"The... voicemail..." Dean paused, trying to remember. "The one I left you where I said we were still family?"
"What?" Sam practically snarled. "You called me a monster, a freak, a... a bloodsucking vampire," Sam gritted out. "You said Dad said you either had to kill me or save me and you were done trying to save me. You were giving me 'fair warning,'" Sam air-quoted but it only showcased his shaky, uncoordinated hands. "You said you were done trying to save me."
Dean was looking at his brother, disbelief and sympathy playing across his face, shaking his head like that wasn't what he'd said.
"Don't do that. Don't look like that! You said it. I wasn't me anymore! There wasn't any going back!" Sam's voice broke.
"Sam... no..." Dean reached out but Sam slapped his hand away.
"Fuck you! Yes you did! You said that and you knew. You always knew." Sam cried, tears finally breaking free as his anger and grief mingled, reliving the memory. "The next time I was going to see you," Sam's voice cracked, "you were going to kill me," he cried.
"Sam, I apologized," Dean corrected, coming closer, his hands out. He endured the responding rain of pushes and shoves Sam tried to make hurt. "I never said any of that."
"You hated me!" Sam rasped, hitting Dean right in the solar plexis when he was coming too close. It knocked the wind out of Dean and he backed off. Tears streamed down Sam's cheeks. "It was too late, you said," Sam choked out. "I was evil! Dean, I'll always be that and... and I never knew why you didn't just kill me after because you knew it too."
"Stop," Dean cut through, shocked and furious. He gripped one of Sam's wrists just as Sam hit him again and pulled it into a full extension.
"Dean, no!" Sam practically shrieked, so pitched in distress that Dean almost let go. But Dean held on, determined.
The kid's automatic response after all their training should have been a punch to Dean's chest or face with his other arm. Dean braced to block it but instead Sam just reached up trying to get his arm out of Dean's grasp.
Dean winced as Sam strained and cried gasped pleas to let him go. He was taking advantage of Sam, he knew. He was born physically and emotionally compromised but Dean couldn't let this stand. Plus he was only trying to restrain him. Once Sam exhausted himself he'd be able to listen.
Sam was looking worse though, his face and neck flushed, his body trembling with fury and fever. To speed this process up he grabbed Sam's other hand and pulled both arms down and crossed them against Sam's chest. Dean sat directly in front of him, holding his brother's forearms tight so Sam's elbows overlapped each other. Dean had effectively strait-jacketed his little brother and felt horrible about it as Sam struggled to get out of the hold, huffing and wheezing, his hair wet and sticking to his red, feverish face.
Sam seemed to give up and go limp under Dean's hold. Dean held tight still, knowing it could be a ruse. Sam used to do fake-outs as a kid while they sparred. He'd rest under Dean to gather his last reserves and build an element of surprise for his next power move. It was never powerful enough to get out of whatever hold Dean had him in but they were always good tries, Dean always gave him that.
And Dean would've been okay with that. He even would have preferred it compared to what did happen.
After a heavy, almost self-calming, exhale, Sam's face twisted into unbearable anguish and he curled away as far as Dean's hold on him would allow. A wave of convulsive sobs and gasps shook and rattled through his little brother's body. Dean couldn't find a word for the sound of his brother falling apart like this.
Sam remained limp under Dean, only moving so far as to get as comfortable as possible under Dean's hold, rolling into himself. He turned his head away, folded his knees up.
Dean found himself letting go and Sam just settled his hands against his chest to hug himself. He reclined and pressed himself against the nearest pillow to muffle his cries.
Dean bit his lip, trying to stop himself from getting emotional over just the sight of Sam like this. He dragged the patchwork universe blanket over, nudging it against Sam's chest. Sam latched onto it, unthinkingly reaching for more, the soft fabric getting squeezed so hard Sam's knuckles went white.
Dean extracted himself carefully, trying his best not to jostle Sam, treating him like a fragile glass on the edge of a table. Sam didn't even seem to notice, now almost completely in his own world of self-loathing and hopelessness.
Dean knelt on the bed facing Sam, uncertain if any kind of affectionate touch would be wanted. When Sam gave a few hiccuping whimpers into the pillow, sounding like he was having trouble breathing, Dean stepped in and placed a delicate palm against Sam's back.
"Sammy," he whispered, "calm down."
Sam trembled under his touch and Dean started rubbing his back.
"Breathe, little brother, come on," Dean almost begged, reaching his other hand to thread through Sam's hair.
