Brothering
K Hanna Korossy

If he turned the music up loud enough, he didn't have to think.

Things still sucked; it wasn't like he forgot. Sam still hated him, Kevin was still dead, that bitch Abaddon was still out there, and the thing on his arm was making him restless and irritated. His head was also killing him from where that stupid pimply demon had somehow managed to blindside him. Truth was, the music wasn't doing the headache any favors, either, but who cared? Not Dean Winchester, not anymore.

He didn't hear a knock, nor the door opening. His eyes were shut—he was so freakin' tired—and the touch on his arm snapped them open, hand already curled into a fist and drawing back, a snarl on his lips.

Sam. It was Sam, stepping back and holding up his hands, mouth moving silently over the music.

A different kind of adrenaline rushing through him, Dean yanked the headphones off. "What?"

"Just doing a concussion check." Sam said it quietly, looking kind of embarrassed, as well he should after promising Kevin—the kid's freakin' final request—that they would get over it, move past the whole Gadreel mess and be brothers again. You want to work? Let's work. You want to be brothers… That they'd care again.

And then turned tail and bailed on Dean. Again.

Dean didn't call him on it. Didn't really feel anything as he rattled off, "Dean Winchester, don't give a rat's ass about the date, only child. Satisfied?"

The Sam he knew would've flinched, face flooding with hurt. This one just flattened his mouth and nodded once. "Fine." He walked out.

Dean shoved the headphones back in place and turned the volume even higher.

He still managed to fall asleep; a lifetime of Metallica lullabies and sleeping through the pain had kicked in. The iPod had stopped, and Dean blinked in the disorienting dimness of the room. He hadn't turned the light off, had he? Or the desk lamp on? He gave a humorless snort; he really was losing it.

Dean pulled the headphones off and dropped them beside him on the bed, then dragged his hands down his face. Another crappy day, another crappy screw you from his brother. Why even get up?

Dean's eyes swung, as they often did, to the picture of him and his mom on the desk. Maybe wishing she wasn't gone for the millionth time would be the charm. Nothing happened, however, and Dean sighed, gaze wandering from the picture. To the bottles of painkiller and water on his nightstand.

Huh. He definitely hadn't put those there.

Swallowing a groan as he pushed up on an elbow, he shook some pills into his hand and washed them down with a slug of water from the still-sweating bottle. Then, realizing how thirsty he was, he drained the rest.

He dropped back onto the bedding with a grunt. Started thinking, even though it pained him.

Sam had sounded frantic when Dean had been drugged, back at the Fish Taco's lodge. He'd hovered for a while until Dean had fully shaken off the effects.

He researched the Mark of Cain whenever they had a little free time. Dean had caught him at it more than once, on laptop, on tablet, making calls.

He'd made Dean sit down back at the storage unit, pressed a handkerchief against the gash on his head until it stopped bleeding, walked him out to the car even though Mrs. Tran was the one who looked like roadkill. Fussed over him until he took a break to promise he'd make up with Dean and then didn't. And then did a concussion-check and left him painkillers and water. Come to think of it, the blanket draped over Dean hadn't been there before, either.

Something hard and sharp inside Dean softened.

He knew Sam was hurting and lashing out. Dean had been trying to give him space, but his brother's words had messed with his head. Sam knew better than anyone where his weak spots were.

What a person did was what really counted, however. It had been Sam's behavior, not his words, that had convinced Dean he was grateful his brother was alive instead of their dad, that he truly regretted choosing Ruby, that he had been lost when Dean was in Purgatory.

And Sam's actions now said he wasn't as ambivalent as he claimed. Not just about a partner he needed at his back, but as someone he cared about. Maybe even despite himself, but that was okay. If his Sam was still in there, Dean had hope he could fix this.

Dean pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and closed his eyes, finally finding the comfort that had eluded him as he slipped back to sleep.

And woke to a plate of scrambled eggs and toast.

The End