Bag of food in his hand, Dean headed down the path to their door. He was loathe to step back inside their room, the tension between them for the past couple of days growing silently. Sam barely spoke at all, and Dean really didn't want to have to go back inside. Not yet. Less time he spent with Sam these days, less chance they had for an argument.
He paused outside their room, key in hand, and glanced over at the Impala. He hadn't needed the car for the quick dash up to the store. Even as he thought about the couple of books Chuck had written that were stowed away in the trunk, the ones Dean had hoped to finish looking at, he found himself setting the bag of food down and pulling out the trunk keys. Few more minutes outside without Sam, and yeah, he was being a chicken, but he needed the space.
The sudden crack of a gunshot had Dean automatically reaching for his own piece, tucked in the back of his pants. When he realized it was muffled, like it had come from indoors, he darted for the motel room key and hurried to get inside.
He slid to a halt even as the door opened, and stared, stunned, at the blood coating the floor and the side wall. Sam was sprawled out on the floor, eyes closed, gun in his hand, hole in his head. Gone. He could have all the space he wanted from Sam, except now he didn't want it, he wanted his brother back, and he should've left the books in the trunk, why had he stopped
Dean's eyes snapped open again, gasping for air. A hand on his shoulder made him focus through the slight pooling moisture in his eyes, and Sam's worried face came into view. "Dean?"
"M'fine-"
"No," Sam said firmly, sitting on the bed beside Dean. Dean blinked to clear his vision and meet Sam's steady, sad gaze. "No, you're not," he repeated in a softer tone.
He looked guilty, miserable, and Dean realized that Sam knew what Dean was dreaming about. And was blaming himself for it. "Sammy, no-"
"Dean-"
"Just...just what-if scenarios, that's all," Dean said, pushing himself up to sitting. He rubbed at his face, and sighed. "Bad what-ifs."
"I'm-"
"And if you finish that with 'sorry', I'll kick your ass," Dean snapped, and raised his head from his hand to glare at Sam. Sam glared back, but still looked upset. "It's not your fault. It's mine."
"Dean, no-"
"I shouldn't have said what I did, you being past saving. I didn't mean it and I don't believe it."
"Dean-"
"And if I'd stopped at the trunk, or I hadn't moved fast enough, I-"
"Would you let me finish?" Sam said suddenly, and Dean shut up. Sam let out a heavy sigh and hung his head. "Or god, even start."
Dean began to speak again then stopped himself, licking his lips and keeping them closed. Last thing he needed to do was talk: it was what had gotten him this far in the first place.
"You're not okay," Sam said softly. He raised his head slowly, meeting Dean's gaze, and the kid had shadows under his eyes that rivaled Dean's. He'd slept, hadn't he?
"You're letting this eat you up and it's...it's just stupid, Dean. There's no point ripping yourself apart over what-ifs. I'm not dead."
The blood spattered images from his nightmares flashed through his head, and Dean shut his eyes tight. God, it'd been too close to reality. All because Dean hadn't checked his goddamn mouth at the door, had let anger get the best of him, and had thought that his words wouldn't mean anything to Sam in the long run.
He'd forgotten how very vulnerable his now strong, grown up little brother could still be.
"I'm sorry."
The words instantly made Dean's eyes shoot open. The face in front of him was full of pain and grief and a little self-loathing, still. It was that face that was possibly the worst part of Dean's nightmares, not the blood covered rooms. "Don't," Dean said, pursing his lips. "This is not-"
"Give me a break," Sam said, trying for angry and failing. "If I hadn't done what I did, you'd actually sleep through the night-"
"And if I hadn't said what I had, you never would've had a reason to even think about doing it," Dean insisted. Sam's lips parted, but Dean kept going. "This comes down to me and what I did, Sam. Not you. I'm the one who majorly screwed up here, and I almost paid the highest price for it." God had he almost. He would've lost the most important thing in his life, held Sam while he'd bled out for the second time.
Sam was quiet after that, the only sounds being the small swish of the sheets as he unconsciously tugged them. Something dark stood out against the crisp white, and when Dean focused, he could see a book with a triskele symbol on it. Sam's journal. "You weren't sleeping," Dean said, not even asking as he glanced at the clock. Two thirty-eight. "Sam-"
"I can't," Sam said softly. "Not when...not when I know you're gonna do this to yourself. If I fall asleep, I don't know if I'll wake up in time to wake you up." He dropped his gaze to the journal, his fingers picking at the worn edges. "I don't know how to help," he finally confessed. "Besides being here and breathing, I really don't know what else to do. I try to bring it up, you won't talk about it."
"Because I flopped," Dean admitted quietly. "I screwed up, almost got you killed, and it would've been because of me, Sammy. I would've been the reason you went, and I can't forgive myself for that. Not yet." Maybe never. Sam thinking that Dean was afraid of him? Shudder worthy. Sam deciding to kill himself because of it? It was nine types of wrong, and Dean didn't know the first thing to make it right.
"I can," Sam replied, voice barely loud enough to hear. Dean met his gaze and found Sam trying to smile. "And I already did, so...if you can't, won't forgive yourself, then let mine be enough? Please. I just...please, Dean."
Like Dean could ever refuse that tone, that word, from Sam. He still felt something inside of him let go a little at the absolution that was offered without hesitation. He closed his eyes and fought to keep his eyes dry. Blindly he reached out, arm stretched and pleading.
Sam's hand caught his and held it, and the tiny sigh of relief from his brother had Dean relaxing even more. He didn't deserve it, but he still had Sam's trust, Sam's love, still had Sam.
And when Dean opened his eyes, the only thing he saw was Sam's smile.
END
