Chapter 3: Even If You Don't Love Me Anymore
Dean was still unconscious when I awoke. The rest had done him good—his skin was warm and had a little more color, his breathing was stronger, and his pulse was steadier. I lay there with my arms around him for several minutes, grateful he was still there for me to hold.
Eventually I forced myself to get up. Cas had said Dean wouldn't wake up until late morning, so I figured I had at least a couple more hours to myself. I first took myself to the bathroom and had a proper shower—the previous night's bath had been all about caring for my brother. After brushing my teeth and shaving, I returned to our room and dressed.
My next stop was the kitchen. My cooking skills were abysmal, as I'd always relied on my mate to handle our meals. But I was sure there'd be something simple I could put together for breakfast. Plus I needed to assess if the kitchen was supplied with the kind of food Dean needed to recover.
To my surprise, the fridge and freezer were fully stocked. There were plastic containers of prepared meals, each clearly labeled with the name of the dish and how to reheat it. There were sealed bags of cut-up and seasoned recipe components, also labeled with name and preparation instructions. And there were plenty of staples—milk, eggs, bread, and more. It was all the type of low-fat, high-energy foods I preferred—lean meats and dairy products, whole grain pastas and baked goods, fresh fruits and vegetables. But none of Dean's favorites—no burgers or pie or any of the other greasy or sugary things he loved.
Disconcerted, I examined the walk-in pantry and found more of the same—all the healthy foods that I liked, none of the junk that he did. I wondered what he'd been eating this whole time, since it was rare that he willingly ate "rabbit food," and he hadn't been going out to get meals on his own. I soon discovered the answer in the rear of the pantry and wished I hadn't.
Back when we first explored the Bunker, we found a closet full of old-fashioned "omega supplies." Collars, leashes, whips, and similar crap that chauvinistic assholes had used to oppress their mates decades ago, before the civil rights movement in the late sixties rendered all that shit obsolete. Amongst the other deplorable rubbish were two bags of "kibble" that some alphas forced their omegas to live on back then. I'd assumed that the entire contents of that closet had been thrown out. But I now saw an open bag of the kibble in the far corner of the pantry, with a small bowl and spoon beside it. I was horrified—as tasteless and questionably nutritious as the stuff was back when it was fresh, who knew how unhealthy it was now? No wonder he'd lost so much weight in such a short time!
As I walked out of the pantry, I looked around the kitchen, frowning. Dean's favorite mug, his "Kiss the Cook" apron, the pictures he had on the wall, and the other personal touches he'd added to the room were all missing. I hadn't seen any of those items when I emptied the bags from the garage last night. I checked in the covered trash can, and sure enough, all his things were lying on top of the garbage. I cleaned everything but the apron, which needed laundering, and put them back where they were supposed to go.
I held the soiled apron and felt like crying in shame again. Dean had been so happy when we moved in here. For all that I'd always talked about wanting a normal life, he was the one who really needed to settle down. He gave his omega nesting instincts full rein, gleefully decorating our bedroom and spending the entire proceeds of our first pool hustle after the move on new kitchen gear. But in the space of a few weeks, I had managed to make my brother feel unwelcome in his own home. It was telling that he had chosen to try to end his own life on Bobby's property, the only other place that we'd ever called home.
Maybe it was better if Castiel took care of Dean, because God knows I didn't deserve him. His current condition was entirely my fault—I'd completely abrogated my duty as his alpha and left him to suffer through the consequences alone. I had absolutely no excuse for not only neglecting him but also ignoring the obvious signs of his deterioration. What made me qualified to tend to him now, after all the harm I'd caused? What if I just made him worse?
I wallowed in my recriminations and misgivings for several minutes before sternly shaking myself out of this funk. Ceding my brother and his problems to the seraph was taking the coward's way out. I had caused this debacle, and it was my responsibility to make things right. Dean was my omega, even if I wasn't worthy of him, and it was past time I lived up to my obligations and did the best I could for him.
I choked down a bowl of cereal, then walked back to the bedroom to check on my former mate. He was still sleeping, so I went to the library. I checked through the folders of cases Dean had put together to determine which ones were urgent. Neither of us would be working for some time, but we couldn't let these people die in the interim. So I called Garth and gave him the information for the jobs that couldn't wait, knowing that he'd pass them onto other hunters to be dealt with.
I returned to the bedroom and quietly pulled a chair up to the bed to wait. It wasn't long before Dean began to stir awake. I wasn't sure how he was going to react at first, so I decide to remain where I was.
Long-lashed lids fluttered open, and puzzled green eyes moved about the room. They widened when they fell on me, and his confusion abruptly turned into panic. He shot up into a sitting position and backed away from me on the bed, smelling of fear and distress.
"No, no, no! You—you weren't supposed to . . . I'm s—sorry! I—I know I'm stupid and weak an—and useless, and you deserve someone be—better!" He stood up on the far side of the bed and swayed in place.
I flinched as I recognized almost the exact words I'd shouted at him when he'd fumbled his weapon during our last hunt. When I'd been too selfish and blind to notice that he was in no shape to be hunting rabbits, let alone anything supernatural, but was trying to force himself through the pain to please me.
"I—I'm gonna fix this, Sam. I—I won't fuck it up th—this time, promise!" he continued before I could say anything. He staggered towards the wall, reaching for one of the guns hanging there.
I swore loudly and shoved my way out of the chair. I rushed toward him but knew that I couldn't get to him fast enough, not with the bed in the way. I hated to use this on him, especially in his current state—I'd only done it on a couple of occasions before, and he'd been furious afterwards each time. But I was left with little other choice.
"Dean, STOP!"
The omega froze in place as the effects of my alpha voice washed over him. I vaulted the bed and caught him just in time as he collapsed. His eyes were glassy, he was desperately sucking in deep, rapid breaths, and he was sweating and trembling. I sat down on the bed with him in my lap and rubbed his back soothingly.
"Dean, listen to me. You need to calm down and take nice, slow breaths. Come on, you can do this."
He stopped hyperventilating, but he began to struggle in my arms instead. "Lemme go! I gotta . . . I gotta—" His eyes darted around and fixed on the weapons on the shelf above the headboard.
I grabbed his chin and turned his face until his gaze focused on me. "Stop that! Why are you still trying to kill yourself?"
"You don't wa—want me. An—and you need a mate who ain't such a f—fuck-up. But as long as I'm st—still around, you can't find so—someone better. Once I'm gone, you'll be ha—happy again," came the devastating reply.
"Oh, baby . . . When did I ever tell you I don't want you anymore?"
"Didn't hafta say—say anything. This said pl—plenty." A shaking hand touched his faded mating mark, and tears began streaking his pale cheeks.
"I wan—wanted to fucking die when that happened. Th—then I thought that I could still help you in other w—ways, even if you didn't want me as—as a m—mate. But you to—told me I ain't any go—good at that either an—and that you needed a—a real partner. I realized I was j—just being se—selfish, holding you b—back. So I knew wh—what I had to do. Wh—why didn't you just let me?" Sad, wet eyes gazed at me reproachfully, and my heart shriveled at what my thoughtless words had pushed him into.
"No, Dee. This is not what I want! You're my mate, and I love you." I hugged him tightly as I spoke.
Dean struggled harder, trying to push my arms off, and cried, "I don't wa—want your pity! You don't ne—need to pretend to care 'cause you feel so—sorry for me or obligated or s—some shit like that."
I caught his forearms to prevent him from disturbing his bandages. "Stop struggling—you're going to hurt yourself! I'm telling you the truth! I was—am—angry with you, but I never stopped loving you!"
He stared up at me in disbelief. "You ain't t—touched me for weeks, and you b—barely talk to me or—or even look at me anymore! Wh—when you do bother to speak to me, it's only to gimme orders or cr—criticize, and your eyes are so fu—fucking cold, like I'm worse than the m—monsters! You're only here now 'cause you're feeling guilty th—that I hurt myself. And you expect me to be—believe that this is real?
"What you're doing is w—worse than anything I did to you! At least what I did was for you, 'cause you didn't deserve to—to die, and you have everything to live for. And I—I ain't blaming you for not wanting a l—loser like me anymore. But now you're trying to force me b—back into a life that ain't worth shit just—just so you don't feel bad! Have th—the fucking balls to admit the truth and lemme d—do what you really want!"
The other man was nearly shouting by the end. He abruptly realized what he was doing and clapped his hands over his mouth. He shrank back, his eyes wide and his scent scared, and flinched when I raised a hand to try to touch his face.
I dropped my hand, feeling sick. I barely recognized my Dean in the weeping, trembling man in my lap. Castiel was right—I was responsible for breaking my brother. I'd disregarded his caring, selflessness, and courage and instead fed into his guilt, insecurity, and sense of worthlessness through my self-absorption and negligence. Now I had to pick up the pieces and hope he'd recover. I felt overwhelmed at the monumental task ahead of me. But this was no time for doubts—the omega needed me right now.
I shifted us both until we were lying against the bed, running my hands up and down his back gently until he stopped shaking. I then carefully cradled his face between my hands and waited until his eyes settled on mine in resignation. As I began speaking, I interspersed my words with soft kisses all over his face.
"Honey, please listen to me. I promise you, this isn't about pity. I do feel guilty, but only because I fucked up so badly. You're right—what I've done to you is worse. I'm not talking about saving you tonight, but how I've behaved since we got rid of Gadreel. No matter how justified my anger is, I never should've treated you this way. I shouldn't have cut you out of my life and made you feel that hurting yourself and eventually killing yourself were your only options. I should've listened to you and paid attention to how upset you were, instead of being so damn focused only on myself. I never should've let everything get this bad!
"You're in this situation only because I'm an utter fool! I've always prided myself on my communication skills and given you shit for never wanting to confront your feelings. But you were the brave one—trying to talk to me about what happened, to apologize for what you did, to tell me how you felt. Only I was too sanctimonious, too self-centered to heed anything you said or make any attempt myself to resolve our issues. Now you're hurt, and it's all my fault. I'm so sorry it took almost losing you to make me realize how much you mean to me!
"And I swear to you, I did not mean to break our mating bond! No matter how furious I've been, I never wanted you dead or gone, Dee! I never stopped loving you, and I never stopped wanting you as my mate. If it were just up to me, we'd already be mated again! But . . . you need the opportunity to decide what you want. You have a second chance now. You—you don't have to settle for a self-centered, inconsiderate asshole like me when there are so many worthier alphas who'd love to have such a beautiful, smart, brave, kind, good mate!
"So I want you to take as long as you need to decide if you really want to take me back. If you do accept me, I will be eternally grateful, and I'll make sure nothing like this ever happens again! If you decide instead that you want someone better, I'll still do my best to help you until you're strong and healthy once more. Either way, you have to promise that you'll stop trying to hurt yourself, because you're the one who doesn't deserve to die, who deserves so much more!" I ended with a deep kiss on his full lips.
Dean buried his face in my chest and sobbed. I did my best to comfort him, rocking and stroking and murmuring endearments. I was less worried than before though, as I could sense that these tears were more about releasing pent-up emotion than relapsing into suicidal despair. When the sobs eventually died down to a few sniffles, I gently cleaned his face with the hem of my shirt.
He looked at me timidly. "Wh—what if I asked f—for it now? To have the bond b—back?"
I sighed. "I'd have to tell you, 'Not yet.' It's not that I don't want you back! But this isn't about me. You shouldn't make an important decision like this right now, not when you're so upset. You . . . you didn't really have a choice when we first mated—I pretty much forced it on you like a stereotypical knuckle-dragging alpha! I don't want that to happen again—I want you to be sure, whichever way you decide. And . . . and I need the time to earn your forgiveness."
When he dropped his eyes and fell quiet again, I had to ask, "What are you thinking, sweetheart? Please tell me. I promise I won't get mad, no matter what you say. And I'm not going anywhere—I'm never going to leave you again, not as long as you want me here."
My brother hesitated a moment longer before meeting my gaze. "I . . . I don't believe you. You made your f—feelings pretty damn clear over the past coupla months, an—and I don't trust that this sudden change of heart ain't nothing more th—than you feeling sorry for me. But . . . but I'll give you the chance to prove me wrong. An—and I won't do anything . . . drastic, I promise. At least not f—for now.
"Just . . . you better not be messing with me, Sam, 'cause I can't handle that! If this right now, being all loving an—and caring, is just some act until you ain't feeling guilty . . . If that's what's really going on, you might as well put a bullet in my fu—fucking head right this second! It'll be kinder than dumping me back in the cold when you decide I ain't wo—worth the trouble again." He lowered his glance and hunched in on himself, bracing for the irate or derisive reaction I would've given him a day or more ago.
I pulled the omega against my chest and caressed his shoulders and back, trying to reassure him. "It's okay, Dee. I'm not angry. I don't expect you to accept what I'm saying right away, not after what I've done. But I swear to you by everything that I hold dear that this is not an act. And I will show you that I'm serious about making everything better again."
