A/N: YEAAAH MIND BLOWING WITH OVER 600 REVIEWS YOU GUYS ARE SO AMAZING I LOVE YOU!
"What?" Dean asked, bewildered.
"I thought - when you left..." Sam trailed off, hoping that was enough to clue Dean in.
Dean let out a relieved huff of amusement. Sam narrowed his eyes, pressed his lips together.
"I can't believe you believed me." Dean came closer and squeezed Sam's arms. Sam didn't look up but he could tell his brother was smiling, his gestures trying to reassure.
Instead of soothing it felt condescending though. He looked straight up at Dean, eyes wet, expression pained as he pushed his hands out sharply, palms up and shaking.
"What the fuck, Dean!?" He yelled. Dean blinked, surprised. Sam pushed him away. It was weak but Dean backed up, not wanting to crowd him while he was upset. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"What? Sam, I don't get why you're mad. If you really thought I'd take off, shouldn't you be happy to know I didn't leave you after all?" Dean asked, slightly annoyed but it didn't hold a candle to his fuming sibling.
"So it was just a ruse? You just wanted me to think you were a total asshole?"
Dean squinted, his eyes fixed somewhere above as he thought about it. It would've been funny under any other circumstance.
"Yeah-?" Dean dragged out, shrugging, then looking back to his brother with an apologetic wince.
Sam shook his head with disdain, his eyes drifting to the walkie-talkie. He recalled how Dean had used it to make him think he was absent, far away elsewhere in the bunker with clipped responses and taking forever to walk into Sam's room once Sam had demanded it.
Dean had deliberately quarantined Sam, made him think he was totally alone, and risked him dying quietly, helplessly.
How could Dean have done that?
"What if I'd died?" Sam challenged.
Dean's lips curled in. He shifted his weight and pointed his finger in Sam's face. Sam didn't flinch, his own eyes staring daggers. "You almost did and I was there, Sam," Dean snarled.
"No, Dean," Sam gritted out. He shook his head and looked back at the nest of pillows. "What if I'd had a heart attack?" Sam suggested openly. "Choked. Paralyzed." He looked at Dean, his anger dwindling. "What if something had happened fast. Too fast before you could get ther-"
"Sam," Dean interrupted. Sam closed his mouth, his jaw clenching, eyes watery, waiting for a response but he knew by the way Dean was reacting that he'd rattled his brother.
"Sam," Dean said and it sounded pleading, "all your symptoms have been slow. They're all for the trials, so you can live to close the gates. I never thought-"
"No, you just didn't think."
"I was right there the whole time though!" Dean yelled, pointing down the hallway. "I would've known!"
Sam couldn't figure out if he wanted to scream or cry more. He pushed his palms against his eyes.
"No you wouldn't have!" Sam shook his hands at Dean, wishing more than anything Dean would just get it for once. "You're not psychic. And I've been so weak I can't lift a radio or shout for help. And you left me," Sam's voice cracked. He pressed his hands to his face again and swore at himself. There was no getting around it though. When Dean had sequestered him he had made Sam so much more vulnerable and Dean knew it, knew he was doing something wrong or else he wouldn't have been camped out in the hallway.
"I'm sorry," Dean whispered. Sam looked at him in shock and bristled, realizing Dean had inched further into Sam's space, expression brutally sympathetic.
Sam leaned back, afraid to fold into his brother just yet. "It's just," Sam looked around, avoiding his brother's gaze. He licked his lips and a tear rolled down his cheek. "I didn't know you were there," Sam explained, lips quivering. He looked back into Dean's eyes, that same expression of sincere compassion. "It would've been different-"
"I know, I'm sorry," Dean said, tone loud and clear. It was a desperate and honest apology. Sam swallowed roughly, his hurt eyes a sickly hazel landing on Dean's. Sam's jaw clenched, overwhelmed, but at least he could see in Dean's eyes that his brother meant the apology. Dean started rubbing Sam's arms. "Sam, I'm sorry," Dean repeated in the same serious, consoling tone.
