CHAPTER 12
Sam snagged some clean clothes from his duffel and walked past Dean into the hall. Dean heard the bathroom door close and, a minute later, the shower.
Sagging, he sat down on the bed and lowered his head into his hands. He heard the sound of a car outside as it drove out of the yard, but right now he didn't really give a shit.
What, had he been thinking that things between him and Sam would be back to normal now? That all would be forgiven?
Fat chance.
Dean saying nothing to Sam when John told him not to come back, weeks of unreturned calls, not giving Sam his new cell number – these betrayals had culminated in Jessica's death.
He knew what their father would say. Sam had left them, deserted them - abandoned their holy cause. If he had stayed, none of this would have happened. Jessica would still be alive.
That was crap. Sam knew it. Dean knew it. John knew it, somewhere under the layer of bullshit he protected himself with. Sam had just wanted more. More than blood and death and an early grave.
Well, now Dean wanted more, too. He wanted his brother back.
