Samulet Will Fix It/Gentle Reminder
As prompted by goldthread-silverlining
Prompt: The Samulet comes back in between 13x11 and 13x12. Dean starts wearing the amulet again to discreetly let Sam know that he's still there for him even though he's struggling with their situation, because he might not need the amulet to remind him how he feels about Sam, but to remind Sam how he feels about him. Angst and emotional H/C.
A/N: I think that both brothers are very smart but in different ways. So I wrote their thinking processes differently. For Dean, he is very street smart; he neglected his education for his family and hunting, but that doesn't mean he never thinks. In my mind, Dean's thoughts are less structured, however, and manifests as a visual and emotional journey through information and memories, as though he's driving Baby through his mind and observing, letting each new thought float freely by him like signs on the road telling him where to go. Sam, on the other hand, is very structured in his thoughts; he is an academic at heart, and thinks like he researches, with lots of searching, questioning and internal debates. I did my best to recreate this here.
Dean knows as soon as the words start to pass his lips that they're the wrong thing to say. But he says them anyway, because any sort of reaction from his brother would be better than the sullen, depressed, passive Sam he's been delicately handling for the past few days.
"You keep saying I'm in a 'dark place', but I'm not, Dean." There's a pause, as if Sam is organizing his thoughts. "Everything I'm saying is the truth. It's our lives." Dean does his damndest not to react as Sam railed against his words.
"And I tried to pretend it didn't have to be. I tried to pretend we could have Mom back, and Cas, and help Jack, but we can't." Dean can almost see the broken emphasis on the negative absolute.
"This ends one way for us, Dean. It ends bloody." Another, longer pause, and Dean takes his eyes off the road long enough to catch a glimpse of his baby brother's face as he turns to face the black night. "It ends bad."
Dean is reticent for the remainder of the drive back to the bunker. He doesn't have the same knack for words as his loquacious younger brother, so he doesn't even try to speak again. Anything he tries will be shot down immediately with all the fiery passion of a wounded soldier, and Dean knows enough of war to know that friendly fire is the worst kind. He spends the long drive back to Kansas pondering his brother's words, and even though neither of them attempt to break the silence that sits uncomfortably between them, Dean is aware of the exact moment Sam falls into a restless sleep on the other end of the Impala's long front bench.
Dean relaxes slightly as he senses Sam slip into an uneasy sleep, and he slips in a mix tape of his own making, filling the car's interior with the soft sounds of the rock ballads that always seemed to lull Sam to sleep as a child. Led Zeppelin's When the Levee Breaks floats on the air around them, and Dean gives himself over fully to his musings over Sam's troubling words.
He hated that Sam seemed to have aligned himself with Dean's admittedly fatalistic view of their lifestyle. He seldom admitted it to his brother, but the younger man's optimism was an endearing quality he admired, envied, and relied on every day. Sam's hope in the face of despair, his strength when Dean was weak, his bright smile countering Dean's dark scowl was a feature that broke the job's fight-kill-die-repeat monotony and, honestly, kept Dean from drinking too much on his best days and swallowing a bullet on his worst.
It hurt him to be reminded that even Sam had his limits to how much he could bear. That emotions can only be buried for so long before they burst out in the worst way. It hurt Dean to no end to recognize that those bright smiles Sam offered him each morning when he stumbled into the bunker's kitchen might just be a mask to hide the pain that had been building up for far too long. That the hope Sam petitioned was probably a best case scenario he was trying to convince himself of as well. The older Winchester mentally kicked himself for failing to realize this; for being so consumed with his own grief, immersing himself in liquor and pain, that he forced his baby brother to not only navigate his own way to shore, but carry the weight of a man who fought to drown them both.
The song changed once again, soft strains of music flooding the air, just barely heard above the thrumming of tires against blacktop. Dean did his best thinking in the driver's seat of his car; when the world was quiet except for the hum of his Baby and the quiet breaths of a sleeping brother, and the world was dark and uncomplicated.
Dean knew what was in the dark.
