Chapter 62.
Sam and Dean remained in the Dean Cave, but didn't watch any more of the DVDs. Dean turned off the small screen TV that had replaced the love of his life which still leant against the wall, awaiting a miracle. "So, how am I doing?" he said.
"Better than I expected." said Sam, "Pretty damn well, to be honest."
Dean was surprised. It had felt like something of a struggle and he was acutely aware of how often Cas had glanced his way in the dark, trying to scope out his mood, ever alert for signs of a change in his attitude ... a return to hostility. "You think I did okay?"
"No," said Sam, "I expected you to do okay. You knocked it out of the park. You and Cas ... it was like you were you and you treated him like him and that's amazing, when you consider the fallout from Michael and how you two could barely be in the same building at first."
"At times, it was hard."
"And it was always gonna be hard. I know you had to work at it, but you did it and when you knew something was wrong, you pushed all the Michael stuff aside and you reached out to him and you were the friend he needed you to be."
"Well, while we're being all positive about stuff, it's clear I chose the right person to trust here. Every moment of the time we spent here, you had my back and his. You never stopped watching. You never stopped supporting me. Yeah, I had to work at it and I did, but I never could have done it without you."
"I really didn't do anything." said Sam.
"Well, that nothing you did was pretty big. Thanks."
Sam looked uncomfortable. He always did when Dean praised him without jokes or insults to temper the real emotion. Dean thought that was probably his fault. Sam was uneasy because he knew it was hard for Dean to express himself so openly. He wished he had seen earlier in their lives how damaging his habit of self-reliance and self-control could be to both of them.
Though it did occur to him that they might not have survived so long if he had not been able to shut off his feelings and appear stronger than he was. In truth, their relationship couldn't have been so badly damaged by it. Sam was still right there with him, being exactly the brother he needed. "Thanks." he said again, "I mean it, Sam. Without you ... "
"Yeah, well, that's never gonna happen." said Sam, "I'm here. I always will be here."
Dean remembered the night he had watched Sam leave for Stanford, all their angry words echoing in his head, along with all the things he could have said, had he been less angry and less afraid. He had believed, that night, that they might never speak again. They were proud and angry and stubborn and Sam believed that Dean had chosen their father's side, just as their father was sure that Dean heard only Sam's part of the argument.
The conflict between Sam and John Winchester had flared on and off for years, fuelled by too much time apart and also, paradoxically, too much time in cramped motel rooms, breathing each other's stale air and farts, no time or space to walk away except to the parking lot.
Dean had found it stressful too and he had argued with both of them. He also had the Winchester temper and what he now knew to be the Campbell stubbornness and both had sparked trouble too easily. Sam saw leaving as the only solution and half his childhood had been wrapped up in planning how to get out and make his own life. John thought if he could just assert his authority, he could hold his family together. Dean had thought it might work, but now he suspected that five minutes of honesty and a hug might have been a better approach with Sam.
John had been afraid to show weakness in front of his children and they would always be his children, however old they were, however tall Sam grew. He'd feared they would despise him, just as Dean had always hesitated to admit that he felt inadequate to bear the Winchester name, in case they looked at him and said, "You're right. You will never be like us."
It was still so hard to be human in front of Sam, to acknowledge fear and pain to the brother for whom he still felt he had to be a superhero. Sarah always told him, there was nothing he could say that would make Sam think less of him and that was turning out to be true. He had confessed to the lasting damage Hell had done to him, to his fears and insecurities and now to the mess that Michael had left in his head, his brokenness and his shame.
Saying it had been almost impossible. He still didn't know how he had managed to force it out. He suspected that was Sam's doing, all that aggressive listening he had done, repeatedly telling Dean to speak, refusing to allow a change of subject. Even as he had spoken it all, Dean had been watching for the change in his brother's expression, for the look of pity or disdain. Neither had appeared. In fact, Sam had seemed relieved and grateful, awed by the trust Dean was placing in him, determined to support him through everything.
When Sam had left for Stanford, it had felt like a bereavement. Even though they might well meet again and Sam, being Sam, might be civil and reasonable if they met without their father present, they would never again be a family. Words had been said by all three that would never be forgotten and those words, none of which he could repeat in any discussion with his father, had settled as a weight on his chest as he lay sleepless and silent in his bed.
He had hated himself, then and later, for not knowing the words he could say to make Sam stay. John was angry with him too, even saying at times, "You should have tried harder to reason with him. You know he only listens to you." At the time, it had felt like his failure alone. If he had said the right thing, obviously, Sam would have settled into their weird, nomadic life and he would have kept the family together, which had been his job as far back as he could remember.
But he had lived a long time with the memories of that discordant childhood and he now looked at them with adult eyes, as much as anyone can ever see their own childhood without being, once more, the wounded child. He understood his father better and knew that the words had never been intended to hurt him as they did. They were John's way of torturing himself, pushing away the son of whose love he felt so unworthy, saying aloud what he had always feared: that Sam had always stayed for Dean, not for him.
"Are you okay?" said Sam and Dean realised that he hadn't spoken for some time and that Sam could see the tears in his eyes.
"Just tired." he said, automatically. Then, seeing Sam's shoulders stiffen as he recognised the unmistakable aroma of prime bull, he said, "Habit."
"I know." said Sam.
"I was just thinking of the old days. When you left us for Stanford."
"I would give anything to go back and change that." said Sam.
"I wish I could go back and say what I should have said, that I was proud of you and that you had a right to live your own life."
"Dean, everything that happened needed to happen."
"Destiny?" said Dean.
"No, not destiny. It's just, who we are grew out of what we did and what happened to us. You know, at Stanford, I wanted to call you all the time. I wanted to apologise for the things I said. I wanted to thank you for all the times you took my side. I wanted to hear your voice and know you were okay."
"I wasn't okay."
"No, I know you weren't, but at the time, I thought maybe you'd forgotten me or decided I wasn't worth remembering. I let you down. I always let you down in those days." Sam grinned, "And a lot of times since."
"Never." said Dean.
"I could never call you. I wanted to, but I couldn't."
"Because you thought I didn't care?"
"Because I knew you could make me go back and I knew things would never change between me and Dad."
"They did, though, didn't they?"
"Don't worry, I love him now. I don't know if you've noticed, but we Winchesters sometimes suck at showing affection."
"Yeah, I did notice that." said Dean.
"But some of us are getting better at it." said Sam.
"Which saves a lot of door-slamming and running to California."
"And which means, when one of us needs some support, it's available and it always will be available." said Sam.
"I appreciate that. I do. It's just still not easy to admit that I'm not invulnerable. Especially to you. I kinda miss the days you thought I was a hero."
"I never stopped thinking that." said Sam.
"Well, I did."
"How are you feeling?" said Sam.
"Damned if I know."
"Okay, let's keep it simple. How do you feel about Cas right now?"
Dean thought about it. He felt no rising hostility, no suspicion, only concern. "I'm just worried about him and Jules." said Dean, "Probably stupid. I'm sure they're fine. Do you think they're fine?"
"I don't know." said Sam and Dean was grateful not to be offered some glib assurance. Sam went on, "The no text thing is worrying. She knew he was going through a lot today and usually, she sends a few texts to let him know she's thinking of him."
"She could be busy." said Dean hopefully.
"She could be busy." Sam agreed.
"Do you think he'll tell us if something is wrong?"
Sam smiled at him. "We'll make sure he does. It's good to know you care about him so much. That's another black eye for Michael. You're winning."
Dean nodded briefly. "Not alone." he said, not trusting himself to say more.