Hello everyone! Sorry for another long wait for the chapter. Life's been crazy and add to that, I've been suffering with a cold for the past week and a half. The good news is that I am over the cold. The bad news is that I have the flu now so I'm good and miserable. :D
Against all odds, I'm posting the chapter today! Feel so bad I haven't thanked you all for your reviews to chapter 13. Each and every one was a great encouragement and, as always, I enjoyed your input. :)
I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's very long and hopefully that makes up for the wait. Lots of brotherly chatting and reminiscing ahead.
It is also the second to last chapter. :( that's right...chapter 15 will be it! I am sad to be reaching the end of this story, but I've so enjoyed the journey with you all and I'm already looking forward to posting new stories. :)
Chapter 14
"You're kidding, right?" Sam asked, watching as Dean unfolded the lawn chair.
Dean ignored his brother's comment and set the chair up. The chairs had been collecting dust in the corner of the garage for months and Dean was glad he'd never thrown them out. He positioned the chair near the front of the Impala where it would be perfectly within his eyeline while he worked on the car.
Pointing at the chair, Dean said, "Sit."
Sam glared. "I'm not a dog."
"Sit." Dean grinned, patting the seat of the chair. "I'll get you a treat if you're good."
"Shut up and get out of my way," Sam said, shoving at Dean without much force. He gingerly lowered himself into the chair, keeping one arm around his waist. "Happy?"
Dean wasn't happy; not with the miserable way Sam was hunched in the chair, but he nodded. "I'll go grab some water and be right back."
Sam waved a hand to shoo him away.
"Do not move."
"Dude, I just got here." Sam shook his head, looking less annoyed and more tired. He was breathing carefully and had his hand pressed to his side. "I'm not going anywhere for awhile."
Regardless of Sam's attestation he didn't intend to move, Dean hurried. Hurried to the kitchen for the water and the handouts from the doctor's office. And then he grabbed a hoodie from Sam's closet because he was only wearing a t-shirt and the garage tended to be a bit chilly. Dean could endure whatever griping Sam decided to throw at him. What he couldn't endure was his brother getting any sicker on his watch.
Dean was back in the garage in under five minutes and Sam hadn't moved.
"Here you go," Dean said, dropping the paperwork into Sam's lap. "Study your homework."
Sam glared at him again as Dean held out the hoodie, but he took it and slowly put it on. Dean set the bottle of water on the arm of the chair, then headed to the car, knowing Sam wouldn't endure much more hovering.
Tinkering under the hood while listening to his brother coughing - and cursing - in the background wasn't Dean's preferred way to pass the time. He had to admit, though, they needed the change in scenery. Being cooped up and doing nothing but watch tv was fine for awhile, but the break was welcome and it was comforting to be doing something ordinary and familiar. Dean liked being busy and having a purpose and, right now, he liked that Sam was sitting still.
Of course, Sam didn't stay still for long.
He started by peering over Dean's shoulder, asking questions about the repairs. At some point, Dean glanced up and his brother had disappeared. Mildly alarmed, he searched the garage and found Sam organizing the trunk. Deciding it was a reasonably safe task, Dean left him to it. After what he deemed a reasonable time, though, Dean pulled Sam away from the trunk and ordered him back to the lawn chair.
Sam must have been tired, because he went without argument.
For awhile, they chatted as Dean worked on the car, but whenever he failed to hold his brother's attention with trivial conversation, the kid wandered away. Each time he checked, though, Sam was merely putzing with this or that and Dean let him be since he didn't seem to be overtaxing himself.
Straightening up to stretch out the crick in his back, Dean checked the time and realized they'd been in the garage for almost two hours. Long enough that they should head back inside. He looked around for his brother and found him sitting in the passenger seat. Shifting around the open door, Dean took a closer look.
Sam had been organizing the glove compartment, but had clearly reached the limits of his endurance. He was slumped back against the seat, pale and still, as he stared up at the roof of the car.
"Did your battery finally run down?" Dean asked, leaning an arm against the door.
"Something like that," Sam answered softly, tilting his head to meet Dean's gaze.
Crouching beside him, Dean narrowed his eyes. "You don't look so good."
Sam swallowed hard and closed his eyes. "Little lightheaded."
"Stay put," Dean instructed, pushing himself upright.
He went to the lawn chair and grabbed the half-empty bottle of water. Finding a semi-clean rag, he poured some water on it, then returned to his brother's side.
"Head down," Dean said, guiding Sam forward until his head was lowered and he could settle the cool cloth on the back of his neck.
Sam rested his elbows on his knees and for a few minutes they were silent.
Leaning forward till he could get a glimpse of Sam's face, Dean asked, "Any better?"
"Yeah." Sam didn't sit up, but asked, "That the rag you use to check the oil?"
"Yep." Dean grinned, palming Sam's forehead. His grin faded. "Your fever is up again."
"Yeah."
"Yeah? That's all you've got to say?"
"What do you want me to say?" Sam straightened, pushing Dean back. He got to his feet and, one hand braced on the side of the car, started moving away. "It's not the first time I've been sick so stop making such a big deal out of everything."
The comments were unexpected, as was the sudden movement. It took a few seconds for Dean to recover from his shock and snap back into action. He strode past his brother and stopped in front of him.
Dean's eyebrows rose as he asked, "Are you mad at me?"
"No," Sam said, swaying where he stood,"but if you don't get out of my way, I will be."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. Move."
Dean stepped aside, trying to gauge what was happening. He shook his head and walked alongside his brother, careful not to block his path for fear of getting in more trouble than he was in already. The situation seemed slightly surreal after how well things had been going and he wasn't sure what had caused the sudden shift in Sam's mood. Before he could even think to ask, Sam spoke up.
"I'm sorry," Sam said, ceasing forward movement and leaning a hip against the car.
"For?" Dean asked because he was honestly clueless.
"For being a jerk. For getting sick. For getting shot. For suggesting the hunt in the first place," Sam rattled off. He sounded overwhelmed by his own list. "With Cas out there and Amara and everything else it was-"
"It was the right thing to do," Dean cut in before Sam could finish. "Taking the hunt was the right thing to do and we saved-"
"One person, Dean." Sam shook his head. Exhaustion and pain left him without the ability to disguise the despair. "One person."
"Hey!" Dean gripped his shoulder. "We saved more than just one person. How many people could have died if we, if you, hadn't taken out that pack? Besides, you're the one who once told me even if we only saved one person, it still meant something."
Sam closed his eyes, then nodded, sinking against the car. "You're right."
"No, you were right." Dean kept his hand on his brother's shoulder as he studied him. "What's going on? You got a problem or you just being a bitch because you're sick and miserable?"
Pressing a hand to his eyes, Sam laughed. He straightened a little and said, "Sorry."
Dean smiled, relieved. "Alright then, crabby-pants. Time for you to take the pills that make you pleasant to be around."
"Yes, please."
"They're on the counter in the kitchen," Dean said, pulling Sam off the car. "I'll clean up and meet you there."
"Ok." Sam slowly headed toward the door. "Don't take too long."
"Even if I take all day, I'll probably beat you to the kitchen."
"Hilarious," Sam muttered, hand to the wall as he left the garage.
Dean snorted, tossing the rag aside. He slammed the hood of the Impala and packed up a few tools. There wasn't anything he really needed to bother cleaning up, but he figured he should give his brother a head start.
He gathered the paperwork from the lawn chair and muttered, "No need to make the big baby feel worse than he already does."
"I heard that!"
Dean laughed.
Having survived the trip to the kitchen, Sam was now settled at the table, waiting for the pills to kick in and watching his brother cook.
"Smells good," Sam said, as Dean added butter to the pan and stirred the macaroni and cheese.
Dean glanced over his shoulder. "Good? It doesn't smell good, it smells fantastic."
"You're right. Fantastic."
Expression transforming from offended to proud, Dean nodded. "Damn straight."
Sam smiled. He rested his head in his hand and closed his eyes. It was quiet for all of three seconds.
"You fallin' asleep over there?"
"Hmm."
"Well don't. You need to eat."
"Smells fantastic," Sam mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.
"You said that already. And it better smell fantastic. I'm here slaving over a hot stove for you."
"I'm grateful."
"As you should be."
Sam glanced up as Dean set a fresh glass of water in front of him.
"Pills kicking in yet?"
"Yeah." And oh boy, were they ever. The pain had faded and left him with the heady feeling of disconnect he hated. It was better than the pain, though.
"How ya doin' now?"
"Great." Sam took a sip of water.
"Great because you feel great?" Dean narrowed his eyes. "Or great because you want me to think you feel great?"
"Will you stop overanalyzing everything? If I say great, I mean great. I'll let you know, ok?"
"Will you?"
"I will."
"Ok." Dean seemed satisfied and walked back to the stove, taking a sip of his beer.
Sam smiled again, straightening and rubbing his eyes. "You haven't made macaroni and cheese in a long time."
Dean shot him a quick glance as he scooped the macaroni out of the pan. "It's been like a month. Guess you want mac and cheese on the menu more often, eh?"
"You make good mac and cheese."
"Yes, I do." Dean grinned, setting two full plates on the table.
Sam accepted the fork Dean handed him and took a bite. He knew Dean was awaiting his verdict, so he said, "Fantastic. Just like it smells."
Dean's smile widened, then he sat down and dug into his own meal. After a minute, he frowned and said, "You know, I think mac and cheese was the first thing I ever made. Other than opening a can, or slapping some peanut butter on a piece of bread, I mean."
