Note: Sorry this is later than I wanted it to be, babes. My week has been hell. But I hope you enjoy! :)
The wave of agony had subsided a little, to the point where Sam was no longer desperately choking back his own sobs, but the young man was still in a great deal of pain.
Without the ability to do anything to ease my little brother's distress, I settled with distracting him.
"Want to watch a movie?" I asked him, once the kid was finally able to suck in a reasonably steady breath.
I knew he didn't have the concentration level to read – pain was distracting to say the least – and I wasn't quite in the mood to go all librarian just yet.
"Okay." He agreed, his voice almost more than a whisper as he sent a twitch of a smile up at me.
"Good! I picked up Die Hard one and two and thankfully this room actually has a damn DVD player." I stated, pulling out the movies and unwrapping the first one before placing it in the player.
Sam huffed a breathy laugh.
"We've seen those movies a hundred times over." He whispered, as though he feared using full volume would snap his back in half.
"They are classics, Sammy, you are supposed to see them a hundred times over." I pointed out, winking back at the young man who, regardless of the pained scrunch of his face, managed an exasperated eye-roll.
"Besides, who could ever get tired of watching John McClane kick some serious ass." I added.
Sam smiled at that, which I could only take as his agreement.
"Alright bro, let's get you situated." I commented, moving back toward Sam's bed.
"What do you mean?" He questioned, eyebrows pinched in confusion.
"Well, you can't watch the entire movie on your stomach like that."
"Can to." He challenged.
"Oh shut up, dude. Your neck will be killing you by the time McClane drops his first f-bomb and you know it."
My little brother had always been independent, his entire life, but this past year was the absolute worst. I couldn't much complain about it though, seeing as how I was the reason for it; my leaving my little brother alone on this fucked-up planet was what forced his level of independence to rise unreasonably high. But I was back now, and I was Sam's big brother and it was about time the kid remembered exactly what rights accompanied that role.
Such as the right to take care of his stupid-ass, even when he fought me on it.
"Dean, I'm fine."
I snorted at that, the kid couldn't even move and was too fearful of further pain to risk speaking in a full-voice. Fine. What bullshit.
"Yeah dude, you're fantastic." I snorted.
Sam scowled at that, clearly not appreciative of my mocking tone.
"Just relax, Sam." I sighed, dropping gently down onto the side of the bed closest to the door and the television set. I sat carefully, as to not cause the mattress to shift under Sam, and stretched my legs out in front of me.
"I'm just going to shift you a bit."
At the announcement of movement, Sam's entire body tensed right up.
He hissed in pain, no doubt caused by his own display of nervousness.
"Don't move me. Dean, please don't move me." He rasped, the quiver in his voice an unabashed display of fear, something that was quite rare from my strong independent brother.
"I'm just going to angle you up on my leg a bit, like we used to do. It's only going to hurt for a second, and then you'll be leaning against me and you'll be able to relax your muscles, the pain will go back to where it is now, and you'll be able to see the movie without straining your damn neck."
I didn't usually have to explain the manoeuver, it was one Sam had been familiar with when his back had him incapacitated like it did now. But I supposed quite a bit of time had passed and Sam required the reminder.
My brother was hesitant, I could feel the uncertainty emitting from him. The younger man was absolutely frozen by the mere idea of any degree of escalation in the agony that was already flowing through his back.
"C'mon man, just let me help you." I added, almost pleadingly. I knew the movement might cause a flare of pain, but I also knew it would be more comfortable for him in the longer run.
Sam's body remained tense as he gave no response.
"Just trust me, Sammy." I implored. It was a phrase that we rarely used, because the trust between the two of us had always been implicit, and when one of us used it to convince the other, it was a tactic that never failed. But that had been back before the lies, before outside manipulation, before hell. I wasn't so confident that those simple words would contain the same powerful effect that they once had.
And I was both shocked and pleased that they did.
"Okay." Sam breathed out, nodding his head slightly as his hand slid out and latched onto my knee.
His long frame remained tense, preparing for the agony that would accompany being jostled.
"Alright, buddy, try to relax your muscles, alright? Let me do the work, it'll hurt less if you aren't so keyed up." I advised, hooking a hand under Sam's right armpit and sliding the other underneath him to rest on his chest.
Sam nodded his understanding and released a long stuttered breath, attempting to force his body to relax.