Hearing Dean's genuine apology affected Sam more than he expected. He'd grown up being called the sensitive one, the drama queen, constantly told to suck it up and quit whining. His emotions dismissed and discarded so often by his father, treated only with tolerance at most by Dean. For Sam, it was practically old hat to receive vague, unfeeling platitudes when he felt hurt or betrayed.
But now Dean was flat-out apologizing sincerely. Something like that came around so rarely. Instead of mollifying things it just felt like complete confirmation that Sam had endured a terrible injustice at the hands of his older brother.
Dean had taken advantage of Sam, used his condition against him to make him feel worse. He'd been mean and manipulative all while Sam could barely raise a hand, much less his voice, against him. Then Dean had let Sam think he was completely on his own, facing the unknown but possibly fatal, certainly painful future symptoms of the trials without any emotional support or even the bare minimum comfort of knowing his big brother was nearby.
"Sammy?" Dean asked, moving his hand up to Sam's shoulder. Sam cringed away.
"I don't even want you near me right now," Sam sniffed half-heartedly. Dean tugged Sam towards him anyway. "C'mon Sammy, I'm sorry, c'mon," Dean whispered and with a small cry Sam finally let Dean pull him into a hug.
Sam wrapped shaky arms around his brother and tried to absorb the affection and trust he'd lost as Dean just held him.
"You almost died this morning, Sammy," Dean said, "because I wasn't there. I would've known your temperature if I'd been by your side. We would've caught it before it got as bad as it did."
"I don't care that you missed the symptoms, Dean," Sam sighed tiredly. Dean hugged Sam tighter. "I just didn't want to die without you," he whispered, "on bad terms."
"You have no idea how sorry I am, Sam," Dean's voice broke. Sam sniffed and blinked away tears over Dean's shoulder, reaching for a better grip on Dean. "And, listen to me," Dean added quietly, "we are never on bad terms."
Sam choked a disbelieving laugh and Dean's hand moved to the back of his neck. Sam pressed his cheek against Dean's shoulder and felt another tear break free.
"I'm serious. I... Sammy, I'm so sorry that I made you think we were," Dean said solemnly, rubbing Sam's back with his other hand. Sam's chin pressed into Dean's shoulder in acknowledgment before he curled further into the hug.
They kept the embrace for awhile; Dean didn't want to be the one to step back from it. He had to give Sam the time he needed. Finally, Sam spoke up.
"You should be," Sam croaked and let out a soft chuckle.
Dean closed his eyes in relief, understanding he'd just been forgiven.
"I know," Dean agreed solemnly but he smiled. "It'll never happen again."
Things were going to be all right. He rubbed Sam's shoulders and just as Sam thought they were going to detach, Dean kept a hold of Sam and cleared his throat.
"And Sammy... if you do die," Dean said calmly and Sam tensed in his arms, "I'm going to be right there with you. You're not going to die alone. I promise." Dean's tone was despairing resignation and Sam was surprised how much he actually hated it. He had wanted to hear Dean say that all along but the way Dean said it made Sam want to demand that his brother take it back.
"Okay," Sam sniffed. "But I'm not going to die," he said firmly and suddenly Sam nearly gasped at the new-found strength in Dean's hug. He let out choked-off laughter as he tried to return the embrace.
"That's what I like to hear," Dean murmured, smiling. They held their hug some time longer more. Eventually Dean loosened his grip to let Sam breathe. "Okay, are you okay?"
"Yeah," Sam said, wiping his eyes, starting to pull away. He'd lost some tears but neither of them had fully broke down. This had been a bitter surface crack that had successfully healed between them without any full-on meltdowns.
Under any normal circumstances they would've just fumed and gone their own separate ways: Sam to a library or for a walk, Dean to a bar or something. They'd reconnect the following morning, the previous night's fight easily glossed over, any leftover tension bottoming out with each new discussion over where to eat breakfast or Smurfs versus Fraggle Rock or creating new code words during the drive.
Now they couldn't afford the luxury of these normal coping mechanisms, of being apart to cool down on their own. If Sam's near-death experience had proven anything it was how the only right thing to do was to stick together, meaning any issues that would've had them stomping away to get over alone would have to be treated differently.
Both of them were stressed and exhausted over the same things. Maintaining any sense of anger or angst towards each other required energy neither of them really had.