"Yeah, spaghettios and PB&J don't really count as a culinary success." Sam laughed, then sobered as he remembered the effort Dean had put into making their meals taste as good as he could despite their limited resources. "You always found a way to make macaroni and cheese great."
"Wasn't always easy," Dean said around a mouthful macaroni. "You were a picky eater."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "I was not."
"Yes you were. Still are."
Since he knew he couldn't argue that point and win, Sam didn't bother to try. Grateful once again for his brother's ability to cook, he focused on the meal in front of him. It did taste fantastic. Dean had even gone to the effort to put some vegetables on their plates. For a few minutes they ate in silence, then Dean spoke up.
"First time you made mac and cheese, you didn't cook the noodles long enough."
"You called it crunchy mac," Sam recalled.
"It was nicer than calling it disgusting."
Sam smiled and shook his head. "It wasn't that bad."
"It was crunchy." Dean shuddered. "Macaroni is not supposed to be crunchy."
"Shut up." Sam groaned. Dean was enjoying this embarrassing memory way too much.
Dean grinned and waved his fork. "You screwed it up so bad even Dad couldn't stomach it."
Glaring, Sam said, "We wound up going out for burgers so I don't know why you're bringing it up now."
"Because it's funny." Dean shoveled some more macaroni into his mouth, then said, "Of course, the crunchy mac wasn't as bad as the first time you tried to make spaghetti. I remember-"
"Speaking of firsts," Sam cut him off before Dean could drag up a new memory to embarrass him with and swiftly turned the tables, "you cheated me the other day."
Dean stared at him blankly. "What?"
"Who was your first?" Sam grinned; the drugs making him a little giddy as he turned the attention away from his failed cooking attempts. "I told you mine the other day. So spit it out."
Dean looked at him and Sam could tell he was giving it a lot of consideration. For a moment, he assumed his brother was going to brush him off, then Dean nodded and said softly, "First girl I really fell in love with was Cassie."
Sam thought back. A long way back. Missouri. The first year they'd been back on the road
together. The ghost truck. "I remember her."
"Even after all these years," Dean's tone was thoughtful, "I still can't talk about her."
"I know."
"Jess," Dean said, and Sam knew he understood.
"Yeah." Tilting his head, Sam asked, "So...Cassie was your first?"
"First?"
"Don't be dense. You know what I mean. I told you mine was Jess. Who was the first girl you slept with?"
"It wasn't Cassie."
"Ok, then who-"
"Lotus." Dean smiled, his eyes embarrassingly dreamy.
"Lotus?" Sam laughed, sparking a sharp pain in his side despite the medications. He grinned. "Are you serious? Who was she, some hippy chick?"
"Yeah. She sort of was. And you knew Lotus," Dean said, still smiling and very proud of himself. "You don't remember her?"
Sam's eyes widened. "Dude, if I knew a girl named Lotus, I think I'd remember."
Dean stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. You know, you're probably right. I bet you never heard her go by Lotus. She only went by Lotus when she wasn't being all prim and proper as Miss Pffercorn."
He was glad he hadn't been taking a drink, because he would have spewed it all over the table. Sam pushed himself upright a bit more and fought back the urge to laugh. "Miss Pffercorn? My substitute teacher?"
"Yeah. See, I knew you'd remember her." Dean grinned, then sighed heavily, looking a little too smug for Sam's comfort. "Ah, Lotus. She wasn't quite so strict when she wasn't in the classroom, let me tell you. Take those glasses off and let that hair down and-"
"Wait." Sam held up a hand to interrupt what was probably a lot more detail than he'd ever wanted to know about Miss Pffercorn. He frowned and thought back. It wasn't easy given the narcotic haze his brain was floating in, but he did some rough math and remembered. "I had Miss Pffercorn-"
"Lotus-"
"I had her in eighth grade. Like end of the semester. Just before Christmas break."
Dean frowned, then shrugged. "Maybe. I don't remember what grade you were in. I just know she was the hottest substitute teacher you ever had. Mmhmm...Lotus was a great teacher."
"Dean, she was my teacher and she was-"
"Hot."
Sam shook his head, a sick disbelief in the pit of his stomach quickly replacing any
amusement he might have otherwise felt. "She was...she was way older than you!"
"Eh, she wasn't that much older," Dean said, waving a hand and taking another sip of beer.
"She was in her twenties or something."
"She was in her thirties!" Sam stared in shock at his brother. "You were seventeen!"
"Was almost eighteen." Dean frowned. "What's the big deal? I got lucky. In more ways than one."
Sam took in Dean's grin and satisfied expression. He shook his head, trying to put all of it into perspective. Lotus Pffercorn. Of all the women for Dean to hook up with, Sam thought to himself. And that wasn't even what bothered him. At all. Half the guys in his class had had a crush on Miss Pffercorn. She'd been a grad student. Gorgeous and nice to everyone. She'd worn her hair up in a bun and Sam did remember the glasses.
He'd thought she looked like a librarian, but since he already had a crush on Elizabeth, the library aide who worked Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings, Sam hadn't really paid any attention to Miss Pffercorn. She'd always been willing to answer any question he had with his science projects, but other than that, he'd never paid her much attention except when she was lecturing.
The thought of her and his brother...Sam's hand shook as he pushed the glass of water away. Stomach turning and a new wave of lightheadedness rushing over him, he stood up.
"Sam? What's going on? What're you doing?" Dean asked. "Sit down."
One hand bracing himself on the table, Sam said, "She took advantage of you!"
Dean's eyes widened and he laughed. "I'm pretty sure we took advantage of each other."
"That's not-" Sam broke off, realizing Dean didn't have a clue why he was upset. "Dean, that's not what I mean."
"Then what do you mean? I don't know why you're so worked up about this? What, you had a crush on her?"
"No!"
"Yeah, I didn't think so. I thought that year you were pining over what's her name...Lindsey in the library?
"It was Elizabeth and that's not the point!"
"Yeah, Elizabeth." Dean grinned again. "She was pretty cute."
Sam shook his head and said, "You know what? Never mind. It's late and I'm beat. I'm going to bed."
Dean's eyebrows rose and he started to say something, but Sam walked out of the room before he could open his mouth. After a few minutes, Dean heard a door slam down the hall somewhere.
"What the hell?"
Dean wished he was a mind reader. Sometimes he'd been able to read his brothers mind, especially when they'd been kids. But something was going on that he was obviously missing this time around.
He finished his beer, thinking back to Lotus Pffercorn and her long blonde hair. She'd been hotter than any of the girls he'd known at the time. He couldn't even remember when they'd first run into each other, but he assumed it must have been when he was picking Sam up after classes.
He hadn't thought about her in years.
Downing another swallow of beer, he wondered where she was and if she was still hot. And then he did a little math and almost choked on his beer. Sitting up, he ran the numbers through his head again. The third time, he even used his fingers.
"Fifty-four?" Dean said aloud to the empty room.
That couldn't be right, could it? Man, it made him feel old. And it also...well it was just a little disturbing now that he thought about it. He wondered if maybe that was why Sam was so worked up about the whole thing. Dean hadn't given it much thought at all. And certainly not when they'd hooked up. But now he was a little bit shocked to think she'd been almost twice his age.
At the time age had been just a number to him and he hadn't cared how old she was. She was smokin' hot and she was interested in him. Everyone had been interested in her, but he hadn't expected her to take any interest in him. But she had. And Dad had been gone for a few weeks and Sam had been studying late almost every night at the library. Maybe it had been because of Elizabeth. Maybe it had just been that he was such an overachiever he'd wanted to study all night.
Either way, it had left Dean with a bit more free time on his hands than he usually had. And he'd found himself spending most of his free time with Lotus. Most evenings, in fact. Unless he was working a shift at the lumber yard where he'd managed to get a part time job to earn some cash to put food on the table, he'd been with Lotus. Until he had to leave to pick Sam up from the library at closing time, Dean had been with her.
Shaking himself out of his memories, Dean stood up and debated whether he should go clean the kitchen or leave it for tomorrow and go to bed. Neither thought appealed and he suddenly felt the need to do some target practice.
He was puzzled over Sam's reaction.
It didn't make a lot of sense. Sam hadn't ever asked for details on Dean's hook-ups and hadn't ever seemed particularly bothered by them. But maybe the thought of Dean hooking with one of his teachers was creeping him out.
Whatever Sam's issue was, Dean knew he wasn't going to be likely to get the details until Sam was ready to bring it up again. He'd looked frustrated and upset and like he had the most complicated puzzle in the world to work through. Much as Dean wanted to deal with whatever was bothering his brother about the whole Lotus Pffercorn thing, he decided to ignore the situation and maybe it would go away.
Sam lay on his bed, hand pressed to his side. The light was still on, but he hadn't felt strong enough to get up and turn it off. Not for three hours. Three hours while he'd lain there, head spinning as he tried to puzzle through something that was far more complicated than his brother seemed to realize.
"Lotus," Sam whispered, pressing his free hand over his eyes.
The entire situation disturbed and angered him. Dean's obliviousness, though, left him wanting to track Lotus down and make sure she spent the rest of her life in jail. Dean didn't see it, but Sam saw it for what it was. She'd taken advantage of him and it made Sam sick to his stomach even if Dean didn't seem bothered in the slightest.
Dean had spent his entire childhood, his entire life, protecting Sam. Who had been there to protect Dean? Sure, their dad had protected them both on hunts and in between hunts when they'd been younger. But he'd also left them alone way too much. Dean had taken up the slack and protected Sam from bullies and monsters and everything in between.
Sam had grown up thinking Dean was invulnerable. A superhero. He'd grown up thinking Dean knew everything and had everything under control. Dean had been cool. He'd been strong and invincible. As long as his brother had been around, Sam had always felt safe and protected.
With age came maturity and Sam had long ago begun to realize how much Dean had sacrificed to keep him safe and protected.
But there hadn't been anyone there to keep Dean safe and protected.
Sam opened his eyes and stared blindly at the ceiling. It had happened so long ago. Dean clearly wasn't bothered by it. There was nothing that could be done about it so the logical thing would be to drop the subject. It wasn't going to be that easy, though.
A dull, pounding headache throbbed behind his eyes. He knew he needed to sleep but there was no chance of it now with the way his mind was racing.
So he forced himself upright. Dragged himself to his feet. Slowly walked back to the kitchen. And then hesitated in the doorway as he surveyed the scene before him. Dean had been busy. A row of guns was neatly arranged along a towel on the table. Empty boxes of ammo were piled on the floor and there was a faint scent of gun oil in the air. Dean stood at the sink, whistling tunelessly as he washed the dishes. Sam leaned against the doorframe and watched him.
He'd probably never be able to put it into words because they'd both die of the embarrassment of such a sappy admission, but nothing made Sam quite as happy these days as seeing Dean in the kitchen did. Because being in the kitchen made Dean happy.
Sam had teased him a little at the beginning for being such a good little housewife but the teasing hadn't lasted long. For one thing, Dean hadn't ever seemed bothered by the teasing. For another, Sam was enjoying home cooked meals from their own kitchen. So he'd stopped teasing and Dean had kept cooking.
The library might have been his domain and, by now, Dean knew better than to rearrange the shelves, but the kitchen was Dean's pride and joy and Sam knew he was a privileged guest.
It was utilitarian. Cold and ugly. They'd never bothered to buy new dishes although they had been forced to pick up a few extra spoons when they discovered the Men of Letters, for some reason, only had three spoons. Even if it wasn't the nicest kitchen in the world, Dean took care of it as if it were. He took care of it almost as well as he took care of his car.
Almost as well as he takes care of me, Sam thought to himself with a half smile.
Watching the domestic scene before him, he couldn't help but think of Lotus again. Couldn't help but wonder if there were other situations like that from their childhood he'd been blissfully ignorant of. Dean had always taken the heaviest load. Always shielded Sam from monsters and bullies, and their father. He knew Dean had always taken the brunt of...everything.
Dean had been beat up by bullies, injured on hunts, left out from school events, excluded from normal life and neglected by their father. He'd grown up way too fast. Had responsibilities put on his shoulders that never should have been his to bear.
Sam had grown up under the loving protection of his big brother and worshipped him as a hero without ever truly understanding what a heavy price Dean had paid for that title.
Watching him now, up to his elbows in soap suds as he washed their dishes, Sam wished there was a way he could express that to his brother. Wished he could make Dean understand why he was so angry about the Lotus Pffercorn thing. He wasn't sure he would ever be successful because Dean had spent so much of his life thinking he was worthless and unimportant. Even after all these years, after all the things Dean had done, had survived, had triumphed over, Sam wasn't sure he'd ever be able to make him understand.
Dean saw value in his car, his kitchen, and his little brother, but he never saw it in himself.
Thoughts returning to the recent hunt, Sam knew without a shadow of a doubt that Dean had done something stupid while they'd been apart. The heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach had been there since their conversation right outside the clinic and was only deepening by the moment. There was no way Dean hadn't done something. Sam had learned long ago that his brother would do anything for him. Absolutely anything.
Dean had been all but consumed by the Mark of Cain, yet he'd killed Death himself rather than hurt Sam.
There was no way he hadn't done something crazy when he'd thought Sam had died in that cabin. Dean had lied to his face when he'd said he'd known Sam hadn't been dead. Sam had let it go at the time because he hadn't really felt up to pursuing the topic and winding up in a shouting match when he found out what Dean had done. He still wasn't sure he was up to it, but now, with the entire Lotus situation on his mind, Sam wasn't sure he would be able to ignore it forever.
"Sam?"
He heard his brother's voice, and the concern, but Sam couldn't answer. To be honest, he felt a little disconnected from the world at the moment. His head was spinning and he couldn't remember when he started feeling so bad. Or when he'd closed his eyes.
"Come on. Open your eyes." Dean's voice was closer, right at his side, and a wet, soapy hand was on his arm. "You need to sit down. Open your eyes."