Dean bit his lip when Sam didn't respond. He moved up closer and lined his forearm up with Sam's spine and left a warm palm against the back of his neck. Sam reacted with a small inward motion like he wanted to pull away but didn't have the strength to do so. It was breaking Dean's heart. He had to say something, had to make this better somehow.
"Sam," Dean said softly, "I promise you. I didn't say any of that. I... the angels had me on lock down," Dean explained, knowing Sam knew about that weird angelic green room. Sam knew too because he'd seen it himself in the warehouse in Van Nuys where Dean had again nearly lost all faith in his brother.
Recalling that memory prompted Dean to think and feel like he was the shittiest brother ever. Twice was too many times to refuse the benefit of the doubt to Sam.
Still, Dean had never reached the point of harboring actual hate for Sam that he'd described he'd heard in the voicemail. Dean had never fallen into the trap of contempt for his little brother. He'd been on the brink of it once before Bobby had ripped him a new one but Sam had never been privy to that. And Bobby had successfully convinced him. He'd been thrust into that stupid room with nothing to do but stew over Bobby's words, the past, their father, his decisions, his attitude, and he'd called Sam to reach out, apologize, take back what he'd said in the motel room.
Dean closed his eyes, tried to remember the exact words he'd used.
"I called you. You didn't answer," Dean spoke in simple, short sentences. Sam had begun to quiet and Dean knew he was listening. "It went to voicemail. I... I said... um," Dean gently tightened his grip against Sam's neck reassuringly, "I was still mad. I owed you a serious beat down," he started and stopped when he felt Sam tense. He moved his hand up to Sam's head, brushed the kid's hair back affectionately, trying to comfort him. "I said I shouldn't have said what I said in the motel room. I told you we were still brothers, still family..." Dean trailed off and found himself leaning in and whispering the rest of his words. "No matter how bad it got, that was never gonna change. Sammy, I'm sorry," Dean breathed, channeling the memory of it through him and no longer interested in framing it like it was something from the past.
He was hovering in so close to his brother. Dean waited, frozen in place no more than two inches between them when Sam gave a jolted cough and without even looking into his brother's eyes, twisted around and reached out.
Dean wrapped him up immediately, desperate to pick him up and hold him in his arms.
That's what they did now. The sky was blue, the grass was green, Dean hugged and kissed and cuddled his sick little brother.
Dean had expected the trials to cause damage but he hadn't anticipated how many wounds would be lanced and healed too.
Sam clung to him as he pulled him into his lap. "That's not what I h-heard," Sam gulped between sobs. "I swear... I swear..." he wept, "if I had heard that... I wouldn't've gone through with any of it," Sam finally choked out with gut-wrenching regret.
Dean ducked down against Sam's neck. "It's okay, it's okay, Sammy," he whispered, starting to rock them back and forth. He could feel Sam's heart beating rapidly, the kid shattering against him as he tried to say more.
"I w-would've come back t'you," Sam promised wetly, "I would've... would've left her," he added tragically.
Dean froze, realization dawning. He pushed Sam away and thinking he'd said something wrong, Sam moaned unintelligibly, distraught and reaching back out for his brother. "Dean, please no, I'm sorry," he begged.
"Stop, stop, Sammy, it's okay, it's okay, lemme look at you," Dean hushed quickly, trying to stamp down Sam's cries. Dean framed Sam's face with his hands and tilted him up to look into his eyes. "Sammy, did you really hear that voice mail? Of me saying those things? You weren't in withdrawal hallucinations or anything?"
Sam's breathing was still unsteady and tears slipped down his cheeks but his eyes focused under his brother's intense scrutiny. He shook his head.
"No I'd... had…" Sam swallowed nervously, ashamed. "I was fine. I swear, Dean, I heard something else. I heard what I told you I heard," he said, his voice crackling with a raw, sore throat.
Dean's jaw clenched, disturbed by the implications and thumbed the tears off Sam's face. Sam blinked and sniffled under his brother's ministrations, his eyes wide and vulnerable, seeking his big brother's direction how things were going to go next. He'd take anything Dean was going to say and they both knew it. It killed Dean there was still doubt, still some unknowable fear in Sam's eyes that Dean was going to reject him. Like this conversation would reignite some sentiment Dean had once had that Sam was evil and deserved nothing. A sentiment Dean had never had.
"Sammy," Dean breathed, "we got played," Dean said, brushing Sam's hair back before pulling him back into the hug.
It could've been either side, the angels or the demons. Hell, it could've been both sides conspiring together. They'd never know. But if Sam would've left everything to come back to Dean just from hearing his voicemail then it would've had to have been tampered with by one or more forces that wanted Lucifer to rise.
Dean's blood boiled thinking about Zachariah or Ruby, both the closest ones with the power and motivation to do such a thing.
"We got played? What?" Sam whimpered, voice trembling even as he grasped onto Dean, tucked his chin in over the back of Dean's neck and held on. Dean's thirst for vengeance, his hatred for what'd happened between them when they'd only still just been kids in their fucking twenties. They were too young to handle any of it. Too naive to believe something as mundane and easily accessible as a cell phone message could be twisted and altered into something that'd end up tipping the scales between preventing or beginning a fucking apocalypse.
"Someone fucked with my voicemail, Sammy," he whispered into Sam's ear, hugging him closer, "I never said any of that."
With those words Sam immediately tensed, his body telegraphing his comprehension. Once accepted, Sam melted against his big brother in defeat. His tears dried, exhaustion overcoming him, and Dean could tell things were coming to a close.
Dean hung on to his brother too as he angled and leaned against the headboard, the pillows uncomfortably lumpy against his back but he didn't care. His focus was only on Sam, whose fever-warm body was still steady and breathing and depending on him.
"You've never been a monster, Sammy. I've never given up on you... and I never will," Dean said, picking his words carefully. Sam responded, clinging back on to Dean, desperate and relieved all at once to hear his words. "You're my hero, Sam," Dean said, his voice surprisingly gravelly now, eyes watery, "and you're gonna survive this, all of this," Dean promised, and let the pause linger for emphasis, but also to get himself together for what he was going to say next. "You are good and you're pure, Sam."
At the last word another tear broke under Dean's eye. He wiped it off and sniffed just as he felt Sam's body jerk with his own short sob.
"I love you," Sam said, his voice wet and wobbly.
"I love you too, Sammy," Dean breathed, propping his little brother up higher against him to get more comfortable. Sam went with it and found the most comfortable position chest to chest with Dean then landing his head back on Dean's shoulder with his head facing out at the room.
They stayed there for awhile, Dean monitoring Sam's heart against him, Sam trying to figure out where to go from where they were but failing because his thoughts were muddying again. His eyesight and focus was degrading, so he let his gaze drift down to the Universe blanket.
"Dean?" Sam whispered, dropping a hand from the tight grip on his brother's back and reaching out for the cover.
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Can we take this blanket with us?"
Dean quirked the first smile he'd had in awhile and huffed a breath of relief, reaching out to help Sam grab the comforter and pull it over them.
"'Course, Sammy," he said roughly as he angled them downwards more so he could lie down. He spread the blanket out over them, Sam still attached and wrapped around his side. When they were settled Dean gave a weak pull to Sam's shoulders to get him to come up and break his head over the covers. Sam complied weakly, sniffing wetly, still getting over the emotional fireworks of the past hour, and tucked his head in just below Dean's collarbone.
Dean heaved a long, drawn-out sigh and tried to relax. Sam's breath and heartbeat was syncing up with his. As he fell asleep, Dean didn't move an inch and would have if the world depended on it.
Dean found himself slipping into his own sleepy reverie.
When Sam had been a baby, Dean was older and bigger and he protected Sam from his nightmares. The nostalgia Dean felt was unmistakable now where spooning his little brother was as common these days as it was back then.
But it wasn't called spooning when he'd been a kid and it wasn't really spooning now. Just like Sam clinging to him now wasn't cuddling. They were all just words, things they'd learned were sappy, useless, or stupid as they'd grown older as boys under a single ex-military father. Dean was only willing to admit the words technically fit them and what they did but it didn't feel the same as what everybody thought of it as.
As kids Sam and Dean had needed the comfort, the closeness. John had been that way to Dean once, giving him hugs and kisses. Dean knew it wasn't wrong. He just knew things were darker after Mom died; Dad stopped being so affectionate. Dean took the cue from his father but he remained affectionate with Sam. He carried that piece of what it was like when Mom was still alive on.
It was resurfacing now. Dean was discovering he could be as affectionate as he used to be. It was the trials. And it wasn't just Dean pulling from when they were kids.
In every way Sam was a fully functional thirty-year old man but at what point did the constant face of death destroy the pretension of maturity?
As Dean held his little brother asleep in his arms, felt the man's heart beating, echoing the sounds of the same heart coming from the baby he'd been thirty years ago, and not finding any difference, Dean knew that point.
A/N: Originally published 8/18/2014, revised 8/19/2019 (nearly exactly 5 years apart 😱)
Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex