Chapter 4: How I Lost Me and You Lost You

"Alright, time to get up," I said briskly a couple minutes later. "We need to get some food in you. And I have to change this shirt, 'cause it's pretty much covered in snot now."

That elicited a weak chuckle from my brother. I smiled back at him as I helped him sit up and put on slippers and his "dead guy's" robe. He then slowly made his way over to the sink in the corner of the room to brush his teeth and wash his face. He abruptly sat down at the nearby desk afterward, already winded.

I forced myself not to hover, not wanting to irritate him so soon. Instead I yanked my shirt off and threw it in the laundry hamper, then pulled a fresh one from the closet. I noticed Dean watching me as I put it on.

"So yeah, I . . . um, moved my stuff back in here last night," I said a bit nervously. "Thought you might feel better if I was around. But if it bothers you, I can take my crap out again. I don't want to impose or—"

"'Sokay, man. I—I like having you back." He blushed slightly as he spoke. "Room's lonely all by myself."

"Great! But if you change your mind, I'll move out. You're calling the shots now," I told him. I couldn't resist bending over and planting a kiss on each of his adorably flushed cheekbones.

Dean accepted the kisses readily enough but leaned away when he saw I was about to pick him up. "Hey, hold on there! I can fucking walk!"

"Come on, Dean—you got tired walking from the bed to the sink! Let me help you. Listen, you've spent your whole damn life making sure I was as safe and healthy and happy as you could manage, no matter the cost to yourself. Now it's my turn to take care of you."

He grumbled but didn't protest this time when I slid my arms behind his shoulders and knees and scooped him up. Normally hefting him up like this was a challenge, but it wasn't as difficult now due to the weight loss. Getting him back on a regular diet of real food would take care of that issue soon enough though.

I carried the omega to the kitchen and settled him at the table. "You wait here while I fix something up."

"You're gonna cook?" He smelled alarmed.

"Relax, dude! Even I can't burn down your kitchen just by heating up some Campbell's," I assured him.

I rummaged through the pantry and emerged with a couple cans of chicken noodle soup, thinking it best to keep the meal simple until we knew how Dean's stomach would react. I emptied the cans into a saucepan and set it on the stove to heat, then dropped some bread into the toaster. While those were cooking, I returned to the pantry, brought out the bag of kibble, and dumped it into the trash can.

I turned to my brother. "Where's the other bag?"

"Uh, still in that closet."

"Okay. I'll toss that out later, along with the rest of the narrow-minded shit still in there." I walked over, knelt in front of him, and clasped his hands. "Please, Dee, you need to stop punishing yourself. No more starving yourself on that crap, no more sleeping on the cold floor, and no more cutting. You don't deserve any of this."

Dean tried to curl in on himself again. "Yeah, I do, Sam. I—I hurt you, and I got Kevin killed, an—and I'm always screwing things up. An—and I've n—never been a good omega—I ain't respectful or obedient or any of that shit. I'm useless as a hunting partner, an—and you don't even wanna f—fuck me no more. What good am I?" A tear slid down his pale cheek, and his scent turned miserable again.

I looked at the suffering man in front of me and forced myself to relinquish the lingering vestiges of my anger. He'd put himself through far too much pain and anguish all on his own already because of my behavior. Giving him any more grief would only be cruel and thoughtless, and I'd been that for far too long. I pulled him down into my lap and cradled him in my arms.

"Shh, stop that, Dee. I know now that you were only trying to help me, and that you never intended harm to come to me or Kevin or anyone else. What happened to him was Gadreel's and Metatron's fault, not yours. I understand that Gadreel took advantage of you when you were upset, that he misled and manipulated you into lying to me. I'm at least partially to blame for putting you in that position in the first place, for only thinking about myself when I considered letting myself die after the Trials.

"And you're not useless or a screw-up! You raised me and protected me and still take care of me. You taught me almost everything I know about hunting, and there's no way I could do this job without you. You come up with the strategies and watch my back and maintain our gear and so much more. You figured out that Ruby was full of shit, and that something was wrong when I was brought back without my soul. And you defeated Azazel and Eve and Dick Roman. I want you to disregard everything I said during that last awful hunt. I should've recognized you weren't in any condition to be out there, and I never should've said those hurtful things to you!

"And never think that you're anything but the best mate I could ever wish for! I don't want some antiquated bullshit version of an omega, I want you. You're gorgeous and courageous and brilliant and selfless and—and more than I deserve. I never stopped desiring or loving you, and I'm a horrible mate for letting you believe otherwise! Once you're well, and if you decide to give me another chance, I'll gladly show you how much I want to make love to you!"

I wiped the tears from his cheeks, then tilted his face up and kissed him. I tried to show him with my lips and hands and body language how much I cared, knowing that words wouldn't be enough. My brother didn't say anything in response, just buried his face in my chest.

After a couple minutes, he raised his head. "Soup's gonna burn, dude."

"Crap!" I quickly set him back on the chair and rushed to the stove.

