Minutes later, in a sealed off room the angels have suddenly zapped him in, Dean pulls out his phone. With Bobby's words still ringing clear in his ears, he nervously decides to make a call.
"Hey, it's m-me, uh,"—A cough and a deep breath—"Look, I'll just get right to it. I'm still pissed and I owe you a serious beat-down, but … I shouldn't've said what I said. I'm not dad. We're brothers. You know, family, and no matter how bad it gets that doesn't change. …Sammy, I'm sorry."
It's just too bad Sam never hears that exact message once Ruby gets her hands on it. But Dean doesn't know that. He's all alone in a room that he can't get out of with his thoughts always on Sam. We're family, he thinks again. Even if the real monster is me, because I… Fuck!He internally curses, because he doesn't have time to play the pity or the blame game. He needs to get out of here. Lilith's going to break the final seal — or rather she is the final seal — and he needs to find Sam.
Sam. Hold on, man. Just hold on. I'm coming.
[xx]
With Castiel's help (who'd stayed behind with Chuck to fend off the archangel) Dean's outside, in the Convent's hall, using a huge candelabrum to try to bust his way into the sarcophagus room as Lilith lies dead at Sam's feet. Her blood is beginning to pool on the cement flooring, as Ruby finishes finally telling him her starring role in the intricate play that had been set up to string him along.
"Yeah, I'm sure you're a little angry right now. But, I mean, come on, Sam! Even you have to admit. I'm—I'm awesome!"
After calling her a lying bitch, Sam tries to use his powers on her. Ruby doesn't even flinch. Nothing happens except Sam falling to the floor with a massive headache that feels as if his head might crack open from the pressure.
"Don't hurt yourself, Sam. It's useless. You shot your payload on the boss," Ruby calmly explains.
"The blood… You poisoned me," Sam accuses. That has to be it, he thinks, because he'd never have … he'd never have done all this shit, hurt and betrayed Dean, his own fucking brother if… if…
"No." Ruby sorrowfully shakes her head. "It wasn't the blood. It was you and your choices. I just gave you the options and you chose the right path. Every. Time. You didn't need the feather to fly. You had it in you the whole time, Dumbo."
Sam looks away, feeling sick. Christ. He can't believe his ears. He can't believe himself. He let this happen? This was all his doing? It can't be. It just... It can't be.
Ruby kneels down in front of him, imploringly. "I know it's hard to see now, but this is a miracle so long in coming. Everything Azazel did and Lilith did just to get you here. And you were the only one who could do it."
What?
"Why?" Sam asks, completely confused and feeling so god-awful and fucking sick to know that his mom and dad and fucking Jess had died… They'd died for this? They'd died because of him? Deep down, he's always known it, but to hear it put like that? Out in the open? So simplified just like that? "Why me?"
"Because," Ruby says lovingly as she brushes the hair back from his face. "Because it had to be you, Sam. It always had to be you. You saved us. You set him free. And he's gonna be grateful! He's gonna repay you in ways that you can't even imagine!"
As if her words are his cue, Dean finally breaks through the door. His eyes immediately track to Ruby on Sam and he's in motion. He's tossing the candelabra from his hands and ripping out the knife from the back of his pants. Walking towards her with powerful strides, murder's written all over his tense features and death is what his hands are intending to dish out. To Dean, the bitch has always had it coming and — finally! finally! — by his hands alone, this is her time to die.
Ruby looks back at him with a smile. "You're too late."
"I don't care," Dean snarls and he doesn't. The world could end up going up in flames around him at any moment, but for right now all he wants is for her to stop breathing. He doesn't even have time to register Sam coming up behind her and pinning her arms to her sides. He's already stabbing her with her own knife with a vindictive look in his eyes as he twists the blade in her gut and watches her screech and squirm. When he finally rips the blade out, Sam lets her go, and she falls to the floor as dead as her boss.
Panting, Dean looks from her corpse to Sam.
On the edge of breaking down, Sam says the only words he can get out. But they're words he means with every fiber of his tainted being. "I'm sorry."
But they don't have time for a heartfelt reunion or mixed words, because the blood-soaked ground is already opening up with a white beam of light at its center.
"Sammy, let's go," Dean frantically says as he fists a hand in his brother's shirt at the same time Sam grabs onto his own.