So instead of anger they'd unknowingly chosen and established a precedent for how to cope with one another in the hallway.
They'd just confront it, hug it out, and move on.
Through this embrace, this new standard was set solid. In order to be so close, they'd have to adapt and so at a very basic level of awareness, the two of them understood and accepted the terms as they pulled away from each other.
Dean kept his hand on Sam's back, watching with a guilty, crooked smile as Sam rubbed his eyes.
"You sure, now-? You're okay-?" Dean asked and Sam gave a wet laugh. Blinking up at Dean he gave a weary yet pointed thumbs up.
"Elated," he deadpanned and Dean smiled. "You?"
"Yeah. Awesome."
Dean pulled his arm away from Sam to rub his own eyes. When he finished he looked openly at his brother.
"You still feel okay? Should I get the wheelchair?"
"No-no-no. Don't get the wheelchair, I can do it."
"You sure?"
"Yeah just," Sam reached out, "help me," he murmured, leaning forward into Dean. Dean grasped his arms under bent elbows and took his weight. Sam took a step forward with relative ease.
"Hey all right, awesome," Dean said, impressed, and just like that they were back to it, shuffling down the hallway, Sam as focused as ever while Dean resumed his role as personal trainer and human walker frame.
"Almost there, tiger, you're doing great," Dean said. Sam grunted in acknowledgement.
"Feel like an old lady," Sam said, still looking down, his posture hunched forward over their arms.
"Y'look like one too," Dean offered. Sam huffed a laugh and kept moving.
Sam had broken the stream of Dean's coaching in favor of banter so Dean changed tack accordingly. "Dude your hair's a fuckin' mess, man."
"S'what... happens when... you don't use... conditioner," Sam managed. Dean wasn't concerned about his brother's halted response. He could tell Sam was just out of breath from sore muscles and lack of exercise. His strength was still there though.
"You realize that's a product only sold to women, right?"
"Bite me," Sam huffed. Dean smiled. They were getting closer to his bedroom. The banter was quickening Sam's pace.
"No, but I could give you a haircut in your sleep."
"Don't you dare," Sam whispered as if Dean had just said some unspeakable evil. Dean snickered.
"Okay," Dean finally said calmly, looking over his shoulder to gauge the doorway of his bedroom. "We're almost there."
"'Kay," Sam breathed.
"So what do you want to do after we get you set up?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head.
"I dunno."
"Hungry?"
"No."
"Tired?"
"Not really."
"Uhhh..." Dean hummed in thought, "oh shit, stop, hold on," Dean said suddenly, realizing he'd almost taken them past the doorway. He squeezed Sam's arms and angled him in. "You good?"
"Uh huh," Sam replied, still focusing properly and coordinating his movements well. They stepped into Dean's room and Sam glanced up to check out the familiar surroundings. His eyes landed on the mattress.
"Did you make your bed?" Sam asked in disbelief.
"Yeah, what, you don't?"
"You don't."
"Well I don't give a shit about motel beds," Dean answered dismissively, leading Sam over to the side of the bed. "Nobody cares about motel beds-" he muttered then shouted, "Don't sit down yet!"
Sam had been about to collapse onto the mattress.
"What, why?" Sam flat-out whined over his brother, having lost all sense of his age and causing Dean to actually laugh aloud at the childish pleading.
"I wanna get the sheets right," Dean explained as he pulled them down. "Okay you're good," Dean said, still smiling. He tried to spot Sam's descent but Sam just belly-flopped onto the bed and laid still, appreciating the feel of the memory foam contouring to his body. He closed his eyes, trying to bliss out on at least this one good thing.
"Dude your bed is awesome," Sam said, his voice muffled but the genuine awe was unmistakable. Dean walked to the foot of the bed as he unfolded a second, heavier comforter he'd grabbed from a shelf.
"Dude, I know right?" Dean said just before he flipped it out. With a quick swish Dean blanketed all six foot four of his brother. The startled yelp from Sam underneath the heavy cover managed to get Dean laughing again.
A/N: Originally published 2/12/2014, revised 8/10/2019. Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex