Love Means Never Having to Say You're Hurting
K Hanna Korossy
Dean lasted a few minutes longer than Sam had expected him to.
"Okay, but here's what I don't get."
Even knowing it was coming, Sam sighed with exasperation and tilted his head at his driving brother to give him a seriously? look.
Dean either didn't notice or didn't care. "When the sheriff was sayin' we should tell everybody what's out there so they could protect themselves, you were all, no, that wouldn't help—people die even if they know. Yeah, okay, isn't our usual angle, but fair point."
Sam rolled his head back and stared at the Impala's ceiling. Which, black interior at night time, wasn't much to look at.
"But then when the sheriff wasn't sure what to tell his kid about the 'coyote' that ate his girlfriend, suddenly you're Mr. Tell-Him-the-Truth."
"What's your point?" Sam asked.
"What do you mean, what's my point?" Dean's voice rose incredulously. "My point is, which is it? Freak out the muggles, or keep 'em in the dark?"
They passed a random roadside ice cream shack, and the garish lights filled the car momentarily with color before dropping it back into shadow. "The sheriff telling his son the truth, their native lore, isn't the same as taking out an ad in the newspaper, Dean," Sam said tiredly.
Dean was quiet, but the silence between them felt charged with what he wasn't saying.
Sam straightened and lifted a hand, then dropped it back into his lap. "What're you really asking?"
Dean didn't hesitate. "You think you shoulda kept all the Apocalypse-world refugees out of hunting?"
Sam shook his head. "They'd already seen what was out there—it's not like we could stuff that genie back in the bottle."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean they had to become hunters. Charlie's thinking about quittin'."
"I didn't make them keep hunting," Sam said stiffly.
"So what's got you all puckered up then?" Dean looked over at him, challenge but no accusation in his expression. "Either the folks who got killed died because they knew too much, or because they didn't know enough. Which is it?"
Sam shook his head again, this time out of despair rather than disagreement.
"Dude." Dean's voice gentled, and Sam didn't want to look up and see the sympathy on his face. "If the civilians knew all those folk legends and fairy tales were true, they'd burn down the world. You know that. But the people we brought back, they wanted to hunt to help others like them, and thanks to you, they did. Those of us who've seen behind the curtain, we do our best in a crappy job with no pay, no thanks, and no retirement plan because most of us don't make it that far. Not teaching them how would've just gotten them killed faster. But the way they ended, that's not on you. Blame Michael. Or, hey, blame me."
"It's not your fault," Sam said instantly, finally turning to him.
"I'm the one who let Michael in."
"To save me!"
"Yeah, well, right back atcha."
Sam sat quietly, digesting. His brother was being annoyingly logical, Sam had to give him that. But it didn't lighten the darkness that had settled in him when Michael had sliced his way through the bunker.
"And you're right about Jack, okay?" Dean went on. "We'll play it safe until we know how he's really doing."
Sam nodded, rubbing at his eyes.
"Hey, Sam?"
He looked up, swallowing the lump in his throat at how Dean was looking at him, like fixing Sam was all that mattered.
"I believe in us, too, little brother."
Sam looked away so Dean couldn't see the tears in his eyes. But the thump of his brother's hand on his leg told him Dean knew anyway.
The End