I acted quickly and without warning, hoping to keep the lengthy torso from tensing up again.
Sam released a strangled cry that tore right through my heart, but didn't fight me as I shifted him – displaying his absolute trust in me, even through his pain.
In one quick second Sam's head was resting up against my thigh, his arm was hugging my knees, and his chest was shuddering alongside my leg as he fought to ride out the pain.
"That's it buddy, just breathe through it. You've got this." I encouraged gruffly, resting my hand on the back of his neck and giving it an encouraging squeeze.
"Fuck." He cursed, grinding his forehead into my leg as his fingers bunched up my jeans in a white-knuckled grip.
My brother didn't often swear, not when he was a teenager, and not even now – he often used to chastise me for my choice in language – but the agony in his back tended to cause the curses to fall from his lips.
I waited patiently, feeling Sam's body twitch against my leg as the tension slowly began to bleed from his muscles, until finally he was relaxed against me.
A small sigh, of what I presumed to be relief, was released the same time as the grip on my jeans.
"Better?" I inquired knowingly.
"Better." He breathed.
I knew the pain hadn't diminished, but was simply manageable, and I hoped that it would remain that way for a long while.
"You going to start the movie or what?" Sam questioned irritably.
I could tell he was feeling awkward, after so much separation and strain between us, the closeness – cuddling, for lack of a better word – seemed more than a little strange.
At least it probably seemed that way for him, for me it felt as natural as breathing. My insecurities about not being able to play nursemaid, not being able to care for Sam in the way that he needed, were all forgotten. The instinct that had been ingrained in me over years of raising my little brother, had taken control.
And I was damn near ecstatic to realize that hell hadn't completely shredded that part of me.
"I will, but only if you eat this." I compromised, pressing the granola bar into his open palm.
I didn't have to look to know that Sam would be rolling his eyes, but I did anyway.
"Fine." He grumbled, knowing better than to argue with me, especially when it came to his intake of food, or lack thereof.
I started the movie, but was distracted, watching as Sam struggled to open the snack, his fingers trembling too aggressively from the residual pain for him to get a good enough hold in order to rip open the package.
"I got it." I said, my voice hushed, to be sure it didn't sound at all like an order.
"It's fine. I can do it." Sam rasped, his frustration with being so incapable was betrayed in his tone.
I could only stand watching him fiddle for another couple seconds before I quickly plucked the object from his long fingers, ignoring his grunt of objection.
I made sure to keep my gaze trained on the television, not giving any more attention to the matter than necessary; not wanting to further embarrass my independent kid brother who was now reduced to a state where he was unable to perform the simplest of tasks.
The independent person who could force a demon back to hell with nothing more than his hand and some solid concentration, the man who had somehow started the bloody apocalypse, was currently unable to unwrap a granola bar.
If it wasn't so fucking tragic, it would be hilarious.
I tossed the garbage onto the side table, looking with disgust at the snack as I slid it into Sam's waiting hand.
"What's with the face?" He grumbled, carefully taking a nibble, cautious not to move more than required.
"Dude, it looks like mulch, held together with dirt. I have no idea how you eat that shit." I remarked.
I was fine with granola bars, but the super healthy ones were just grainy and nasty.
"If you don't like them, why'd you buy them?"
There was a time when Sam never would have asked such a thing, he would have known why I bought them and never had to wonder. I supposed having such unquestionable knowledge of each other's choices was one of things that had changed between us.
Regardless, I had no intention of explaining to my little brother, that I bought food I didn't like because I knew he would like it, and because the kid was in so much pain and I wanted to find some way to make it better. No, there was no way I was explaining that; it was way to chic-flicky, and – if I was honest with myself – I hated the thought of having to explain something that had always been so completely understood before.
I turned my attention back to the movie, leaving Sam's inquiry unanswered. It was only a short moment later when I heard him whisper softly.
"Thanks."
I could hear the grateful understanding in Sam's voice, and knew he was thanking me for more than just unwrapping his granola bar.
I made no response, not requiring his verbal appreciation to do my job, but I gently squeezed the back of his neck, to let him know that I heard.
Sam remained completely still throughout the film. It was strange, Sam had always been fidgety; sharing beds with him as a kid taught me as much. He was a little octopus, always moving around, mind you whenever I tucked him into my side, he would often lay still. It had been the same in the car. Whenever we were travelling, regardless of Sam's age, he would be moving around in his seat, legs bouncing as he continuously switched positions; but when I would reach out and pull him into my side – whether we were in the front seat or the back – he would relax against me. The only time the restless young man ever seemed to be stationary, was when he was tucked up against me.
I wasn't sure if that was what had him still now, or if it was his fear of causing more pain in his back by moving. It was probably both.
I'd be lying if I said something about having Sam close hadn't always brought me a sense of peace as well. I had never been as restive as the younger man, not as a kid and not now, but whenever I could feel him against me, it calmed my soul. It had always been easier to breathe, the constant stress and anxiety of our life had always dissipated, when I could feel him safe beside me.
This occasion was no exception. I knew Sam was in pain, and I wanted nothing more than to put an end to it; but feeling him resting against my leg, feeling his chest expand with every shallow breath, feeling the wait of his arm draped over my knees, and feeling his head resting on my thigh, it brought a peace to my soul that I hadn't felt since my return from hell. A peace I didn't think I would ever feel again.
We were nearly at the end of the movie, when John McClane hollered at one of his enemies to go 'burn in hell.' Sam flinched at the phrase, hissing as the sudden movement caused pain to flare in his back.
During the entire year after I made my deal, and the time since I had returned, Sam had been flinching at any mention of hell; as though it physically hurt him to hear the word or think about the location itself.
I really wished that my little brother would stop hurting for me.
He had enough of his own hurt to deal with.
"Dean?"
The soft call pulled me from my thoughts and I stared down at the young man stretched out against me.
Sam was dutifully avoiding my gaze, but I could tell by the way he was gnawing on his bottom lip, that he had something he needed to say.
"What's up?" I asked, turning the volume down slightly to be heard over the hail of gunfire sounding from the television.
Even as I looked steadily at Sam, he refused to remove his eyes from the TV screen.
"Do you regret it?" Sam rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Did you have the first part of that conversation without me?" I questioned, brow furrowed in complete confusion.
There was another pause, and I was a second away from prompting my brother on, when he spoke again.
"The deal. Do you regret making the deal?"
I couldn't speak, too many emotions running through me.
The confusion gave way to shock, which faded into hurt, which quickly morphed into anger – fury even – at the mere idea that Sam could think for one damn second that I would regret saving him.
Sam rambled on, not knowing what to make of my silence.
"It's just, you gave up so much for me. You went to – to hell to save me. And what did I do? I screwed everything up!" His voice cracked in a way that would normally never fail to make my heart shatter, but this time I had anger guarding it.
"What the hell, Sam?" I snapped, being careful not to move my legs. I was pissed, but I didn't want to cause the kid any physical agony.
Sam seemed to get smaller, his body shifting ever so slightly to shrink against my leg.
"I…it's jus…you went to hell to save my life. And how did I repay you? I got addicted to demon blood, I lied to you, I let the freakin devil out of his cage. How could you not regret all the suffering you went through just so I could fuck everything up?"
The self-loathing I could feel coming off my kid brother in waves, was the only thing that kept me from losing my temper.
"Would you?" I ground out.
Sam was still refusing to look up at me, but I saw him squint as he stared forward, clearly not understanding my inquiry.
"If the roles were reversed, would you regret saving me?" I asked, tone low and angry, because I already knew the answer.
"But, they aren't. Dean, you would never mess up the way—
"If they were. Would you regret it?" I questioned again, emphasizing each word.
"Ofcourse not, but that's-
"Oh, so it's just me, right? I'm supposed to be the selfish, unforgiving, piece of crap, older brother, huh?"
Sam was taken aback by my fury, his mouth open and closing several time, and as it did, I carefully began to slide out from underneath him.
Even as my mind stormed with anger, my touch was gentle as I inched my leg out from under Sam's chest, and cautiously eased him onto his stomach.
Sam's attempt at a protest was interrupted by a sharp inhale of pain as his body was shifted. I winced as I heard a hitch in his next breath, but I just couldn't stand to sit there any longer. I needed a break, a breather, before I ended up slugging the already hurting young man.
I stood by for a moment, until the long body seemed to settle, no longer tremoring in pain and Sam's eyes were no longer squeezed shut in agony. Only then did I make my exit.
"Where you going?" He called out, voice wavering in pain or emotion, perhaps both.
"Need some air." I bit back, opening the door.
I could hear my brother call my name as I walked out of the hotel door, and while my body instinctively wanted to react to that voice, I forced it to keep moving.
I paced around for a few moments, letting the rage wash through me.
I couldn't believe that kid.
I mean sure, the past year had been pretty jacked up, and we had both said and done some seriously stupid shit, but how dare he even think that I regretted saving him. That I rather he were dead. That I thought for even a second about life being better without him breathing.
How fucking dare he!
I had never, for one damn day, regretted any sacrifice I had ever made for my little brother.
And the fact that he didn't seem to understand that was so beyond me.
Sam had always been worth it to me. Any shit I had to go through, if it was for him, it had always been worth it. I had always assumed that he understood that.
But then again, my brother's self-worth had taken a hell of a lot of hits lately, and perhaps his current doubts had more to do with his insecurities than it had to do with his view of me.
My anger began to dissipate as my pacing began to slow and I leaned back on the hood of the Impala.
I squinted around, the afternoon sun was bright, and it made the old motel seem even less flattering that it did when we had arrived last night.
I was just pondering the idea of returning to the room to hash things out with Sam, when I saw the door swing open.
Sam's face was pale as a poltergeist and his legs were shaking like a newborn colt, as he stood hunched over, fingers clinging to the door frame to keep him vertical.
"Sam!" I shouted, rushing towards the tall figure that looked seconds away from keeling over.
"Dean!" My brother called, as he released the wall and reached out desperately towards me, practically launching himself into my arms.
"Please! Please don't leave." He begged, long fingers gripping onto my shirt as his desperate eyes stared into mine and he legs continued the fight to hold him up.
"Dude, I wasn't going to leave you! I said I had to get some air, I was standing right out here the entire time." I explained, regretting ever leaving the kid's sight at all now that he was injuring himself in pursuit of me.
Relief flooded Sam's face, but his hold of me never wavered.
"You seriously thought I would ditch you? You can't even make it to the bathroom on your own, and you thought I would just walk out on you and leave you helpless like that?" I questioned, no longer in anger but rather disbelief.
"I- I didn't think anything. I just didn't want you to go." Sam stuttered out.
"You're an idiot." I grumbled, pulling his arm across my shoulders and pointing us back towards the room, careful not to rush his frustratingly slow pace.
Sam shuffled across the floor, his body trembling - in what I knew to be complete agony - as we started toward the bed. Then, suddenly, Sam cried out as his legs gave way. The sudden addition of weight pulled me off balance and we both dropped down to our knees, where Sam promptly threw-up.
I kept a grip of his left wrist and placed a hand on his chest to keep him from falling forward into the vomit, as I winced at the aggressive nature of the heaving. Puking had always been Sam's body's way of telling him it could no longer handle the pain. I cringed because I knew that the effort of hurling was only ramping the agony in his back up to the next level.
My heart twisted in despair when I saw tears leaking from Sam's eyes as he continued to heave.
"It's okay, Sammy. Just let it out. It will be done in a second."
The reassurances may have been lame, but they were all I had to offer in that moment.
Sam's one hand grabbed hold of the arm I had across his chest, gripping desperately as he waited for the nausea to subside.
It took way too damn long, but eventually the puking stopped, and my brother's trembling frame collapsed into me, no longer having the strength to keep itself up.
"It's alright, buddy. I got you." I promised, climbing to my feet and pulling Sam up with me.
I apologized profusely while the younger man sobbed in agony during the short trip back to his bed.
I gently eased him onto the mattress, helping him maneuver onto his front.
And then I stood there and watched as his thin frame shuttered, the torment too much for his body to take. Sam sucked in shaky breaths while his hands fisted the bedsheets.
I grabbed the heating pack that had been discarded at one point in time, and tossed it into the microwave, impatiently waiting for it to warm. I then searched out the painkillers, dropping two into my hand.
I tugged Sam's shirt up and placed the freshly heated gel-pack onto his back, scowling at that damn scar and all the damage that it caused. Next, I knelt next to the bed and placed a hand atop Sam's shaggy head.
A pair of tortured hazel eyes looked over at me and I did my best to provide a calm expression.
"Open your mouth." I ordered softly.
Sam did as requested without a moment's hesitation; it would seem that even with his doubts about me and our relationship, he still trusted me.
I slid the two pills onto his tongue and then placed the straw for his water next to his mouth.
"Drink."
He did.
Once the pills were swallowed, the younger man released a soft whimper.
I frowned, hating to see the kid in such pain and knowing that it was on me for leaving him alone like I did.
I shook my head in fresh frustration with myself as I made for the bathroom. I grabbed a towel and soaked a washcloth. I spread the towel on top of the vomit pooled on the carpet, and then returned to Sam's side.
I slid the damp cloth over his face, wiping away any trace amounts of sickness and sweat. When I was finished with it, I threw the washcloth into the sink and went to grab something else I had purchased at the store.
I returned with a beverage, twisting off the cap and dropping a straw in before holding it to Sam's mouth.
"Sip, to get the taste out of your mouth." I explained unnecessarily.
Watching as my brother took a few slow swallows of the purple Gatorade.
Red had always been the kid's favorite colour of the flavored sport's drink, but I had learned shortly after his detox that Sam was no longer okay with any beverage of that particular shade.
I pulled the bottle away as my little brother turned his head from it.
"You should have more, I don't want you getting dehydrated." I muttered, but didn't force it on him, he was still fighting to keep himself together.
I sat on the bed, watching the tremors run through Sam's long frame, feeling completely and utterly useless.
"Dean."
My heart wrenched as Sam's hand flailed blindly out toward me, latching onto the bottom of my shirt and gripping hard.
"I'm right here, buddy. I'm right here. I ain't going nowhere." I promised, sliding closer, feeling Sam press his forehead into the side of my thigh.
The kid hadn't so blatantly sought comfort in such a way, since before I returned from hell; mind you, before today I wasn't even aware I could provide it, so there was no wonder that Sam never came looking.
I began to gently massage the back of his neck, his one hand continued to grip onto my shirt, and the other tentatively stretched over my legs and resting on my right knee.
I continued to massage the tight muscles in his neck, not failing to notice how Sam proceeded to shift closer to me, until his body was pressing up against my left leg. It wasn't propped up for necessity like it had been before, it was damn close to snuggling actually, but someone in as much pain as Sam was, got a free pass.
The younger man sucked in a sharp inhale, quaking at the aguish tearing its way up his spine.
"Fuck, Sammy." I cursed, my voice rough with sympathy and frustration that I was having to just sit by and watch my brother hurting.
"I'm okay. It'll pass." Sam croaked, the hand on my knee contracting.
I shook my head, because of course Sam would waste his breath reassuring me when he was the one suffering.
"It always passes." He added, almost wistfully.
"It will soon, kiddo, it will soon." I promised, inserting a gentle confidence in my tone.
I felt Sam nod slightly against me, hissing as his back shuttered.
"Shiit." He choked, grip tightening on me as he ground his forehead into my leg, desperate to escape the pain.
I kept one hand on the back of his neck, and began to card my other hand through his hair, an old method that had often worked to soothe a younger Sam Winchester.
"I'm sorry I walked out. I wasn't going to leave you or anything. I just, I…"
"Got angry." Sam filled in, twitching in discomfort, even as his breathing slowly began to even out.
"Yeah. I was pissed." I admitted, I didn't know why I was starting this conversation now, maybe because it was on my mind and that I hoped it would serve as a distraction for my hurting little brother.
"At me." Sam declared, as though he was sure of it.
"No, not at you, at the shit you said."
Sam made no response to that, either because of the pain or because he didn't know what to say.
"You would forgive me for anything. Literally anything."
"I—
"Don't try and deny it, dude. I know you. You would forgive me for anything." I declared with full confidence.
"You have always been that way. Forgiving me for anything and everything. You weren't the same with Dad—
Sam huffed, but it sounded like a noise of agreement, not contradiction.
"But you were with me. Even as a kid, I always knew there was nothing I could do that you wouldn't forgive. I never knew why you were that way, never wanted to question it, but it was something that I always knew."
My mind wandered to all the occasions in our childhood where I had let Sam down, all the times I had hurt him or failed to protect him; and every damn time – regardless of his age – Sam forgave me.
"You never took advantage."
Sam's comment brought me out of my thoughts.
I smiled softly, at my brother's habit of never allowing me to feel guilty for anything.
"What I'm getting at here, is that I got angry, because for some reason, you don't think that's a two-way street."
Sam was silent, the slight hitch of each inhale was all that could be heard; the movie that had been playing was long over and not even a sound was resonating from outside the motel room.
"You listening? Because I'm only going to say this once."
"Yeah, I'm listening." He whispered, hazel eyes coming up to glance at me for a moment, long enough to assure me of his words.
I cleared my throat, continuing to drag my fingers through his hair as I stared ahead, fighting to control my rising emotions.
"There is nothing you have ever done, and nothing that you will ever do, that I won't forgive."
"But, Dean—
"Shut-up." I ordered, coming off harsher than I intended, but it did the trick nonetheless. "There has never been a sacrifice that I was not okay making for you. And there never will be."
"Dean, you went to hell." Sam persisted, as though I had forgotten.
"Yeah, and I would do it again to save you. No matter what kind of shit you got up to while I was downstairs."
Sam flinched, and this time I knew it wasn't due to the pain.
"You fucked up, Sam. You made some dumb-ass decisions, you were used, and manipulated. But none of that makes me regret saving you, not even for a second."
I could hear Sam swallow thickly, and before I even looked down, I knew that his hazel eyes would be shining with unshed tears.
"And I know for a fact that if our roles were reversed, you wouldn't regret saving me. You never have."
"What do you mean?" Sam asked, his voice trembling with emotion.
"When you were twelve, we were on a hunt. I wasn't paying close enough attention and the fugly monster crept up on me, I knew I wouldn't have time to reach for my weapon before it made me its lunch, and you must have to. Because you started throwing things at it and hollering, trying to bate it your way. And it worked. That damn creature took off after you and nearly shredded you to pieces before I could waste it. You nearly died, Sam. You nearly died saving my stupid-ass." The memory played out so clearly in my mind, I could almost see my tiny little brother lying in the dirt, his hair all askew and body coated in his own blood. I flinched at the image.
"But I didn't. I didn't die, Dean. I didn't go to hell. It's not the same." Sam argued miserably, blind to the similarities in the situations.
"You had no way of knowing you wouldn't die, Sam. And you damn well almost did. But you didn't care, and you didn't regret it, not even when you were laid up in a shitty motel for nearly a month, missing school and soccer games – for the team you fought tooth and nail to be a part of – all because you chose to save me. You sacrificed for me."
Sam was silent, but at least he wasn't arguing.
"You know how I know you didn't regret saving my sorry-ass?" I questioned, not waiting for an answer. "Because the second you woke up in that hospital bed, you asked if I was okay. You didn't even take the time to be sure you still had all your limbs, you just wanted to know that I was alright. I mean, fuck, Sam. You were just a kid, and you were being held together by stitches, but all you cared about was that I was okay. The sacrifice didn't matter to you. Because I was worth it."
I worked to swallow the lump in my throat, and rubbed viciously at the moisture leaking from my eyes. I waited until I had collected myself before speaking again.
"Now, for some reason I'm allowed to be worth it to you, but you're not supposed to be worth it to me. That's fucked up, Sam. You can't be okay with making sacrifices for me and forgiving me, and then assume that I'm some selfish prick of a big brother who wouldn't do the same for you. That's not fair." I chastised, finally describing the root of my anger, and not failing to hear my brother sniffling, or see the tears tracking down his cheeks as he listened intently.
"You will always be worth it to me. I shouldn't have to fucking tell you that. You should know it. And if you ever even think differently, I will kick your ass." I finished, glancing down and satisfied to see the small twitch of a smile brighten my brother's face.
I felt Sam's head nod against my leg, as he knew I would want a response, but was likely too choked up to provide a verbal one. I found great relief in his understanding, something in my soul settling at the knowledge that my kid comprehended how much he meant to me and that there was nothing I wouldn't do for him.
We sat silently for some time. I mindlessly combed my fingers through my brother's long hair, and he regained control of his emotions as he stabilized his breathing.
I was content to find that I could no longer feel Sam's body trembling against my leg, nor could I see his long frame shuttering in agony. The back pain had clearly receded back to a manageable degree, and for that, I was immensely grateful.
"And for the record, I wasn't going to leave you alone in this room, nor will I ever leave you alone when you are hurting ever again." I vowed. Knowing that, while I had left Sam on his own to suffer in the panic room, it was something I greatly regretted and would never repeat.
I looked down to see Sam smiling, his hazel eyes glancing up at mine, filled with more love and gratefulness than I could ever hope to deserve.
"For the record, you have never been selfish for a single day of your life, and if you think for one second that I don't know that, or that I haven't always know that, than you are ten-times dumber than you look." The younger man declared his voice more confident and steady than it had been in ages; the combination of absolute sincerity and humour, was so incredibly Sam.
I grinned down at the dimpled smile that was aimed up at me.
Damn, I had missed my little brother.
"You should get some rest." I pointed out, knowing that the 'while you can' was implied. The pain had subsided, but if history proved itself right, it could return at any moment with a vengeance.
Sam frowned, clearly unsure of my request.
"Not sure I will be able to." He admitted.
"What if I—if I read to you?" I asked, being sure to avoid eye-contact, surprisingly nervous as I waited for Sam's response.
"I don't really have any books that aren't lore related." He sighed, sounding damn-near miserable about his lack of literature.
I went to get up from the bed, to go grab the novel I had purchased earlier in the day, but was stilled by Sam's unrelenting grip on my shirt.
I looked down, and my heart stuttered at the giant puppy-dog eyes that were staring up at me, the same way they had back when Sammy was a child. Too selfless to make an actual request, but so blatantly desperate for me to stay.
"I'll be right back." I promised softly, sliding Sam's unruly hair off his face and smiling softly.
Sam nodded, slowly uncurling his fingers from my clothing, and allowing me to move away.
I moved to flick off the lights, and grab the book, before returning to the bed. There was still more than enough daylight streaming in the window for me to be able to read, so I got comfortable, leaning back against the headboard and stretching my legs out before me.
I moved so I was right up against Sam, to keep him from having to shift closer to me and risk escalating his back pain.
Sam's eyebrows went up as he peaked up over my thigh to spot the hardcover I held in my hands.
"Treasure Island?" He inquired, a dimply-grin spreading across his tired expression.
"Hell yeah, dude. It's a classic." I defended, recalling the times I had read it to Sam as a kid in the back of the Impala, or in the motel room of the week. It had also been a story my little brother had read to me on more than one occasion where I had been too sick or too injured to occupy myself. The novel had been lost at some point, likely left behind in one state or another. However, when I first went to get Sam at Stanford, when I went to tell him about Dad, I had spotted this particular story amongst a stack of books in his room.
"That's the story you always used to read to me, the first chapter book I learned to read on my own, and the only novel you wouldn't bitch at me for reading to you." Sam recalled softly, as he dropped his head back onto the mattress, smiling fondly before allowing his eyes to droop shut.
I knew Sam hadn't forgotten the history of the novel, just as he had never forgotten the sacrifices I had made for him, although sometimes I wish he would.
We had a long history of making sacrifices for one another, and I couldn't help but feel we would have a future full of it as well.
It was important that we both understood that neither of us would ever regret making those sacrifices for our brother, because we were worth it to each other.
I had never been able to understand why I was worth it to Sam, and apparently the little genius couldn't seem to figure out why he was worth it to me, but none of that changed the facts.
The reality was, we were brothers and we cared more for each other than we did for ourselves.
And while on occasion the things I knew Sam would do for me, downright terrified me, it also brought me comfort that there was someone on the planet who cared about me to the extent of destruction.
As I began to read Treasure Island, I felt Sam's forehead press against my hip, and I felt his fingers grip onto my jeans, and I knew that he was just as scared of losing me as I was of losing him.
I knew that the bond we shared could be our weakness.
I knew that the love that we had for each other could lead to our demise.
I knew that the lengths we would go for each other could damage the world.
But I also knew that, no matter what, none of that would change.
We would always forgive each other.
We would always fight for each other.
We would always sacrifice for each other.
And we would always be worth it for each other.
Nothing would change that.
Nothing.
The End
Note: A lot of you wanted me to have a deep chic-flick session about the voicemail, but I didn't. There are a few reasons, one is I try to stick to canon and that is something that has yet to be resolved in the show so I feel weird about resolving it here. Another reason, is though I do try to indulge in broments as often as I can, I do my best to stay in character, and I just couldn't come up with an organic way to divulge the voicemail matter. I feel as though Sam would be too ashamed and insecure to bring it up (it was likely one of the most hurtful moments of his life) and Dean wouldn't know to bring it up. Sorry if I disappointed you. I just can't write scenarios that don't feel right, and that one didn't feel right for this particular fic. Hope you still enjoyed it! - Sam