Taking a shaky breath, Sam forced his eyes open. He was still pressed up against the door frame, but knew Dean was right. His legs weren't going to hold him up much longer. Despite the fact that Dean's hands were wet, Sam didn't comment or fight him. Dean wrapped an arm around him and guided him to a seat. Gratefully sinking into it, Sam leaned on the table while keeping his other hand against his side.
Dean was crouching in front of him, the carefree demeanor of mere moments ago gone. Sam hated that he'd disturbed his brother and hated that, yet again, Dean was focusing on him.
"What's going on? You should've said something," Dean said, frowning as he looked him up and down. "You hurtin'?"
"A little. It's not that bad." Sam wanted to, but couldn't, force a reassuring smile on his face.
"Stay there." Dean was on his feet, wiping his still dripping hands on his shirt as he went for the counter. A freshly washed glass was filled with water, then he was back before Sam could even protest. He held out a couple pills. "Here."
Sam knew they were the heavy duty pills and it was really too soon for them, but he took them anyway because everything was hurting. Maybe if the pain in his body went away, so would the pain in his heart and mind.
Dean sat down across from him and asked, "You feel like you're runnin' a fever?"
"I don't think so."
Dean looked relieved. He tapped his thumb on the tabletop, holding Sam's gaze. Assessing. After a moment, he asked, "You need anything else?"
"No."
"You should go back to bed and try to sleep. You look terrible."
Sam sighed. He didn't want to try to sleep because he knew he wouldn't be successful. Dean studied him for a moment longer, then pushed himself up and returned to the dishes. He wasn't whistling any more, but he still seemed to be enjoying himself. After a few minutes, he spoke up.
"Tell me what's bugging you."
It was a bit of a surprise, Sam thought, that Dean would give him an opportunity like this. He wasn't sure how to proceed. But Dean had his back to him and was busy so maybe it wouldn't be that difficult.
Sam took another sip of water, then set it aside and stared at his brother's back as he said quietly, "She had no right, Dean."
Dean didn't turn, but he did pause in his dishwashing for a moment. "That's what you're so upset about? What you've been stewing about?"
Sighing, Sam looked away. He knew this wasn't going to be easy.
"Sam, it's not that big of a deal, ok?"
"Yes it is!"
His outburst had been enough to startle his brother. Dean turned, hands dripping and eyebrows raised. After a moment, he asked, "Why?"
"Why?"
"Yeah. Why's it such a big deal? It was a long time ago. I had a fling with an older woman." Dean smirked, then shrugged. "I don't get why this is such-"
"It's a big deal to me, ok?"
"But why? I don't get it, ok? So you gotta explain it."
Sam took a slow breath, then said, "She took advantage of you. I know you don't see it that way. But you gotta look at it the way I do. You just see it that a hot woman took an interest in you and you had some good times."
"Exactly." Dean grinned shamelessly.
"That's not how I see it."
"Obviously. So spit it out. What's the big deal?"
"The big deal is that she had no right. You were a kid. A kid, Dean," Sam said, trying his hardest to get through to his brother. "It shouldn't have happened."
Dean shook his head, leaning back against the sink. Shoulders tense, he said, "I wasn't a kid."
Running his hand over his face, Sam sighed. "You were-"
"I was never a kid!" This time Dean was the one shouting.
Sam flinched.
"I was never a kid. I didn't have that chance. I had to grow up." Dean's voice was still raised and now he looked as angry as Sam felt. "So yeah, it wasn't ideal. Yeah, it probably shouldn't have happened. But it did and it's been like twenty years so why can't you just leave it alone?"
"Because I hate that she did that to you!" Sam couldn't hold back; his heart was pounding in his ears and he felt sick. "I hate that you had to grow up like that. I hate that Dad did this to you. That Dad didn't protect you like you protected me-"
"Sam-"
"Dad didn't protect you and I couldn't either," Sam said, voice breaking unexpectedly.
"Hey." Dean shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "It wasn't on you. You weren't supposed to protect me. I appreciate your concern and how seriously you're taking all of this, but I made the choice, ok? I made the choice. She didn't force me."
Dean's assurance made him feel a little better. Not much, but a little. Sam nodded and said, "I believe you. But it still shouldn't have happened."
Wiping his hands on a towel, Dean nodded. He dropped the towel on the counter and sat back down at the table. "Dad screwed up."
"Yeah. He did. He put too much on you." Sam was aware this was becoming about so much more than Lotus Pffercorn. "You should never have gone through what you did. Dad made you into a soldier. He made you protect me and-"
"Hold up," Dean interrupted him sharply. "For the record, I did all of it for you. Not because of you or because Dad wanted me to or told me to or for any other reason. Yeah, we're screwed up big time. Have been...maybe forever. I don't know. But I guess I'm at the point where I don't think it's such a bad thing. You've always been my reason. For everything I do or don't do. I know we don't talk about stuff like this, but you need to understand."
They definitely didn't talk about stuff like this and Sam was shocked they were talking about it now. He stared at his brother, amazed at how seriously Dean was taking this. There was a depth of understanding in Dean's eyes that Sam hadn't expected.
"I don't know how to do anything else. How to be anything else. Ok? I don't know who I am without you," Dean confessed, still meeting his gaze. He ran a hand through his hair and laughed; his cheeks and ears were a faint pink. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I don't know what I'd do without you, Sammy. Sure, a psychiatrist or whatever would have a heyday with us but they don't know, they don't understand what we've been through together. Maybe we're co-dependent, but you're the only one I can depend on."
Sam nodded.
Dean smiled a bit, then said, "I'm sorry the whole thing with your teacher is bothering you so much. And I'm trying to understand where you're coming from. If it had been you, I probably would've killed her."
The thought made Sam smile because he knew Dean would have gone ballistic if it had happened to him.
"So I get it," Dean continued. "Was it ideal? No. Was it right? No. But she didn't force me. I wanted to be with her. So I was. And I need you to let it go, ok?"
"Ok." Sam didn't feel a lot better about the situation, but knowing his brother was at least recognizing where he was coming from helped.
"Good." Dean nodded, then he sat forward and rested his arms on the table. "Same goes for this whole thing back in Idaho."
The world seemed to slow to a stop. Sam braced both hands on the table and took a controlled breath that did nothing to control the anxiety Dean's words sparked in his chest.
Dean took a controlled breath of his own, then said, "I know you know that I...that I thought you were...dead. Back there. I did. I'm sorry, but I did."
It sounded as if it was still breaking his heart.
Dean sighed, cleared his throat, then said, "And yes, I did something stupid."
Sam's mouth went dry. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it; hadn't known. His stomach turned inside out and a wave of heat washed over him. "I'm gonna be sick."
"Head down. Now." Dean was already at his side, guiding him until his head was hanging over his knees. "Breathe through it. Breathe."
It wasn't easy, but slowly the nausea faded to a more manageable level. He didn't feel strong enough to lift his head, though. Not after hearing the latest revelation from his brother.
"I'm sorry." Dean was still at his side, hand on the back of his neck. "I'm sorry."
Sam didn't know how to respond.
Dean took a shaky breath, then said softly, "What I did back there...it didn't work, ok? And...uh...no one got hurt and I'm not gonna go into details because it doesn't matter now. You wouldn't like it and you don't have to like it. It's behind us so you need to leave it alone."
A hundred scenarios ran through Sam's mind; every single scenario a vivid nightmare. Whatever Dean had done, Sam could imagine himself doing it and so much worse.
"Sam? Talk to me." Dean squeezed his neck and asked, "Are you hearing me?"
He was, but Sam didn't dare open his mouth yet to say so. Instead, he nodded slowly.
Dean sighed and Sam glanced at him. He looked as wrung out as Sam felt. Reaching out, Sam gripped his brother's shirt and cautiously pulled himself upright. Dean made sure he was stable with one arm braced on the table before he moved away.
Shifting until he had both arms resting on the table, Sam watched Dean fill the glass of water up again, then nudge it into his hand.
"Come on, take a sip."
Sam cautiously did as he was told. The water settled better than Dean's words had. Setting the glass down, Sam cleared his throat and said, "I'm not surprised."
Dean sighed again and dropped back into the seat across from him, running a hand through his hair. "Sam-"
"Shut up for a minute, will you?'
Dean raised an eyebrow, but held up his hands and nodded.
"I'm not surprised by what you said. I figured you tried something."
"I'm not telling you-"
"And I'm not going to ask you to," Sam cut him off. "I'm not. I don't wanna know."
Dean snorted.
Sam smiled briefly, then said, "A few years ago, yes, I would've wanted to know. But now? I don't want to know how close I came to losing you. I can't-" Sam broke off, taking a shaky breath. "I can't go there. Not again. But you need to realize that you aren't the only one."
"Only one?" Dean raised an eyebrow suspiciously.
"Yeah, you're not the only one who gets to worry." Sam heard Dean's sigh and knew he had to keep going or risk never getting his point across. "Why do you act like it's only your job? That you're the only one who gets to worry."
"Because it is." Dean's voice was low and Sam could tell he didn't like this conversation. "It is my job. It always has been and -"
"Well, it's not fair and it's not right," Sam cut him off, glad to see Dean's eyes widen as his words sputtered to a stop. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me? All these years, all this time, you get to worry and you get to protect and help and do everything for me, but whenever I try, you shut me out."
Dean frowned and shook his head, but Sam kept going before he could say anything. "Dean, you said it yourself, we're screwed up. Dad screwed us up. This life screwed us up. Trust me, I've had a lot of time to think about this and, yeah, I know he did try. And he never meant for this life to destroy...what could have been. But it did. And he put this on you. Making you feel like it was your job to look out for me and-"
This time Dean was the one who cut him off. Eyes blazing, Dean leaned forward again and said, "It is my job."
Sam felt the fire in his words and it took his breath away. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. He hadn't wanted to start a fight, for crying out loud. He'd just wanted to make Dean understand. Sam held his breath, while Dean stared at him, the fire still bright in his eyes. After a minute passed in silence, Dean relaxed to a degree.
He rested his elbows on the table and repeated softly, "It's my job."
"And that gives you the right to be the only one in this family who gets to worry or try to protect the other?" Sam asked, shaking his head. "I don't want to be your job. I want to be your brother."
"Don't be stupid," Dean said, some of that fire already flaring up again. "You think you're not my brother? I do all of this because you're my brother."
"Do you?" Sam asked quietly, expecting to get shouted at.
Instead, the fight went out of his brother and Dean shook his head like he couldn't understand what was going on. After a moment, he said, "Yes."
"Ok. Well, can't you see that it goes both ways? Why is it so difficult for you to accept that I do the same thing? That I want what's best for you and I hate everything that's been done to you? I hate that you lost your entire childhood raising me. That Dad wasn't there to protect you when he should have been."
"Where's all this coming from?" Dean asked softly. "Because I told you I slept with your teacher?"
"That's only part of it," Sam said, weariness weighing him down. He wished they could be having this conversation another time. Maybe when he didn't feel sick and exhausted and Dean wasn't so raw. But it was too late now.
Dean shook his head. "Well, what's the rest of it? You better spit it out fast because you look like you're about to fall over."
And Dean wasn't wrong. Already, Sam was beginning to think they were going to need to finish the conversation at a later time. The second round of pills was hitting him hard. His head was swimming and he was losing track of what he'd been trying to say.
Bracing a hand on the table, Sam said, "The rest of it is that I wish you'd stop being so damned selfish and realize you're not in this on your own, ok? Realize this family thing is a two way street and let me be here for you like you always are for me."
Dean seemed stunned, but he didn't look angry. He looked embarrassed and humbled which was a lot more than Sam had expected. Maybe he'd managed to get his point across. Sam waited for Dean to make the next move because, to be honest, he didn't have a clue what to say next and he was pretty sure he was going to pass out.
"Alright. You made your point." Dean smiled, pushing himself to his feet. The haunted look in his eyes was gone and it seemed like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders that neither of them had realized he'd been carrying. "How 'bout you wait till another day to take care of me though, huh? Right now, I feel like it might be better if I get your stupid ass to bed before you crash."
Since his brother had listened to him and seemed to finally be getting the point, Sam nodded and allowed Dean to pull him to his feet.
Guiding him to the door, Dean said, "But when you're feeling better, you could do something for me."
"Yeah?" Sam asked, breathlessly. He was regretting leaving his bed in the first place and for leaving his pillow behind. The hallway was blurred and dark and, if not for his brother holding him up, he probably would be on the ground already.
"Yeah," Dean said, tightening his grip. "Clean the car up. Lots of trash under the seat. I need her washed and waxed before we go anywhere."
Sam snorted, his steps wavering. "You always make me clean out the trash from under the seat."
"Well, there you go," Dean said, grinning. "See, you've been taking care of me all this time. I don't know what you've been bitching about."
"You're an idiot."
"Yeah well, since you've been learning by my shining example all these years, I guess it means you're an idiot too."
"Probably."
"Almost there. Try not to pass out, ok? I think I strained my back lugging you around the past few days and if you puke, you're cleaning it up."
Sam groaned at the very thought and weakly tried to pull away from his brother, but - as usual - Dean wouldn't let go of him. They walked the rest of the way in silence which was good because he was having trouble catching his breath. He finally sat down on the edge of his bed and gratefully accepted the pillow Dean pressed into his hands. Closing his eyes, he curled up on his side and didn't complain when Dean pulled the covers up over him.
"You good?"
"Mmm." Good wasn't the word Sam would have used if he'd been able to form a word.
"You overdid it, Sammy."
Yes, he had.
Dean sighed, then patted his shoulder, "Get some sleep, ok? Phone's right here if you need anything."
Sam curled his fingers around his phone and listened to Dean's footsteps as he walked away. The footsteps stopped at the door and he knew his brother was lingering there. Watching him.
It would have creeped him out if it hadn't made him feel so safe.
What did you think? Did the conversation go the way you were expecting? Oddly enough, the entire premise of this story sprang from the situation with Dean and Lotus and how I saw imagined a revelation like that playing out between him and Sam. It just seemed to fit so perfectly with the theme and emotions of Red Meat that it developed from there.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter!