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One look. That's all it took for Dean to break down the minute he walked in the door, even after he had promised himself during the drive over that he was done crying.
Sam didn't say anything, just got up from the bed and gathered Dean in his arms. Dean was grateful for how strong Sam was, because he couldn't hold himself up anymore. Sam gently led him to the bed, and arranged them so that Dean was practically sitting in Sam's lap. He didn't care though, he just wanted to be close, to breathe in that scent, close his eyes and forget the world for a while.
"Dean, it's gonna be okay," Sam was murmuring into Dean's hair, stroking his back rhythmically, "I'm here. You'll be okay."
Dean knew that really, that was the most comforting and most non-helpful sentence he'd ever heard. Of course Sam was here; that was part of the problem. Sam was here and Dean was here and both were so far gone in each other they couldn't untangle themselves. There was no middle ground, no "safe zone."
And Dean was not okay. He sometimes felt like he would never be okay again. But then Sam would touch him, or kiss him, or hold him and for just that moment it's like the universe would suspend itself in time, swinging from its spider web, and roll back down slowly.
It was moments like this that made it worth all the trouble, worth all the pain and hurt and tears out in the rain. He would go through all that again, walk through fire and water and Hell itself all over again just to have a day with Sam.
That particular night there was no fire or Hell, and the only water was coming in steady drops from the sky, hitting the roof of the motel. The first rain in a long time out here on the desert outskirts. Dean was lying on his side on the bed, Sam resting up on his elbow across from him, close, but not touching.
And they were just talking. Slow rhythmic breathing, chuckles and smiles that made the crinkles by Sam's eyes come out.
Dean's eyes fluttered closed, trying to capture this. He reached out and skimmed his fingertips over the lines he was trying to etch into his mind. Moments like these were as fleeting as the desert rain, and when they came, Dean was as grateful as any wild thing out there.
But he tasted bitter as well as sweet because he knew God was rarely kind to him, and that this wouldn't happen again for a long time.
He shifted and allowed Sam to take him into his arms, feeling the rain, his rain, washing him clean.
