Title: Talking Is Overrated

Author: tommygirl828 (at) gmail (dot) com

A/N: Written for ABC ficlet challenge. Feedback always appreciated!

Crossposted: to my livejournal and eventually my website

There were certain things that Dean Winchester not only felt comfortable doing, but believed himself to be pretty skilled at – hunting the things in the dark, keeping his fear in check at all times, and the upkeep of his car. There were certain things that he tried and tried at, sometimes doing right and sometimes failing miserably – these things usually revolved around Sammy and keeping him safe. And then there were things that knocked the wind of out of him and put him completely out of his element - being around normal people for too long without saying something stupid, evil emotions, and talking about said evil emotions.

Dean thrived on doing the things he was good at and avoiding the other stuff whenever possible. He liked the simplicity of his routine. Whether it was mentally healthy or not, Dean didn't really care. If he couldn't get a handle on it, he preferred to pretend it didn't exist.

Leave it to his psychic brat of a brother to ruin his preferred way of life and force things like feelings and long talks down Dean's throat. Christ, Dean hated the word feelings. It was like being stuck in a bad afterschool special where everyone hugged each other and cried on cue. And Sam ate that shit up, probably one more thing that he thought would make him normal.

"Dean, you can't keep ignoring me forever."

"I'm not ignoring you, Sammy. I'm just not listening."

"Dean…"

"I'm fine, Sam. Not dead. Very much alive," Dean replied. He was in no mood to rehash the past couple of weeks. It had happened so fast – getting electrocuted, being told he was going to die, getting healed at some other guy's expense – and Dean knew that Sam had been barely holding it together, but Dean couldn't handle it right then. He couldn't be the big brother Sam wanted at the moment, the type that would talk everything out until Sam no longer had that look on his face.

"You're not fine, Dean. I know you, man, and this is not you being fine."

"Sammy…"

"You nearly died."

"But I didn't. Instead some other guy died before his time."

Sam bit at his bottom lip and Dean winced when Sam got that scrunched up look on his face that he used to get when he was a kid, the one that came right before a large amount of tears. Like Dean didn't already have a big enough headache. Dean reached over and turned the music on, hoping that would stop the pending emotional breakdown.

"You're a fucking asshole," Sam stated, flipping the tape back off. He curled his fist up in a ball and added, "Why won't you talk to me?"

"This is my shit to deal with."

"But you're not dealing with it," Sam countered. He let out a long, slow breath and continued, much softer in tone, "Dean, it wasn't your fault that guy died. We didn't know."

"Maybe I should've known. Maybe I was being selfish because I was scared to leave you on your own, even though I know that you can take care of yourself. Maybe I am to blame for this," Dean said. He instantly regretted it because Sam shot him a supportive smile that made him want to puke and got this look on his face like he was about ready to hug Dean right there while he was driving. Dean shook his head and said, "There. We shared. Can we drop this now?"

"No."

"Sam, I'm going to leave your ass on the side of the road."

"No you won't," Sam replied, crossing his arms across his chest. Dean wanted to prove him wrong and dump his ass out on the highway, but Sam was right. Dean would never do it.

"Well, then I'll punch you in the face," Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes, though Dean knew that his confident facade was wavering a bit, and said, "It's not selfish to want to live, Dean, and it's not selfish that I wanted you to live either. Do you really think I wouldn't have forced you up there on the altar at fucking gunpoint if I had to? Do you think I was going to let you die?"

"Whatever."

"Life and death exist in an ambiguous realm that doesn't really make sense or follow the same rules as everything else."

"What does that even mean, Sam?"

"It means that you can't control the fact that someone died, Dean. Did you ever think that you wouldn't have been saved if you weren't meant to live?

"So cheating death is okay? Letting someone else die in my place because I wasn't ready is fair?"

Sam sighed. He didn't say anything for a minute and Dean almost thought the conversation was dropped. Then Sam said, "When is anything fair? Would it be fair for me to lose you after everything else?"

"Sammy…"

"I'm sorry that guy had to die, but I'm not sorry you're still alive. I'll never be sorry about that and you won't make me feel guilty about it."

"You don't have anything to feel guilty about, Sam. I'm the older brother."

"Stop with the older brother crap already. And stop acting like you've got to deal with this on your own."

"Fine. I don't have to deal with it on my own. Good to know. It's not my fault. Whatever. Will you stop harping on this already?"

"If this were me, you wouldn't drop it."

"That's different."

"How so?"

"It just is. This conversation is over."

"I'm not going to drop this."

"Sam…"

"I'm going to keep bringing it up all the way to our next stop…"

"Sam…"

"Because I nearly lost you once and I need to know that you're not going to do something fucking stupid out of misplaced guilt," Sam finished. Dean glared at his brother and Sam glared right back, and not for the first time, Dean wondered when the hell his brother had grown into this annoying adult.

And then Sam's expression changed from anger to sorrow and Dean felt his own throat closing up from the look Sam was shooting him. Dean never could refuse Sam when he got like this. It wouldn't help Dean to try and argue that feelings weren't something Dean was good with, that he could fight and move on and do other things and sooner or later it would either make sense to him or simply fade into the background...but actually talking about what he felt in any given moment, especially after something like facing the reaper and knowing Layla would die, was another story entirely.

But Dean didn't really possess the words to even state that much. So he shrugged and said, "Sammy, I'm fine. I'm not sick anymore and I'm not suicidal."

"Would you stop saying that! You're not fucking fine. Neither of us is. You almost died, Dean."

"I know."

"I would've been alone."

Dean winced at the lost sound in his brother's voice and forced out, "You would've been fine, Sam."

Sam laughed mirthlessly. "That's bullshit."

"You survived four years without me. You've been out on your own before. If something ever happens to me, that's one thing I'm not worried about. I know that you can take care of yourself," Dean said. It wasn't exactly the truth. Dean didn't like the idea of Sam on his own, mostly because Sam was his own worst enemy, but he also knew that Sam would be okay.

Sam's eyes widened and he hit Dean in the arm. He said, "Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull the fucking car over or I swear to God…"

Dean didn't give him a chance to finish that sentence. He knew better than anyone what could happen when Sam's anger got the best of him. He put the car in park and threw his hands up in mock surrender. He said, "What now, Sammy? Do we need to wipe away each others tears and promise unending love for one another?"

"You're such a jerk."

"What?"

"Were you really willing to die...to fucking sacrifice yourself to that reaper...because I went away to college?"

Dean refused to glance at his brother. He could hear the pain laced with the anger and fear in Sam's tone. There were certain surefire ways to hit Dean in the gut and the idea of his brother in any sort of pain was number one on that list. But what was Dean going to do? Lie to Sam? Promise him that he would never die? Promise that he wouldn't throw himself between some innocent kid and harm's way?

"That's not what I said, Sam."

"Because that was different, Dean, and if you can't see why, we've got more problems than I thought."

Dean punched the steering wheel and said, "This is exactly why I didn't want to talk about this. Because you take everything I say and turn it around and make it all about you."

"I don't…"

"Hunting is what I do, Sam. It's who I am. I can't promise you that I'm not going to try to save someone who's in danger because it might put me at risk. I can't promise you that I won't ever die."

"I'm not four years old, Dean. I understand the risks we take."

"Good."

"But that doesn't mean that I'm going to sit back and let you die as though you don't matter."

"I didn't ask you to do that."

"Like you don't blame me for having you healed."

"I don't blame you. I would've done the same thing for you."

"And if something does happen to you that can't be fixed, Stanford won't make it easier to deal with."

"That's not what I meant."

"Right."

"The only reason I even brought up Stanford was to prove that you're capable of taking care of yourself, Sam."

"Fine."

"Does that mean that we can drop this topic and get back on the road? I'd like to make it to New Mexico in the next millennia."

"Whatever."

"Sam..."

"For the record, it's not about being able to take care of myself. You've always been in my life, Dean, even when I was at school, and I don't think you realize how important that is to me."

"Oh Christ, I thought this topic was dropped."

"I'm serious. You need to know that."

"I know you love me, Sam."

"Do you?"

"We're not chicks, dude. We don't have to say it to know that it's true."

"I'm not sure that I could do this without you."

"You don't have to. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to throw myself in front of a train because life doesn't make a damn bit of sense. It's not my style."

Sam chuckled and said, "Not unless there was a hot girl involved."

"That's not suicidal, that's thinking ahead."

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah, and you're a little bitch. Can we go now?"

"Yeah."

Dean waited a second to see if Sam really meant it this time. After a few seconds, Dean turned the tape back on. Nothing was really fixed, but Dean couldn't deny that the wrenching in his chest wasn't quite as bad as it was before. He'd never admit it to Sam, but maybe the talking about feelings occasionally did work wonders. He still hated it though.

Fin