I managed to salvage the soup before it scorched, poured it into two bowls, and placed one bowl in front of the omega and one on the other side of the table. I spread a thick layer of butter and jam on the toast, just as Dean liked it, and set the plate next to his bowl. I poured two glasses of apple juice and carried them to the table before sitting down.

"Eat everything slowly, Dee, and stop if you start to feel queasy. You haven't been eating properly for a long time, and I don't want you to get sick," I told him.

Dean nodded and blew on his soup. I waited until he'd taken a few sips and nibbled on his toast before starting on my own bowl. While he gradually worked his way through his food, I asked him about the cases he'd looked up, making sure to praise him frequently for his diligence and the quality of his research. When I noticed how his cheeks flushed and eyes brightened and scent perked up with pleasure, I mentally kicked myself for not acknowledging his efforts more often in the past.

Once he finished his meal with no sign of nausea, I put the dishes in the dishwasher and helped him walk to the media room. This was a bedroom we'd converted to the purpose, complete with a comfortable couch and reclining armchairs, multiple shelves of DVDs and CDs, and the largest television and best sound system our fake credit cards could provide. Fortunately he seemed to have forgotten this room when he'd tried to purge the Bunker of his belongings before his suicide attempt, so all his movies and music were still in place. I seated my brother on the couch with a lap blanket, brought some juice, cheese, fruit, and crackers from the kitchen, and queued up the Die Hard movies, which were always perennial favorites of his.

I initially settled on the other end of the couch, wanting to give Dean the opportunity to instigate any contact instead of pushing myself on him again. But after seeing him huddling dejectedly, ignoring the screen, I realized that he was still afraid that I'd reject his touch, like I'd done too often over the past several weeks. I moved closer and tugged him gently against me, then shifted until we were lying down with him resting against my chest. He relaxed as I gently stroked his back and turned his attention to the movies.

After he fell asleep near the beginning of Die Hard with a Vengeance, I carried him back to the bedroom, took off his robe and slippers, and tucked him into bed. I measured his vital statistics again and was reassured when they all appeared to have improved. Not wanting to leave him alone, I then sat in bed beside him and read through The Cuckoo's Calling. I periodically ran my fingers through his soft blond hair and occasionally put the book down for a couple minutes simply to watch him breathe peacefully.

Dean began to stir after a couple of hours. He rolled over and looked at me with surprise in his drowsy green eyes. "You—you're still here?"

I brushed my knuckles down the side of his face. "I'm not going anywhere, Dee. How are you feeling?"

"A little better, I guess. I . . . I think I'm kinda hungry."

"Well, that's a good sign! Let's get some more clothes on you first. The Bunker always feels a bit chilly in the evening, don't you think?"

We got him dressed in soft sweatpants and his favorite Metallica t-shirt under the robe and slippers, and then we made our way back to the kitchen. I searched through the prepared dishes in the fridge, looking for something rich in iron and energy that wouldn't be difficult on his stomach. I pulled out a spinach quiche and followed the reheating instructions. While it was warming up in the oven, I took a couple sodas from the fridge. As I set one of the cans in front of the omega, I noticed his eyes on me were wary, and his scent was still tinged with fear.

"Is something wrong, Dee?" I asked in concern.

He immediately shrank back and dropped his gaze. "N—no! Everything's fine."

I sighed. "It's alright, baby. Like I said before, I won't get upset, whatever it is. My not talking or listening to you is what caused this mess, and I'm not making that mistake again. So please tell me what's on your mind."

He hunched his shoulders and met my eyes resignedly. "Just waiting for the other fucking shoe to drop, Sam. It's nice that you're being all lovey-dovey now, I guess, even if it's fake. But you said you're still pissed at me, so I know your real feelings are gonna come out sooner or later. Kinda wish you'd get it over with, rather than dangling this damn sword over my head." He looked down again, obviously waiting for my angry response.

I felt a pang again, both at his words and his expression. "I'm not mad at you anymore, I swear. I know what I said earlier, but I've realized since then you've suffered enough—too much, really. What I put you through was far worse that what you did to me, and I have no right to hold onto any anger or blame. And I know you don't believe me yet, but this isn't an act. Actions speak louder than words for you, so I'm going to do my best to show you how much I truly do love you, Dee."

The look he gave me was bleak. "You're right—actions do speak louder, man. And what you've done all your life says that you don't want me."

"What! No, that's not true—not even close!"

"Don't bullshit me, Sam! I did everything I could when you were a kid to give you the best life under the circumstances—I stole and went hungry and worse so you'd always have enough, I dropped outta school so I could work and look after you better, and I protected you from the worst of Dad's drunkenness and temper. But my best obviously wasn't enough for you, since you first ran away to Arizona and then left me for Stanford. I still tried to keep calling and visiting and shit afterward, until you picked that fight and made it damn clear you didn't want anything to do with me. Then that first year that you were stuck hunting with me, all you could fucking talk 'bout was getting away after we found Dad and defeated Yellow-Eyes.

