Baby believe me,
If I stay, it ain't gonna be easy.

- "Love on the Rocks", by Sarah Bareilles

"You – bastard," Sam grunted, enunciating each word with a well-aimed blow.

"Son – of – a bitch!" Dean wheezed, trying to keep his headlock on Sam. He gave Sam's head a rough jerk, attempting to get him to stop punching him in the solar plexus.

It didn't work – Sam kept hitting, but Dean was nothing if not stubborn. He kept his arm squeezed around Sam's neck and just held on. They exchanged some kicks, but neither was in a very good position to do much damage that way.

Eventually, Sam started to weary. "Uncle," he panted. "I give up."

Dean was suspicious but too bruised to care. He released Sam and shoved him away roughly, then tried to assess his injuries. There was a lot of blood on his shirt, but that was mostly from Sam's nose; he could feel that his lip was split, his eye was swelling and his stomach hurt like a mother.

Sam wasn't in any better shape. His face was a bloody mess, and his shirt was torn. He was wincing and cradling his hand. He was taking quick breaths in and out, and that's when Dean realized that Sam was blinking way too much.

"Dude, you crying?" he asked incredulously. Ouch, that split lip made it hurt to talk. "Since when are you such a big baby? You've had the shit kicked out of you more times than I can count."

"Not by you," Sam mumbled, drawing his knees up towards his chest, resting his lanky arms on them and lowering his head.

Shit. Dean felt that guilty squeeze in his heart that he knew so well, the one he felt whenever he'd failed to protect Sam. He hadn't protected Sam from himself.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of anger rise up in response. Who was he kidding? Sam had beaten the tar out of him too! He wasn't a little kid anymore, hell, Sam was bigger than Dean, and he'd had this coming a long time. Without thinking, Dean asked him the question that had festered in the back of his mind for months now. "You're supposed to be the smart one. How could you be stupid enough to believe Ruby?"

Sam was taken aback by the question. He gaped for a moment, and then narrowed his eyes. "What am I supposed to say, Dean?" he asked bitterly. "I've said I'm sorry a million times, and you keep saying that sorry doesn't cut it."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's because I don't believe you," Dean answered hotly. "For some reason, I never quite buy your apology. I can tell, Sammy – you think the Ruby thing wasn't all your fault."

"Because it's not!" Sam blurted.

"Really? Then whose fault is it?" Dean demanded sarcastically. "Is it Ruby's fault because she tricked you? Cuz I warned you about her, Sammy boy, and you didn't listen. You were too busy getting your rocks off –"

"It's your fault!" Sam interrupted, fists clenched. "It's not just my fault, it's also yours, and I'm tired of taking all the shit for it."

Dean was stunned. Speechless. Finally he managed to collect his thoughts. "Are you high?" he inquired, astounded. "How is you drinking demon blood my fault?"

Sam pushed the hair out of eyes, fixing Dean with an unnervingly steely gaze. "What's dead should stay dead, isn't that what you said, Dean? When Dad made a deal to save your life?"

A lump rose in Dean's throat. "Sam –"

"No, let me talk," Sam said, cutting him off in a strained voice. "I never asked you to make that deal, and when we couldn't break it… I fell apart. I needed you. I needed my big brother." The pain was written all over his face, audible in his voice.

Dean felt something prickling at the corners of his eyes, and took deep breaths, trying to keep it together.

"When I needed you the most, you were gone. And even when you were back, you were still gone." He wiped some of the blood from under his nose with the back of his hand; it mostly just smeared it. "I mean, I guess I should have expected it. You've never been big on talking things out. But holy hell, Dean, I can't believe you didn't notice that I was messed up. Ever since Dad died, I told you that you needed to kill me when you saw me start to change into something I wasn't. The day I stopped telling you that, alarm bells should have gone off in your head. But instead, you were too wrapped up in your own little world to notice what was going on with me."

"My own little world?" Dean echoed sarcastically. "I was resurrected by angels so that I could stop the apocalypse. I'm sorry that I had a little too much on my plate to play Dr. Phil with you, Sammy. I thought you could handle yourself."

"Bullshit!" Sam cried. "You pretended I could handle myself because it was easier than facing the fact that you fucked up, leaving me on my own like that. You turned a blind eye when I needed someone to see what I was doing. I needed someone to stop me. To tell me that it was wrong. I wanted you to catch me."

Dean was struggling to breathe evenly, each word from Sam resonating painfully in his heart. Sammy was right – he was so right. "Yeah, well you know what Sam?" he yelled. "I goddamn needed you too!" His eyes burned, and his voice was hoarse. "I get dragged out of hell after becoming something out of my worst nightmares, terrified that I've come back wrong, and for the first time in your life you decide to stop being caring-and-over-sharing, asks-tons-of-stupid-ass-probing-questions-until-you-tell-all Sammy Winchester! I'm not good at this communicating crap, Sam. That's your job. So yeah, I needed you, and you weren't there for me." Crap – the tears were escaping now, trickling out the corners of his eyes. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? It's not about Ruby, or the crossroads demon, or the frigging television volume. You weren't there for me." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "And I wasn't there for you. And…" his voice broke. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Dean," Sam whispered, and for once Dean really believed him.

They sat together silently for a moment, each knowing that the other was thinking the same thing – What happened to us?

Then Sam chuckled softly. "Wait, was that a moment of emotional insight I just heard you have?"

"I'm full of surprises," Dean retorted.

"Can we – are we good again?" Sam asked uncertainly.

"I don't know about good," Dean sighed. "We're still pretty messed up. But we're brothers again." He scooted over to where Sam sat.

"If we're gonna make this family work," Sam said, "it's not going to be easy. We're both going to have to try. I mean, really try, Dean."

"Okay," he agreed.

Sam seemed surprised at his quick acquiescence. He hesitated, and finally spoke again. "I love you, you know that?"

"I love you too, bro," Dean replied, and he meant it. But that was a little too Hallmark-moment for him, so he elbowed him. "Bitch."

Sam winced; apparently Dean had hit a bruise. "Jerk."

They smiled at each other. Yeah, they were good.