And while he feared it at times, he was never truly scared of it. He was prepared for it, and he wasn't alone. He had his best friend, and once upon a time he had his father too. He lost his mother to it, only to gain her again, lose her once more, and, karma-willing, he would have her again. And through it all, he had his brother.
His brother, who had stood by him, often when no one else would. Against his father, against monsters, against bullies, destiny, fate, demons, angels… Sam had stood by him in a light he could not see against all the dark that seemed so close he might never it wash off. Always pulling him back, telling him to turn around and see what other amazing things they might find if they turned their backs to the dark no eyes could pierce and looked instead toward the bright treasures the sun touched.
But the dark was dangerous, and you can't knowingly turn your back on the dark once you know how it might hurt you. Dean had spent most of his life ensuring that Sam would never see as clearly in the dark as he did, and if that meant he stayed behind on the frontlines of the dark so Sam could see the light in the world- at Stanford, with Jess, with Amelia- than so be it. Dean would make that sacrifice a million times over if it would afford happiness to the one person he could honestly say he loved.
He made himself that promise when Sam first learned about monsters at the tender age of nine, gently pulling the .45 from his brother's shaking hands after his father left the room. Soft words whispered to soothe the fears in young, brown eyes, "Don't worry, Sammy. I'll keep watch tonight, yeah?" Dean could recall with absolute clarity the feeling of resolve in that moment to preserve Sam's innocence as long as possible. True to his word, he sat up in the room all night, the hall light leaking through the crack in the door. (The light fell softly across Sam's sleeping face; Sam had refused to sleep in total darkness.) And if a monster truly was disposed of in the early morning hours, Sam need never know, because Dean was only making one resolution this year-
Dean jumped as the idea struck him, causing him to jerk the wheel a little. Sam made a small noise of protest in his sleep and stirred as if waking, but a few soft murmurs from Dean soon lulled him back into sleep. Dean quirked a quick smile. At least some things never change.
Once it was clear that Sam was staying asleep, Dean returned his thoughts to the idea that had hit him moments before. He had made that silent promise when Sam was nine; just after his younger brother, who still believed in Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, learned about all the nasty things in the world. The little brother who refused to let that knowledge ruin his Christmas, and still managed to give his older brother a meaningful gift in a show of trust.
Dean pressed the accelerator. He had an idea of where to start in Operation Cheer Up Sammy.
Sam stumbled into the bunker's kitchen late the next morning. Or afternoon, rather; it was just past noon. His brother was already fully awake, standing at the stove top, scrambling eggs. Sam had known his brother was awake before he left his room, having heard the familiar sounds of the older man's morning routine around nine. Truthfully, it had been a large factor in his late emergence. After his outburst in the Impala the other night, he wanted to avoid any discussion about his words and feelings. Even now, hours later as his brother turned toward him, Sam was praying to any deity who might listen that Dean would be true to nature and avoid the emotional issue.
Dean barely spared him a glance. "Hey."
Sam blinked in slight surprise. "Uh, hey."
"Eggs?" Dean shook the pan a little as he spoke, like Sam might not know what he meant when he said eggs.
"Uh," Sam was about to decline on grounds of no appetite (he honestly wasn't hungry) when the aroma of scrambled eggs topped in cheese and sauteed onions and tomatoes reached him fully. He hesitated. Damn his brother. "Sure. Thanks." But this didn't mean he was talking. No way.
Dean turned back to the stove, dumping roughly half the eggs onto a plate. The remainder he transferred to a mismatched plate resting on the countertop next to a bottle of hot sauce, salt and pepper. Putting the skillet back on the stovetop, Dean casually asked, "Sauce?"
Sam grimaced slightly at the amount of the spicy condiment his older brother was dumping on the second plate. "Not that much." Dean nodded, shaking a few drops of the sauce over Sam's plate. Dean turned with both plates in his hands and placed them on the table, one in front of Sam and the other opposite. Handing Sam a fork, Dean made to sit but stood again almost immediately.
"I'm an idiot," he muttered, heading to the pantry. Disappearing into it briefly, the older Winchester tossed the words "Don't bother waiting for me, just start eating," over his shoulder. Sam was mildly confused, but started eating anyway. He was not going to look this gift horse in the mouth. Dean emerged from the pantry with a loaf of honey wheat bread Sam had bought in an effort to make Dean eat healthier and grabbed butter and OJ from the fridge on his way to the stove. Slathering two slices of bread as he heated a pan, Dean, again without sparing his brother a single look, concerned or otherwise, asked, "Toast? OJ? Both? Neither?"
"Um…" Sam trailed off, thrown by the unexpected turn of events. Wasn't this what he wanted? Dean's emotional constipation and dropping last night's outburst? Wait- had part of him been hoping Dean would pull his concerned brother act out so they could duke it out some more?
"Sam! Earth to Sam!"
Sam snapped out of his thoughts as he returned his line of vision to Dean, who was glaring at him with that all too familiar look of worry. That look that no matter how hard Dean tried to mask, would always be evident to Sam, who'd been on the receiving end too many times to count. This time it was mixed with exasperation. "Oh, um, both, I guess. Thanks."
Dean grunted and turned back to the counter, where he splashed juice into the second glass sitting there. Slathering more bread with butter, Dean suddenly snickered. Shooting a glance at Sam, Dean quirked an eyebrow with a smile. "Vodka?"
Sam's lips twitched up into a smile without his permission before he schooled his expression into a disapproving bitchface. "Fuck off, Dean."
"Touchy, touchy, jeez," Dean said, turning once again to monitor the toast. But he couldn't hide the pleased smile completely, and for some unknown reason Sam was both annoyed and happy to see it. Sam continued eating his eggs, eyes never wavering from his brother… who was now humming? Something was up; Sam couldn't put his finger on it, but Dean was different today. Sam's eyes needed no prompting to follow Dean's movements while he considered the new puzzle before him; years of watching his older brother made the observation habitual. Dean placed some toast and a glass of the juice in front of Sam and then finally sat to eat his own eggs and toast.
The Winchesters sat in silence in the kitchen as they ate. Dean flicked around on his phone, apparently content with the quiet meal. Sam did his best to seem unbothered by it as well but internally he argued with himself heatedly.
Talk to him, whispered the part of Sam's mind that sounded a lot like post-Lucifer-rising-pre-apocalypse-Sam, full of insecurities and desperation for Dean's love.
Yeah, ask him what the fuck his problem is, contributed the part of Sam that sounded like the petulant college student Sam who was too damn self-righteous and loud.
What? No! Sam protested. He doesn't have a problem! Look at him, he's eating toast and minding his own business.
Yeah, he never does that! What if he's mad at us for what we said last night? wailed Insecure Sam.
Well, then, let him be mad, Sam said. He started it. Sam looked closely at his brother, who was now playing a game on his phone. Besides, he doesn't seem mad. He's just…
Being a douche.
Acting normal, Sam corrected. It's like we never talked last night.
Oh my god, what if we never DID talk to him last night? Insecure Sam shouted, panicked. What if we imagined that whole conversation? What if we imagined that whole hunt? What happened yesterday? Does anyone remember specifics? Sam's left hand clenched reflexively. Stone number one! Stone number one!
Oh my god, it's like Satan never left this joint, College Sam muttered. Calm the fuck down. It happened. We had a chicken salad for lunch at a seedy diner like we always have, forever. It was gross, but at least we won't die from heart failure before we see Mom again.
Sam unclenched his fist. No, the conversation happened. But it's not really like Dean to pretend it never happened so thoroughly. Sam considered his brother. Something is definitely up. The question now is do we find out what it is on our own or do we wait for him to come clean?
Just ask him, Insecure Sam said again.
We're not asking him, College Sam and Sam chorused.
It was just a suggestion, Insecure Sam sulked.
I've always liked puzzles, College Sam mused. But Dean wasn't very open minded or receptive of our opinions last night, so…
He's our brother though, Insecure Sam argued. He would try to figure out what was wrong if it was the other way around.