Sam's frozen in place as he says, "Dean. …He's coming." And they both already know who he's talking about.
[xx]
Hours later (and after mysteriously being put on a plane) in the Impala, Sam turns off the radio that reveals nuclear tests, massive quakes, and swine flu among other maladies in the news. Knowing this is all his fault, he tries to breach the pink elephant sitting between him and his brother.
"Dean, look I—" but his brother cuts him off.
"Don't say anything," Dean says, shaking his head with his eyes on the road.
Sam turns and it hurts … until he hears his brother's, "It's ok." He starts at that, because really? After everything he's done, not including starting the apocalypse, it's ok? Just like that? He doesn't think so.
But Dean continues nonetheless. "We just gotta keep our heads down and hash this out, alright?"
Sam is baffled, but he just says, "Yeah, ok," because what else can he say? He's not going to look a gift-horse in the mouth. At least, not right now.
[xx]
In Chuck the Prophet's house that looks more disastrous than normal, Sam gets hit in the face with a toilet plunger by its paranoid owner.
"Jeez! Ow!" Sam exclaims as the smaller man draws up short from their sudden appearance.
"Sam!"
"Yeah," said guy says pained.
"Hey, Chuck," Dean greets from his place in the background.
"So, you're ok?" Chucks asks relieved and highly confused.
"Well, my head hurts," Sam says with much emphasis on the pain.
"No, I mean," Chuck explains. "I-I-I-I saw… My last vision. You went, like, full-on Vader. You're body temperature was 150. Your heart rate was 200. Your eyes were black!"
That particular information prompts Dean to flick his gaze on his brother. "Your eyes were black?"
Sam turns back to him with a troubled expression written all over his face. "…I didn't know."
Truth is he didn't know a lot of things then. Just like how, now, he hadn't known how bad it was going to hurt seeing the mistrust in Dean's eyes. He hopes it's not a foreshadowing of the guy's true underlying thoughts, but something tells Sam that he doesn't want to know. At least, not yet.
[xx]
Several days later, after a demon possesses Bobby and tries to kill them, Sam and Dean find themselves outside the hospital housing their grouchy father figure. As they head back to the Impala, after their night visit where Bobby thankfully told Sam that the demon had been wrong, that he would never cut him out of his life, Sam says, "You know, I was thinking, Dean. Maybe we could go after the colt."
"Why? What difference would that make?"
Sam doesn't quite understand. After all, Dean had just told Bobby that it was basically them against both the angels and demons. "We could use it on Lucifer. I mean, you just said back there—"
"I just said a bunch of crap for Bobby's benefit," Dean says still heading over to the driver's side door. "I mean, I'll fight. I'll fight to the last man, but let's at least be honest. I mean, we don't stand a snowball's chance and you know that. I mean, hell, you of all people know that."
Hurt because of that last bit, although he feels he deserves whatever he gets, he asks, because maybe it's time he heard the truth. (Sam just hopes he can take it.) "Dean, is there something you want to say to me?"
Dean stops and turns around. In Sam's eyes his brother looks tired, and well, fed up. In truth, his stomach's already dropping before Dean gets out a word. But then he hears him and he suddenly feels even worse. "I tried, Sammy. Man, I really tried. But I just can't keep pretending that everything's alright, because it's not. And it's never going to be. You chose a demon over your own brother and look what happened."
"I would give anything … anything to take it all back." And Sam would. God, he would, because the way Dean's looking at him? Something's changed between them. Its written all over Dean's face and Sam can see it even if he doesn't want to believe.
"I know you would," Dean tells him. "And I know how sorry you are. I do. But, man, you're the one that I depended on the most. And you let me down in ways that I can't even… I'm just having a hard time forgiving and forgetting here. You know?"
Sam knows, but he also has to know, "What can I do?"
"Honestly?" Dean says and Sam waits for it, waits for it with bated breath. "…Nothing. I just don't … I don't think that we can ever be what we were, you know? I just don't think I can trust you."
Right there? Right there Sam wishes God or whatever never brought him back from the brink, never put him on that fucking plane, because hearing Dean say that is even worse than having a knife shoved in his heart. What makes it even worse? He knows he doesn't deserve Dean's trust even if all he wants right now is some way, some miracle cure that he could find or do that could earn him his brother's trust again. But then again, he feels this is a pain worth enduring if he's pushed Dean away this far.
He doesn't say anything, hell, he can't say anything to that as Dean gets in the car. He even just stands there as Dean drives away. They both need time apart right now. A few hours, whatever, they just need time away to separately break.
Driving away, with Sam still standing there shell-shocked with his hands in his pockets, Dean desperately tries to find a silver lining. At least with the pain and anger overshadowing all, that twisted feeling hidden deep down inside is almost null and void. …Almost.
[xx]
Few days down the line, Dean asks without humor, holding up their first horsemen ring as they sit at a bench on a roadside rest stop, "So … pit stop on Mount Doom?"
"Dean—" Sam starts, because during their last case with a town full of people seeing each other as demons, War had confirmed his suspicions. All he thinks about is blood and, even under the greatest intentions, he still has that twisted thirst for power. That and also Dean still doesn't trust him.
"Sam, let's not," Dean says, putting down the piece of jewelry.
"No, listen. This is important," Sam says and to him it is. "I know you don't trust me. It's just … now I realize something. I don't trust me either. From the minute I saw that blood, the only thought in my head… And I tell myself it's for the right reasons. My intentions are good and it feels true, you know? But I think, underneath, I just miss the feeling. I know how messed up that sounds, which means I know how messed up I am. The thing is the problem's not the demon blood. Not really. I mean, what I did, I can't, like, blame the blood or Ruby or … anything. The problem's me, how far I'll go. There's something in me that scares the hell out of me, Dean. And the last couple of days … I caught another glimpse."
"So what're you saying?" Dean asks, knowing his brother's going somewhere with this. He just doesn't exactly see where.
But Sam has a point, even if the words are like razorblades ripping up his throat as he says them. "I'm in no shape to be hunting. I need to step back, 'cause I'm dangerous. …Maybe—Maybe it's best we just go our separate ways."
"Well, I think you're right."
It kills Sam to hear his brother agree like that. "Truth is I was expecting a fight." And he was. Now that he's not getting one, that knife that's been lodged in his heart gives another twist.
It does so, especially as Dean says, "Truth is I spend more time worrying about you than about doing the job right. I just—I can't afford that, you know? …Not now."
The phrase tumbles out of Sam's mouth automatically and, in light of everything, he knows just how trite they sound. "I'm sorry, Dean."
"I know you are, Sam." And Dean has tried. He really has tried to know and understand, but...
Lead in his gut and an invisible hand around his heart, Sam goes to get up but is stopped by Dean's, "Hey, you wanna take the Impala?"
Inwardly, Sam smiles even as his heart breaks. There's his big brother trying to do something for him even though he doesn't deserve it. He just shakes his head. "That's ok." After Sam stands, he turns back with one final look to Dean, to the man he's wronged so much that there's just nothing he can do to right it. "Take care of yourself, Dean," he says and he wants to cry, but he won't. He'll keep that stiff upper lip, because he's a Winchester.
Dean shows that he is too as he says, "You too, Sammy."
Sam grabs his bags and Dean watches him go. He watches him talk to a man in a nearby, blue camper truck obviously about hitching a ride. He watches Sam get in and then that vehicle and his brother are rolling away from him, to parts of the country unknown. Sam's left him again, but this time it's different. It's different isn't it? This is what they both need. This is what's best for both of them. Right? …Right?
[xx]
In a motel, in some state he doesn't even care about, in the sink sits every fake photo ID Sam's ever owned. After dousing them with the can of gasoline he'd found in his bag, a dropped match lights them all up almost as if he's salting and burning his past — his life of hunting, his life with Dean.
Sam finds it ironic that he's done this before. Back when he'd gone off to college he'd used a trashcan in his dorm to pull the same vigil. However, this time it's different. He was too young, too full of ideas and wants and desires of normalcy to reallyknow how important family was to him back then. But after everything he's gone through at Dean's side, after all the shared blood, sweat, and tears, and with the baggage between them so heavy … it's different. This time, he's all too aware that no pretty faces or sweet words, no matter how beautiful and caring, are going to help him forget about what's really important.
Even as he watches the plastic cards blacken and curl at the edges inside the metal basin as the orange-red flames do their job, his thoughts are on his family, on one man in particular. Dean.
[xx]
Dean's rolling down the highway, intent on reaching Macon, Georgia by nightfall. With no horsemen activity on the radar, he'd spied a vamp in the news. Bodies found sucked dry outside a nightclub in that area and with his head swimming with nothing but thoughts of Sam, he'd decided to pick up the case. Only problem is, even as he drives, the empty seat to his right is just another reminder that his brother's gone. Even his music can't fill the silence that forever reminds him of Sam.
[xx]
A few days later, Sam's found work in the local bar. He's slicing up lemons to be used in drinks. His mind is idle as he works expertly with the knife. He's thinking of female ghosts in white gowns, Wendigos, and all kinds of murderous things. Even so, his brain still pulls up all the poignant times in between those bloody memories, because they're all hunts he did with Dean. Back before they really knew about demons and all their fucking plans for him. Back when Dean still called him Sammy with a stupid joke and goddamn smile on his face.
"Get some juice in your eye there?"
Sam looks up to see the blonde-haired waitress named Lindsey speaking to him from the other side of the bar. "Sorry?"
He watches her smile and wink. "You're eyes. They're a little misty. You got a little juice in your eye, didn't you?"
Forcing back the waterworks he hadn't even known were threatening to spill, Sam forcefully smiles back, all too grateful for the offered cover. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, guess I did."
[xx]
A week later, Dean's laughing as he comes out of the brothel with a rumpled Castiel in tow. (He'd decided to take his angel friend out, otherwise the poor guy might've died a virgin when they face Raphael tomorrow.) They'd barely missed the bouncers that had come after them to throw them out.
Doubled over, Dean wheezes out a few chuckles.
"What's so funny?" Castiel asks confused as ever.
With a pat to the angel's trenchcoated shoulder, Dean shakes his head with a grin. "Nothing." Prodding Castiel toward the Impala, he next tells him, "It's been a while since I laughed that hard. More than a long time." Coming up beside the driver's side door, he adds, "Years." The smile has slipped from his face and his thoughts are once again on Sam. Getting behind the wheel he tries to force the thought of his brother away. He manages to for a good five minutes, but Sam's image always flashes back behind his mind's eye. After all, even when they were still riding together, it always did.
[xx]
Days later, sitting in a dive restaurant that Lindsey — the inquisitive, blonde girl he works with at the bar — forced him to, Keith — A.K.A Sam Winchester — decides to open up a little as he picks at his salad. "I used to be in business with my brother," he finally tells her, being honest in the vaguest way he can. "Truth is, I used to be pretty good at the job, but … I made some mistakes, you know. I did some stuff I'm not so proud of and people got hurt. A lot of people."
Including my brother, he doesn't say. In a way, it feels good to talk about it, even if he can't exactly give out any specific details.
But then Lindsey asks, "What was your poison?"
At this, Sam looks up, confused and somewhat alarmed. "Sorry?"
"Come on," she says. "You were hooked on something. I know the look."
Sam doesn't know how to answer. After all, how does he tell someone that he has a taste for demon blood without them immediately calling the nuthouse? So, he just watches the girl pull out a coin from her jean's pocket as she says, "Three years sober."
He finds that ironic since, "You work in a bar."
"So do you," she grins back. "Look, Keith, I don't know you and I'm the last person to be giving advice, but I do know that no one has ever done anything so bad that they can't be forgiven, that they can't change."
Sam's not so sure of that, because, other than having started the apocalypse and longing for blood, Dean already told him that there's nothing he can do to change the messed up things between them. And even now, after so many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, being apart? It still hurts like hell. If he ever does talk to him again, he has no idea what he'd say.
Then again, Sam has no idea that Lucifer will drive him to make a certain call in the coming days.
[xx]
"Sam?" Dean says, still lying in bed. It's the first time they've talked in more than a month, but he's tired as hell after having driven sixteen hours straight. "It's a little past four."
"This is important," Sam quickly replies, because it is. He just had a little eye-opening visit from Lucifer after all. After that, details are exchanged, about how Sam is supposedly the devil's true vessel, and Dean goes to grab a beer.
"So you're his vessel, huh? Lucifer's wearing you to the prom?"
"That's what he said," Sam says, driving his car away from the life he had unsuccessfully tried to build. But he knew it was doomed before it even started, because of the evil that always follows him … and because it wasn't where he belonged. Unlike his time in Palo Alto, he knows where he's meant to be now. Demon blood isn't just in his veins. He's a hunter, from a line of hunters. And Dean's his brother and the only partner he will ever want or ever need from this point on. …If Dean will have him back.
Unfortunately, what he hears doesn't give him much hope of such a thing happening. "Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh, Sammy?"
"So that's it? That's your response?" he asks, because this isn't what he thought Dean would say. Not at all.
"What're you looking for?"
"I don't know." And it's true. He doesn't know what he expected Dean to say, but it wasn't that. "Uh, a little panic maybe?"
"I guess I'm a little numb to the earth-shattering revelations at this point." Dean sounds more than tired. His brother sounds bone-weary. It makes Sam chew on his lip to know that he's mainly the cause for that exhausted tone. But then he's forcing his mouth into movement again, because…
"What're we gonna do about it?" Sam asks.
Unfortunately, Dean doesn't have all the answers as he poses back, "What do youwant to do about it?"
So, Sam tells the truth. "I want back in for starters."
"Sam—"
"I mean it," he heatedly interjects. "I am sick of being a puppet for these sons-of-bitches. I'm gonna hunt him down, Dean."
"Oh, so we're back to the revenge then, are we?" Dean sounds pissed. "Yeah, 'cause that worked out so well last time."
"Not revenge," Sam tells him and he means it. "Redemption."
However, it doesn't seem to help his case in the slightest as Dean remarks, "So, you're just gonna walk back in and we're gonna be the dynamic duo again?"
But Sam's not going to take the bait and get pissed. This is too important. Taking up his rightful place, riding shotgun next to his brother is too important to waste on letting his anger take over. So, he lets his determination speak for him. "Look, Dean, I can do this. I can. I'm gonna prove it to you."
But it sounds like Dean already has his mind made up as he sighs. "Look, Sam. It doesn't matter whatever we do. I mean, it turns out that you and me? We're the fire and the oil in their Armageddon. You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other for good."
"Dean, it does not have to be like this. We can fight it." Sam knows they can if his brother will just give him a chance.
"Yeah, you're right. We can," Dean says, before he pushes out the rest. "But not together. We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker, because whatever we have between us. …Love. Family. Whatever it is. They're always gonna use it against us … and you know that." The silence that answers Dean forces him to echo his sentiment in a different set of words, words that he both means and doesn't want to mean at the same time. "We're better off apart. We got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing if we just go our own ways."
"Dean, don't do this," Sam pleads. Oh, yes, he fucking pleads, because the thought of never having Dean in his life again, when they're actually walking this earth together, never scared him so goddamn much in his life. ...Vaguely, Sam wonders if this is the way Dean felt before he went off to college. At that thought, Sam's once again finding himself thinking: Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry, man.
And like the hammer falling he hears his brother quietly say, "Goodbye, Sam."
Behind the wheel of his car, Sam breaks apart at the seams as Dean stoically tries to tell himself that this is for the best, that this is for the greater good. After all, at least this way he doesn't have to always worry about Sam. He doesn't have to look out for anyone but himself. At least like this, he doesn't have to deal with the feelings inside him that make his words out to be the complete farce that they truly are.
…After all, absence makes the heart grow fonder and, son-of-a-bitch, if his heart isn't still already so full of Sam.
[xx]
Mere hours after his conversation with Sam, in an apocalypse torn future, Dean faces the devil in a makeshift garden with his dick of a future-self dead at the demon's heels. (He still can't believe his other self just popped caps in his own comrades, his fucking friends!)
"You better kill me now!" Dean shouts.
"Pardon?" Lucifer asks, hardly concerned.
"You better kill me now or I swear," Dean growls. "I will find a way to kill you. And I won't stop."
The devil hardly looks worried. On the contrary, he almost looks sympathetic as he walks toward him and says, "I know you won't. I know you won't say yes to Michael either and I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up here. I win. …So, I win."
"You're wrong," Dean forces out as a single tear spills down his stubbly cheek. The bastard is wrong! How dare he stand here and say this shit, wearing his fucking baby brother like a goddamn suit! Does this son-of-a-bitch honestly think that he's just going to sit back and let… Fuck what he'd told Sam. This shit is… No. No. He won't let this shit happen. He won't let his brother be… He won't let Sam be… Won't happen, he tells himself. It won't! Not while I'm still kicking! Fuck that! Just … fuck that.
"See you in five years, Dean." And then the devil is gone and Zachariah zaps him back to his motel in his original timeline.
"Well, if it isn't the ghost of Christmas screw you!" Dean says, panting and leaning against the kitchenette's sink.
"Enough," Zachariah says. "Dean, enough. You saw, right? You saw what happens. You're the only person who can prove the devil wrong. Just say yes."
"And how do I know that this whole thing isn't just one of your tricks? Huh? Some angel hocus-pocus?"
"The time for tricks is over. Give yourself to Michael. Say yes and we can strike before Lucifer gets to Sam, before billions die."
Dean considers it as he walks past the angel. He considers it alright, but there's one thing the angel should have counted on. If he wanted Dean to let Michael ride him, he should never have shown him that future, because he knows now. He knows that what he was doing before was wrong. His future self showed him that. Showed him in spades.
"Nah," Dean finally replies as he looks the angel in his eyes.
"Nah?" Zachariah incredulously echoes, not believing his ears. "You're telling me you haven't learned your lesson?"
But Dean has and he moves to tell him just that. "Oh, I've learned a lesson alright. Just not the one you were trying to teach."
In that moment, Dean knows that his need for Sam isn't entirely corrupt. Not if it keeps him from turning into a cold-hearted bastard and his brother from being evil's plaything. Dean was wrong. Whatever they have between them — love, family, whatever — they are stronger together. Always have been and always will be.
[xx]
That evening, beside a large, wooden bridge, Sam and Dean stand facing each other, on a trail amongst overgrown grass. The Impala is parked behind Dean and Sam's powder blue vehicle is at his own back. The dwindling sun shines down upon them as they stare at each other for the first time in what feels like several years when in reality it's only been a little over a few months. The last time they'd spoken, Dean had lied and said they needed to go their separate ways, because they were weaker together than they ever were apart. But things are different now. His eyes have been opened. Ironically, thanks to the devil, he's seen the frigging light.
"If you're serious and you really want back in," Dean says, handing Ruby's demon killing knife over to Sam, "you should hang onto this. I'm sure you're rusty."
To be honest, when Dean first brought out the knife, Sam had been afraid that his brother might have had the mind to use it on him. After all, he is Lucifer's vessel. But Dean hadn't tried to shove the blade into his chest, hadn't tried to both — literally and figuratively — rip his heart out with it. Instead, his brother had given it back to him. And that? Sam doesn't even know what to say to that.
But Dean's not finished. Looking his brother over, so thankful not to see the devil looking back at him from inside Sam's skin and bones, he says, "Look, man, I'm sorry. I don't know. I'm … whatever I need to be, but I was wrong."
Floored with so much gratitude and emotion, Sam takes Dean at his word. Even so, he has to know. "What made you change your mind?"
"Long story," Dean replies with memories of being sent into a future he doesn't want to think about. "But the point is … maybe we are each other's Achilles heel." —You're definitely mine— "Maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other. I don't know. I just know we're all we've got. But more than that—" Dean pauses with a look away. When he's able to speak again, he looks Sam right in the eyes and says with feeling, "We keep each other human."
They do, because its Sam's presence that always reminds Dean of what he's fighting for. He's never realized this before, but he knows now that it's his brother that always keeps him from going off his own straight and narrow path. After all, without Sam, his future self had become a malicious bastard that he would have put bullet through himself if Lucifer hadn't killed him first.
As for Sam, his thoughts are starting to run along the same lines as Dean's, because his brother has always been there for him, even now when he knows the guy could have just up and walked away. Family has never really been as important to Sam as it has been for Dean, but over these past few weeks? Family means everything to him. Dean means everything to him. His brother may no longer be that hero he used to put on that high pedestal when he was a kid, but the flawed man before him, offering his love and forgiveness like this? He's no less glorious, no less beautiful.
To Sam, in this moment, Dean is more than just everything he could ever want in a brother. In truth, Dean's everything he wishes he could ever be. So, Sam says the only thing he can in return. He says, "Thank you. Really, thank you. I won't let you down," and he means every damn word with both his heart and soul.