"I thought things were better after you claimed me as your mate, and when you tried so hard to get me outta my deal. But I wasn't even gone two fucking months before you shacked up with that goddamn demon skank, and you kept banging her even after I came back! You dumped me over some monster chick that you met once and that we knew had murdered people. You didn't lift a finger to find me when I was trapped in Purgatory, and it didn't take long before you replaced me again. When I finally got out, you were more concerned with accusing me of two-timing you with Benny—which never fucking happened, by the way!—than with how messed up that place made me. And the past coupla of months made it real damn obvious how much I'm worth to you!

"So you can talk all you want, but I know the truth! You expect me to believe you don't think I'm garbage when you've always looked for any chance you can to drop me? Let's face it—you might need me as a hunting partner, and you might enjoy fucking me, but you've never wanted me!" His eyes were swimming with tears and his scent reeking of hurt as he finished.

"Oh God, what have I done to you?" I dropped to my knees in front of him again and looked at him pleadingly. "I swear by everything that's holy that I've loved and respected you all my life, Dee, as my brother and parent and best friend first and later as my lover and mate! I know I haven't said it often enough, but I've always appreciated all you've done for me and sacrificed for me. You've always been my hero, someone I could only hope to measure up to someday. You mean everything to me!

"Flagstaff and Stanford were never about leaving you—they were about getting away from Dad and hunting and . . . and my incestuous feelings towards my own brother, who deserved better than a goddamn pervert like me! I drove you away when I was at college because I couldn't handle how I felt about you, and I was wrong to do that. Just like I was so, so very wrong to pick Ruby over you, or to leave you over Amy, or to walk out on you any of those other times. I—I didn't mean to abandon you in Purgatory—I was so lost when you disappeared, and I think I wasn't myself that whole year, not until I left Amelia. And I should've trusted you about Benny, and I never should've treated you so very badly recently!

"I know I'm not worthy of your forgiveness after how I've behaved over the years, but I promise I'll make it up to you for the rest of my life! I'm so sorry it took something so drastic to knock my fucking head out of my ass, but I vow I'm going to learn from my mistakes from now on! I will never, ever desert you again, and I will take care of you the way you deserve, the way you've always taken care of me. So please, sweetheart, tell me you'll give me one last chance to make all this up to you?" I reached for his hands.

Dean shrugged listlessly. "Whatever you say, dude. I'll believe it when I see it."

I stood and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. "I understand that I've lost your trust, but I will prove to you that I mean everything I'm saying now, that this is how I truly feel, not my horrendous behavior before."

The oven dinged, and I turned away to take the quiche out. I cut and served two pieces and added some baby carrots and grapes to each plate. I then looked at the other man.

"Do you want to eat here or go back to the media room to finish the Die Hard marathon?"

"Watch the movies, I guess. I don't wanna think 'bout anything for a while."

I got him set up on the couch first with the lap blanket and took a couple of TV trays out of the closet. I then brought in the food, sodas, and some bottles of water. I once again pulled him towards me to cuddle together after I sat down. As the movies played, I spent more time watching him than the screen, tracking his slow progress through his meal and making sure he remained comfortable.

After finishing the last movie, I looked down at him and said, "Talk to me, honey. Are you feeling any better?"

Dean sighed. "I dunno, Sam. You've been acting nicer to me today than you have in ages, and you say it ain't just 'cause I'm hurt. You keep telling me that you're sorry and that you love me, that I'm not to blame and I'm not worthless. And I really wanna believe all this, 'cause I need you and I miss you. I—I wanna go back to how good things used to be between us.

"But . . . you hurt me bad, man—bad enough to make me wanna die. You hurt me before, over and over, and each damn time I tried to forgive you 'cause I love you. But I'm at the end of my goddamn rope, and I'm fucking afraid. I got nothing left if I let you in now and you dump me all over again. I . . . I dunno if I can risk that."

I picked up his hands and kissed them. "I get that this is overwhelming, Dee. Only a week ago, I was being a complete bastard to you, and then I abandoned you yet again, just like I always seem to do. Now I'm suddenly back, swearing that I'm deeply sorry for how I've acted, that I'm going to make everything better, that you're the most important thing in the world to me. And you don't know what to believe anymore."

I then placed his hands over my heart and gazed sincerely into his eyes. "I know that my word means shit right now though, so I will do whatever it takes to prove it. If you want, I'll write all this down in my own fucking blood. I'll get you the materials for every truth spell in the Men of Letters archives. Or I'll call Castiel right now so he can stick his hand in my chest and read my damn soul. You tell me what you need me to do, and I'll do it without hesitation."

He regarded me seriously for a long moment. "I hope I ain't making a mistake here, but . . . I'm gonna try to believe you. Just . . . please don't lemme down, okay?"

"I won't! You won't regret this!" I kissed his hands again fervently.

We then retired to the bedroom. My brother wasn't sleepy yet, so we lay beside each other in bed and read quietly for a while. I kept an arm around him and stroked him affectionately throughout, determined to show him as often as possible that I still cared. When he eventually started to nod off, I put both books on the desk and switched off the lights. I curled around him and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then watched him fall asleep before drifting off myself.