Dean can hear Sam fidgeting on the bed opposite him. Can see Sam fidgeting, shifting. No matter how much he tries to concentrate on his…reading (he thinks he has Sam fooled with the book. Kid probably doesn't even know what porn is, little prude that he is). The air feels heavy; it's so thick with Sam's suppressed emotions. So he's not all too surprised when he hears his brothers voice suddenly pipes up, calling his name (whispering his name more like). Dean starts humming "Stairway to Heaven" in his head, turns another page. Message to Sam: "leave me the fuck alone, I will get back to you when I feel like it". Only Sam doesn't seem so receptive to his big brother's psychic messages (now there's some irony for you), because he goes on. "Dean…hey, man, can we just…talk? I need to talk to you." And now Dean really can't ignore him, because Sam's actually gotten out a whole sentence. Which equals: Sam means business. So Dean looks up.

And oh, God, no. A chick-flick moment.Dean can already tell, just by looking at his brother, that that's where this is headed. And he is not pleased. Not in the slightest. Really, Goddamn. He looks at his brother, trying to gage how far up the emo-ladder the kid is. Puppy dog eyes? Check. Watery eyes. Goddamnit,check. The only thing missing is a choir of angels and a string quartet grinding on mournfully in the background, and Dean would be in emo-heaven.

Oh this is unbearable, he thinks. He really, really, does not want to spend his last 8th of November on earth trying to comfort a soppy six foot four 24 year old freakazoid. He would actually rather be torn apart by hellhounds (actually woah no, not that fun of a joke when you know that it's actually going to happen) than have to listen to more of Sam's emo crap. But he can't just blow his brother off, because he's been doing so for weeks now and Sam just seems to get more up himself every day that passes that he can't spill the beans, and Dean knows from experience that it's wiser to deal with Sam's moods before they grow all too big. So the long-suffering big brother opts for his i-am-pretending-to-be-listening-to-you-but-what-i'm-really-doing-is-picturing-what-i-would-do-to-that-hot waitress/bartender/teacher/receptionist/nurse/scientist dealing mechanism that he begun using when Sam entered his whole woe-me phase at age 13.

"I couldn't be around you for the first few weeks after Jess died", Sam whisper-says. And Dean is actually kind of surprised (Don't ever let anything get you by surprise son, he hears his father say), because he thought they'd moved on from Jessica months ago. And really, he's not all too pleased about the subject being taken up again. It's fucked up, is what it is. A minute ago he was looking at naked girls, and now he's discussing his brother's dead girl? Dean has no response, and he guesses that Sam isn't waiting for one, figures this is just Sam's introduction to the topic of the day, so he just looks at his brother, who works his jaw.

"And it wasn't because I thought you'd judge me for being weak, you're not Dad, I know." Sam says, his voice a little stronger. He licks his lips and looks at Dean out of the corner of his eye. Like he's waiting for a reaction. Which Dean will not give him. He is pissed though - You're not Dad? - what, is Sam implying that their Dad doesn't (didn't) understand grief? The man is dead and Sam is still going at him. Un-fucking-believable.

"But just…" Sam starts up again, runs his hand through his hair, stands up, let's out a sigh, moves over to the chair next to Dean and sits down (come on already! Dean thinks, but doesn't say anything because Sam's always been like this when he's upset) "I didn't know. You know?" Sam looks at him eagerly, eyes huge, and he looks really tired, Dean notices. Sam's nodding at Dean, looking at him knowingly, like he really wants Dean to know what he's on about. But no. Dean doesn't know.

"No, I don't know." Dean says. Sam says nothing. And Dean has now reached his limit. He can feel his eyebrows drawing together, all his frustration going to his eyes.

"What the fuck is going on Sam? He says it with a little more vehemence than he had meant, but really. He's tired of this shit, and he just wants Sam to start talking already, so they can get it over with. "What, am I supposed to guess what you meant by that? I mean was that it? Have I seriously just put myself through five minutes of your huffing and puffing to get nothing out of…"

"I didn't know who I would choose." Sam suddenly seems to have his voice back, and the words come out fast and strong.

Still though, Dean isn't anywhere closer to understanding why his brother ripped him away from his precious…leisure time. He can tell it's not good though, because Sam is staring down intently at the motel room carpet, refusing to make eye contact with Dean, even though they're just an arm's length apart. Dean can tell he's not going to like what's coming. But it's his job to ask, to find out what's bugging Sam, and he will do it till the day he dies.

And he does not want to think about how soon that is (eleven months and 18 days).

He doesn't need to ask, though. Sam continues on his own, still staring at the carpet.

"Between you and Jess. If I were given the choice, you know, like…like a Djinn situation, like the one you were in. Or something. I don't know if I would choose you or Jess."

Dean thinks his heart might just have stopped. Or broken, actually. But he's spent his whole life putting Sam's happines/well-being before his own, he's learnt to hide his pain and focus all his attention on Sam, and he will continue to do so until the day he dies.So he doesn't say anything. He doesn't melt into a heap on the floor, doesn't storm out, which he thinks most people in his situation would do. And what situation is he in? One where he's sitting in a crappy shithole of a motel, in a crappy shithole of a town, hearing his little brother tell him that "no, brother dear, you're not as important to me as I am to you".

"And I just feel like a horrible person" (what, he's still going on? Dean thinks, and he really wants Sam to shut up already, because he really feels like lying down and crying and he can't do that in front of Sam). "Because you've sold your soul Dean, for me" (yea, thanks shitface, didn't know that) "And I just...I don't…deserve it?"

Sam's voice does a little climb at the end, like he's asking a question. Like he's asking Dean if he deserves it. Oh, he's asking Dean if he deserves it (no you don't).

"Yes you do Sam". Dean's voice is husky because he's fighting back tears and rage and all other emotions. Sam is going to think that Dean's voice is like that because he's been touched by his little brother's adorable self-loathing/modesty bullshit (incidentally Dean doesn't care much for modesty. He drives around in a vintage car for crying out loud. Not for long though. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck).

Sam is looking at Dean now, a little glimpse of hope in his eyes. Dean realizes that the ball is now in his court, that he's expected to say something. Something deep and meaningful. But he doesn't know what to say, doesn't want to say anything, because he thinks Sam has said everything that needs to be said. So he opts for most well honed defense mechanism. A tool that wasn't given to him by his father: humour.

"Yea well"he clears his throat. "You were probably just, you know, sexually frustrated". He puts emphasis on the last two words, then smirks at his brother. Whose eyes have gone ridiculously wide. He looks a bit like a bug, actually, Dean realizes, and scoffs., "You know, on account of not having sex for so long cause you know, you're girlfriend died" (come to think of it, Dean kind of understands why Sam may have trouble choosing between dear older brother and dead girlfriend)

"What? What?" Sam's nostrils are flaring, his voice is dangerously low. He's leaning towards Dean, arms resting on the table. Dean can feel his brother's breath on his neck, he's that close. Uh-oh he's actually quite mad. Or hurt, whichever. Which Dean understands, he knows it was a low jab, talking about the dead love of Sam's life. Even for him that's low. But at least the chick-flick moment is over with. He pulls back a little, not entirely enjoying the smell of Sam's breath.

"Well, no sex can kind of damaging Sammy. Withdrawal symptoms. It becomes all you can think about. So maybe that's why you wanted her more, you know?"

He glances over at Sam again, whose expression has done a complete turn from borderline rage/my-brother-is-a-nutcase to pity. Fuck, damn Sam and his intuition, he's onto Dean and his whole using terrible humour/inappropriate comments to end uncomfortable situations. But for once, Sam doesn't call him on it. He lets it go. Stares at Dean for a bit, then just whispers "ok. Yea, alright". An uncomfortable silence follows. Dean doesn't know what to do, doesn't know if it's ok to go back to his magazine (really, who was he kidding with the book), doesn't know if this is the end of the conversation. He doesn't feel like crying anymore, he's sort of numb now. Dean scrubs his hand over his, and when he looks up, Sam is standing in front of him, hands in his pockets. Dean looks up at him.

"We have to get you out of the deal, right? We're going to try…right?" Sam says. His eyes are dry again. And Dean knows that it's ok to say what he wants to say.

"Yea". He nods his head, reaches for the magazine, not bothering with hiding it behind the book this time, and starts flipping through it. "Yea, we're gonna try".

Sam's made him realize that nothing is worth going to hell for. And he loves his brother all the more for it.

That would be it! R&R

SC