Dean stood, finished with his breakfast, and began clearing away the dishes. Sam sat quietly and ate slowly, drawing out his presence in the kitchen as Dean cleaned up quickly and efficiently. "Alright, Sam," Dean announced as he wiped the last dish. "I'm going to give Baby a tune up, she hasn't had one in a while and deserves the attention. I'll be in the garage if you need me in the next couple hours. Clean up after yourself." And he left the kitchen.
As he passed Sam, the younger Winchester noticed something odd; a black cord hanging around his brother's neck. Sam frowned. Dean didn't wear necklaces. So what was that and how did it get there?
We'll take the case, Sam said decisively.
Wow you really are a drama queen.
Fuck off.
Dean's over shirt hid the mystery object around his brother's neck and Sam only knew one way to combat that without raising his brother's suspicions. He turned up the heat in the bunker. It wasn't hard to excuse. The bunker was many things; and very cool was one of it's traits, pun intended. It was great in the summer to walk into their home, out of the heat, but it was a bitch in the winter and on cool mornings. The massive amounts of concrete and cinder cooled quickly and warmed slowly.
It was a byproduct of spending over a century with Lucifer in the Cage, but Sam hated the cold. He hardly complained about it, usually opting to just pull on more layers, but Dean always noticed and cranked the heat, not matter its personal cost to him, stripping layers rather than competing for control of the thermostat. His older brother also encouraged him to turn up the heat whenever he felt cold. Sam rarely did, but the offer was always there.
So Sam, with only a twinge of guilt, went to the thermostat and turned it up to 80 degrees.
The younger hunter waited a full two hours before going into the garage to see Dean. He knew that on days like today, when there was nothing time sensitive to do, Dean could and would spend up to three hours tuning up the Impala. He always worked up quite a sweat working on the car and after two hours the heat would have permeated the entire bunker, hopefully to the point that Dean would lose enough layers for the mysterious object to become discernible (his older brother had always run warmer than Sam anyway). Sure enough, when Sam entered the garage with a cold six pack, Dean's flannel was strewn across the hood of another car and his henley sleeves were pushed back.
Damn necklace still wasn't visible.
Sam cleared his throat. "Brought beer."
Dean tossed him a quick glance and a smile. "I knew Mom and Dad had you for a reason, Sammy." The older man wiped his hands on the nearby rag and turned from the open hood. "What's the occasion?"
"I turned up the heat, sorry." Sam shrugged. "Figured I'd try to make it more tolerable for you with some cold ones."
His brother accepted the beer held out to him. "No apology necessary, Sammy."
Sam took his own sip. "Still doing engine work after all this time?"
"No, I just finished it, actually," Dean said, shaking his head. "I do the undercarriage and interior first, and save the engine for last. It's my favorite part of a car, so I try to make it the last thing I do on any car."
Sam hummed in acknowledgement, only half listening. He was trying to determine the outline of the necklace. It was bulky but not very big, and rested high on his chest a little below the collarbone. It looked familiar, but Dean hadn't worn any sort of necklace in years.
Sam's eyes narrowed in thought. It was about the same size… and if he squinted, Sam could see the right outline. The young Winchester took another drag of his beer, scrutinizing his brother's chest closely.
"-am. Sammy. Yo! Sam!"
Sam startled and met his brother's eyes with confusion. "What?"
Dean looked at him with concern. "Dude, where have you been today? All spacey and shit. I mean, you've always been broody but this…" Dean gestured at his brother vaguely and took a pull of his drink. "This is hardcore, even for you, little brother."
Sam blinked and looked away. "Yeah, no. I've just been- I'm, um… I've been thinking, just, um…" Oh, fuck it. "Dean, what are you wearing?"
Dean blinked. "What am I- what?"
"Wearing, Dean!" Sam waved his hand helplessly. "I noticed it at breakfast, and I can't figure it out and it's driving me crazy ok?"
Dean shifted, adopting a confused expression. The fucking liar. "Sam, I don't know what you mean-"
"The necklace, Dean!" Sam snapped. "What's the damn necklace?"
"Oh," Dean said softly. Sam waited with baited breath, exprectant. "Just…" Dean sighed. "Do you promise to stay and listen while I explain?" Sam nodded, suspicions raising their heads. Dean closed the Impala's hood and then surprised his brother by opening the door and sliding behind the wheel. Following his big brother's lead, Sam slipped into his own seat and turned to his brother, waiting. Dean sighed, then lifted his hands and pulled off the necklace. Once removed, he placed it on the dash, allowing Sam his first unobstructed view of the charm in two years.
It was the amulet he had given Dean that Christmas when he was nine. Those crazy schoolgirls had called it the Samulet, but in his mind it was always Dean's amulet.
He was surprised to see it after all this time. After Dean had pulled it from his pocket just before Chuck revealed himself to be God, Sam resigned himself to never seeing the necklace again. Not knowing which he dreaded more, admitting he had salvaged the amulet from a garbage can to keep almost like a security blanket and have Dean hand it back or admitting the former and watching Dean toss it again, the younger brother had avoided the elder like the a pro to prevent any discussion about the amulet at all. The fact his brother would wear it again had honestly never crossed his mind. Almost unconsciously, Sam reached out a hand to touch the necklace, but a movement in his peripheral stopped him- an aborted jerk from Dean, as if his brother wanted to stop him from taking the charm off the dash. Thoroughly confused and at a loss for words or actions, Sam slumped backwards, staring at the necklace that was finally in full view of both brothers for the first time in years.
"I, um," Dean cleared his throat. "I went back for it, you know."
Honestly, the confession caused only muted surprise in Sam. Everything else about today was a shock, so why not this too?
"I mean, I didn't really think it would be there- I came to my senses about a week too late- but I hoped that some maid had seen it and picked it out and... turned it in, I guess? I don't know. But it wasn't there." Dean shifted. "I don't know why I went back for it, Sammy. I was still pretty hurt about what I thought was your heaven, about how every memory seemed to be about getting away from your family, away from me, but I- I didn't feel quite right without it, ya know? I couldn't shake the wrongness. I hated myself like hell every goddamn day while you were in the Cage for tossing it, too. I can't even count the amount of times I reached for it, Sammy." Sam could imagine. He lost count of the number of times he fell asleep clutching the amulet as tears dried on his face when Dean was in Hell and then Purgatory. "And those stupid girls from that god-awful musical case…" Dean shook his head. "I tried to hang that wooden one from the mirror, but it wasn't the same. And when I pulled it out of your pocket, man, Sam, I didn't know what to do. I mean, things were so royally eff'd up we didn't even get to breathe until later, and by then I was so scared you'd ask for the damn thing back that I just kept it. And I never wore it because if you saw it, you might ask for it back and-" Dean stopped and tilted his own head back, eyes closed tightly. "Dammit, Sammy, I wanted it back. You gave it to me as a fucking gift and when I threw that back in your face, you took it back and clearly didn't want me to have it again and I understand why but I fucking stole it anyway!" Dean opened his eyes and stared listlessly at the roof of the car. "And I realize that's just the latest in the list of reasons why I'm the World's Worst Brother, but there you go. You've been overdue for that confession from me for a long time, but there you go."
There was silence in the car. Sam was too overwhelmed to say anything, only able to blink and attempt to process his brother's words.
"Sorry, Sammy," Dean whispered softly. Then he left the car.
Sam sat in shock, eyes flicking from the now vacant driver's seat to the amulet left on the dash to his brother's back disappearing through the bunker door. He had to do the visual round a few times before his brain finally processed everything that had just happened.
In a desperate flurry of movement, Sam snatched the amulet off the dash, familiar grooves cutting into his palm, and ran after his big brother. "Dean!" Bursting through the door connecting the garage to the main building, Sam paused, listening for any sound revealing where his brother might be. "Dean!" Sam ran to the first place he could think of to look. Giving the kitchen a cursory glance and confirming there was no brother there, Sam continued to the library, hoping to catch his brother still grabbing the good liquor before retreating to his room.
Chuck must still be listening, because he made it to the library just in time to intercept his brother. Dean saw Sam out of the corner of his eye and sped up in an attempt to make it to the stairs before Sam reached him. Sam countered with his own burst of speed, and by virtue of longer legs, slid into the doorway seconds before Dean, effectively blocking the way.
Dean wouldn't look at him. "Aw, c'mon, Sam-"
"Sit down, and pour the scotch," Sam ordered, lowly.
"Sam, please-"
"Dean."
The brothers locked eyes in a brief staring contest. It ended when Dean looked away, heaved a sigh and poured two glasses of liquor from the bottle he was holding. He slid one over to Sam and took a sip of his own, taking a seat at the table. Sam stared at the crystal glass in front of him. He felt confident in taking his eyes off of his brother; now that Sam had won the staring contest/battle of wills, he was sure his brother would stay in the room. But now that they were together with the air finally clearing, Sam found he was suddenly at a loss for words. So he stared into the amber liquid, trying to find the best place to start.
"It, um, it really hurt when you tossed it, man," Sam said abruptly. "It was so close to the end, and Lucifer was coming to me in my dreams almost every night telling me to just give in, and we were running out of ideas for coming out on top, and I knew I didn't really deserve it but your trust meant more than anything to me after everything I had done, and you believed we could win and I wouldn't have to say yes to him, and after the hits that just kept coming- ever since you died and then with Lilith- I needed that trust and that strength more than anything to believe that I wouldn't have to become what everyone said I was going to be and-" Sam took a gulp of scotch. "And when you tossed your amulet, it felt like you were throwing me away, too. And I didn't know what to do."
Sam laughed in self-deprecation. "My whole life growing up, we were always moving and leaving and being left, and I never fit in anywhere, and I was lonely and scared all the time, and it seemed like no one could see me. But you always did. And when I got back into hunting, and we found out about Azazel and the demon blood and everything, and it seemed like everyone was convinced I'd have to be put down one day, you were the only one who believed I was inherently good enough to resist. And when you threw away your amulet, I thought maybe you were finally giving up on me. But that didn't stop me from digging through the fucking garbage can as soon as you left the room." Sam took another gulp.
"Why?" Dean asked quietly.
Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I thought maybe holding on to it could be enough. Like having it there as a reminder that someone believed in my goodness once would be enough to stop me from saying yes. It mostly worked. I was going to give it back to you when I was in the Cage. I left if with Bobby to give it to you a few weeks after I died, but soulless me took it back and just shoved it under my clothes. It ended up being really useful, when I was losing my mind, you know? You told me to make you Stone Number One and the amulet helped me out when you weren't around." Sam could see Dean suck in a shaky breath out of the corner of his eye. "And when you disappeared to Purgatory, I went back to wearing it all the time. Then you were back and I did the Trials, and since then life has continuously been shit."
Dean gave a weak chuckle. "I guess you're right about that."
Sam tried for his own weak smile. "Yeah." Sam cleared his throat and pulled out the amulet, the familiar grooves digging into his palm. "I was so scared, Dean," Sam admitted quietly. "I was so scared you wouldn't want this back. And I couldn't face knowing you didn't, so I chose to not know, like maybe it would be easier that way."
"Was it?"
Sam laughed breathily. "A little, yeah."
Silence filled the room, a nearly physical barrier between the brothers. Neither looked at the other.
"And now that you know that I want it," Dean finally whispered. "What do you want to do with it?"
Give it to you! Sam's mind supplied helpfully. But his mouth said, "I don't know."
Dean nodded, face sad but accepting. "It's ok, Sammy. That's ok." The elder Winchester drained the rest of his whiskey, and stood to leave the room.
As he passed, Sam's hand suddenly shot out and gripped his arm, almost without his command. "Dean, why did you start wearing it again? After all this time, why now?"
Dean met Sam's eyes with his own for the first time in the conversation. "When we did the case with those crazy fangirls, they offered me the wooden amulet they made. The Samulet." Dean's lips quirked slightly. "Before I took it, I told her I don't need-" Sam dropped his eyes and began to remove his hand but Dean reached out and gripped Sam's arm to keep him there "-I don't need an amulet to remind me how I feel about my brother. And that's still true, Sammy, no matter what I love you more than any amulet or trinket and I will never forget that. But," Dean tilted Sam's head, forcing him to meet his steady and sincere gaze. "I missed it, and after your speech yesterday, I thought that even if I don't need an amulet to remind me how much I love you-" Sam was reeling a little from Dean saying the words I love you twice in one minute "-maybe you do. So I put it on, hoping you might notice it after awhile, and you would actually remember what you mean to me." Dean looked at Sam seriously. "I know I've been a pretty shitty brother lately, and not much fun to be around, but my faith in you and my love for you-" there it was again! "-have never changed, and never will. So, even if you've lost sight of that hopeful light at the end, Sammy, I haven't, and I'll drag you there with me until you can see it too. 'Cause I believe in you, little brother." Dean pulled the younger hunter into a tight hug. "We're gonna get through this."
And with that, Dean made his exit, leaving Sam to think over everything his brother had said, rubbing the old necklace between his fingers for many hours.
Dean stopped trying to find sleep around six in the morning. The tumult of emotions brought on by his conversation with Sam yesterday made rest nearly impossible, and when he was able to drift off, it was fitful. So after a long and scalding shower, Dean stumbled into the kitchen at about a quarter to seven, seeking coffee. His neck was red and raw from scrubbing as if he had thought he could remove the sensation and phantom weight it had taken him less than 24 hours to become accustomed to again.
As he leaned against the counter, waiting for the mug to fill, tired green eyes rested on the table. Dean stared at it for a minute. The coffee-maker beeped behind him and Dean reached around blindly for the mug. He took a sip. And stared at the table some more while waiting for the caffeine to hit his system. Another minute and two sips later, Dean's eyes cleared enough to laser in on what exactly about the table was attracting his gaze.
Resting in the center was a small, square package wrapped in old newspapers. Curious, Dean walked over to the table to examine it. Picking it up- It's light, Dean noted absently- Dean spotted a slip of paper beneath it. Dean exchanged the package in his hand for the note.
Dean
Sam's writing.
I've held on to this for you for a long time. I guess you'll be wanting it back.
Sam
With disbelief and hope warring within him, Dean set aside the note and the coffee to pick up the package once more. The newspaper tore easily under his hands, falling open to reveal the old amulet. The man ran his fingers over the ridges and dips in the charm, cradling it in his hand. Green eyes spotted a second piece of paper in the wrapping. Picking it up, Dean scanned it.
For the record, I don't need an amulet to remind me how I feel about my brother either. But it's nice to see it sometimes.
Dean gave a watery smile to the empty room, and slipped on the charm, feeling the familiar weight settle against his breastbone.
When Sam stumbled into the bunker's kitchen at 10:45, trying to hide the evidence of his own sleepless night, Dean barely spared him a glance. "Hey."
"Hey," Sam returned, walking to the table.
"Eggs?" Dean asked, turning slightly to see his brother better. He shook the pan a little as he spoke, like Sam might not know what he meant when he said eggs.
The aroma of scrambled eggs and spinach topped in cheese mixed pleasantly with the scent of bacon and pancakes. Sam gave him a small smile. "Sure. Thanks."
Dean turned to the table with two ready-made, mismatched plates and set one in front of Sam and the other in front of the seat he slid into. As he took his first bite, Dean saw Sam's smile widen and become more genuine just before his little brother bit into the strawberry slices Dean had placed on his plate. An answering smile came unbidden to his own face as he felt another piece of their world slide into its place.
In the artificial lighting, the amulet glinted a proud brassy-gold where it rested on Dean's chest, outside his shirt.
Thanks for reading! R&R and keep an eye out for more fics.