dean goes on a two week bender with Castiel. More than once the angel asks why God would bring him back, and Dean's best answer is that God's never really liked either of them. What better punishment is there? But despite the alcohol, and the rages, and the night Cas drags him back into the motel after he finds Dean in the parking lot screaming at the heavens and their missing leader, despite all of that Dean has faith. Sam will come back to him. When he thinks he can't believe in it anymore that burn in his hand comes back, and Dean remembers gummy bears and milkshakes, which isn't quite right but it's close enough.
When they find the answer, when they bring Sam back, Dean is there to collect his little brother in his arms and soothe all of the pain. It takes months for Sam to be human again. To not flinch from touches, to speak in full sentences, and Dean is there for every moment of Sam's pain. Dean sits next to him and clenches his fists when Sam screams. Talks in soothing tones, but never ever touches. Dean forces Sam to eat, forces him to breathe, and all of it slowly builds until the day Sam comes out of the bathroom to see Dean rubbing lotion on a dry patch on his ankle and quirks a half-broken smile before calling him a girl. Dean laughs so hard he feels the ache in his ribs for two days.
There's no need for more. No need for answers that Dean can't have. What gave them the last advantage, why he never gave up, what happened that let him have this chance with Sam. Dean's willing to let some mysteries go in the interest of having what really matters.
The first night he kisses Sam they break apart when Sam starts screaming. The next time they kiss it's Sam that initiates it, and they get as far as touching under shirts before Sam's hyperventilating and Dean's simply sitting and talking him down. It's slow, and sweet, and Dean's willing to do the hard work if it means having what they should have had. What they always should have had.
He comes back to the motel one night expecting to find Sam researching, and instead his brother is naked and holding a bottle of lube. Dean makes him submit to a long back rub, to hours of touching and tasting. He runs his fingers up and down the lines of muscle in Sam's calves, along the strong thighs, and up the muscles of his brother's pert ass until he reaches his lower back. Memorizes the wings of Sam's shoulder blades and curves of his ribs. Sammy's lost muscle definition since he came back, lost some of his huge hulking size, but he'll get it back. Dean will re-learn him when he does. In the meantime he's here now, naked and shaking, and Dean does his best to lick and kiss every spot. Listens to the soft laughter when his fingers trail along Sam's armpits and up his biceps. He holds Sam's hands and rubs into the palms, along the fingers, listens to the moaning when he licks one of them and tastes it.
Dean rolls Sam over softly and starts again from the front. Licks his way up Sam's ankle and down the other side before gently nipping his Achille's tendon. Rubs his fingers into the v-cut of Sam's hips and along the bones. Keeps going until Sam's begging him, pleading him, and before he slides that first finger in he makes sure that he has his mouth attached to one dusky nipple and his other hand rubbing soothing circles over Sam's collarbone. Sam is tight. Tight and hot and Dean's bicep provides friction against Sam's cock as he searches until his brother bucks under him and he knows he's found the prostate. He moves to the other nipple and bites it before adding a second finger. Takes Sam's mouth when he adds the third and is glad there's no blood taste this time. Just Sam. Sam innocent and sweet. Freshly remade and all for Dean.
The begging and pleading is back, and Dean tries to maneuver Sam onto his knees but Sam balks and that mulish expression Dean knows all too well stops him from really fighting it. It's going to hurt, but Dean will make it better. Has to make it better.
He leads Sam's legs up, and then slides partway in. Just the head, and Sam is gasping and gripping the sheets. Dean transfers Sam's huge hands to his hips and hopes the grip won't lessen, because he wants Sam to hurt him back. Wants to be marked just as much as Sam is. It takes forever and no time at all to be fully seated, and then Dean holds still and pants into Sam's mouth in an effort to control himself. To contain the roar of possessiveness and need he feels at being engulfed in Sam's ass. His brother's hands move to his back and Sam shifts and the world goes too bright and too loud as Dean feels himself moving inside Sam. Feels surrounded and loved. Better than anything ever, and Dean needs more. Has to have more.
He bites at Sam's neck, his lips, licks his tongue as he thrusts, and Sam is moaning and begging and pleading and then Dean realizes he is too. That they're trying to talk the other into believing that this is the best because there's no way to understand just how good it really is. No words for it, but they both try.
He's close, so close, all the way in and stroking Sam's dick in time while he watches his brother break apart underneath him in the only way Dean will ever find acceptable. Sam's gasping, and then Sam's eyes fly open and Dean can't handle the look. The goddamn look in Sam's eyes as he meets Dean's and gasps out, "I love you."
He comes. Comes so hard he's dizzy and unable to think past fucking harder into Sam and stripping his dick faster. Then he has a better idea, and he pulls out, listens to Sam's little cry, and soothes it by sinking his mouth down Sam's shaft and sucking like there's nothing else in the world but this one task. Maybe there isn't. He tongues the flared head, sucks along the vein on the underside, and then swallows Sam down again. Sam comes in his mouth, bitter and salty and wonderful, and then flops bonelessly back into the bed.
Dean moves up, pulls and pushes 'til Sam's tangled around him and then he puts his face in Sam's hair and inhales everything that he ever wanted.
"Yeah. Love you too Sammy."
Dean looks up when Cas takes a sharp breath, and sees a schoolgirl approaching them with a jaunty step. Her face is just short of pretty, but her blue-green eyes remind him of something he can't put his finger on. She stops directly in front of them, and he feels a strange heat building in his hand.
"Excuse me. Do you know how I can get to Leeson Diner?"
Sam looks up from the stack of research and takes in Cas's dumbfounded expression and Dean's before he turns to the girl. "Yeah. It's on main street. Head out, take a left, and then go straight. Maybe three blocks down."
Her smile is radiant, and Dean hears Sam draw in a sharp breath before his brother's whole body goes tight. "Thank you. I hear they have the best milkshakes on the planet."
"Always as good as the first time." His lips feel numb, and beside him Cas whimpers. Fucking whimpers.
She nods once and then hikes her backpack strap up before stepping forward and going up on her tiptoes to kiss Cas's cheek. "Yes. I've never been disappointed by them."
Then she's gone, and all Dean can think about is grabbing Sam up in his arms and holding on. Holding on like there's no tomorrow. Instead he puts a hand on his brother's shoulder and turns to Cas.
"You know her man?"
Castiel's eyes are wide, so bright and shocked that Dean's momentarily speechless. Then the angel clears his throat and rubs at his eyes in the most human gesture Dean's ever seen out of him. "Yes. I do."
Then the angel's gone, and Den's left cursing his obscurity as Sam shakes his head in bemusement.