Room to Breathe

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Dean or Sam, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Chapter 5

"I need you Dean."

The words were meant to save Dean, to tie him irrevocably to Sam. Yesterday they would have. Tonight… tonight they were the catalyst with the power to sever their ties of brotherhood, of family. The ties Sam had always believed, without a doubt, Dean would never allow to be imperiled.

A bitter snort came from Dean, a smirk hinging on malice turned up his lips and he gave a shake of his head. Sam admitting that he needed him! How long had he wanted to hear that from Sam, needed to hear it, had naively thought it would right all the wrongs in his life. Now his brother's words were the equivalent to tossing a gasoline can onto a three alarm fire. Everything was ablaze, making Dean think favorably upon undergoing another electrocution. The time for him to protect Sam was over, it had to be, he was not longer equal to the task or even worthy of it. Their Bender escapade made that truth brutally evident.

Dean drew comfort knowing, in his heart, that Sam did not need him. After all, who truly needed or wanted a Judas in their life, ready to betray them for thirty pieces of silver…or to retain an eye. No, such betrayers had a part to play but once their scene was done, they scampered off to the credits, never to steal the spot light again from the hero. 'And I've been telling myself I was the hero! Ain't that pathetic?'

"You don't need me Sam," his voice gruff, bitter, his eyes daring Sam to refute his acknowledgement. "You haven't needed me since you turned fourteen."

Unprepared for Dean's denial, Sam stammered, "What? Dean….no…"

"Don't lie just because you feel sorry for me," the edge in Dean's voice like another knife to Sam's throat.

"Sorry for you!" Sam repeated incredulously. "Dean, I meant what I said."

A sardonic smile tipped up Dean's lips, his tone reprimanding and hard. "I'm not dying anymore, Sam, so cut the crap."

Sam felt his chest tighten painfully. How could Dean talk about his death so cavalierly! Like he believed it wouldn't have fazed Sam, wouldn't have shattered him forever, like Sam had already relegated his brother's failing heart to a long forgotten memory that no longer evoked a response. "Don't say that," Sam growled half in warning and half in plea.

"Say what? Dying or crap?" No levity glimmered in Dean's eyes at the barb. Instead a look of seriousness, of finality settled in his green eyes.

Instinctively Sam knew he did not want to hear his brother's next words, fearing that they would destroy the life he knew. "Let's get you off the floor," he cut in to the moment's silence. Forgetting his brother's previous skittish reaction, Sam boldly closed the distance between them. Laying one hand on his brother's knee while the other gripped Dean's forearm, he expected Dean to readily abandon his weakened position on the floor even if it meant getting help from Sam to gain his feet.

Feeling as if his chance to save Sam was slipping through his fingers, Dean, unmoving, met Sam's eyes head on. "We both know this isn't working," the quiet words like an explosion in the room. With desperate resolve Dean forced the rest of the words past his clenched jaw. "Us. Together." Sadness marked his next statement. "We spend more time taking each other apart than we do the bad guys, Sam."

Sam could not breathe, could not smother down the pain threatening to burn his soul to ashes. Unable to speak, he shook his head in refusal.

"And I'm tired of it," Dean's voice cracked, his eyes pleading for a reprieve from the pain he no longer could bare, his body near collapse. "You wanna go, then go."
"I don't want to go," Sam instantly protested, his voice tight with emotions. "I told you it's just you and me…we'll see this thing through together."

Together! Dean, convinced that Sam staying with him would be a death sentence for his brother, desolately accepted the path he had to travel. Shoving Sam away, watching as his brother lost his balance and fell back onto the floor, Dean challenged with a ruthlessness he had never unleashed on Sam before, "What thing! Your revenge trip!"

With scorn Dean taunted, "It won't solve anything Sam, killing the thing that killed Jess." Then Dean flung his brother's words from the bridge in Jericho, California back at him. "Just like you said about Mom, even if we do find what killed her, Jess is still gone and she isn't coming back."

Sam's blood ran cold at Dean's words…no, at his own words. They were so callous, so selfish, so cruel. He couldn't believe he had said them about his own mother, aloud to his own brother. 'Dean's right, he's been right all along. I'm a selfish bastard, the only feelings I care about are my own.' Sitting up again, Sam breathed out, "Dean, I'm sorry…", struggling to keep the sob from breaking free.

Stunned to be the recipient of Sam's remorseful apology instead of his anger, Dean resolved to take their dialogue to another level. A level that would ensure Sam's safety even as it sealed Dean to being without his brother, probably forever. "Sorry for what?" a deadly challenge gleamed in Dean's gaze. "For tossing Mom away because, to you, the way she died makes her some freak in a horror movie and that doesn't fit into the "normal" life you want! Because you feel that she failed you by dying! Go back to Stanford where you belong, Sam."

Swinging from shame to hurt to anger, Sam nearly shouted, "I'm not going to quit until we find Dad!"

Dean snorted, "Dad! Now I'm supposed to believe you've putting off your "future on a platter" out of some worry you have for him. You didn't even want to spare a freakin' weekend away from your "safe" life to search for him when I showed up, worried that he was dead. So don't tell me it's about taking responsibility for Dad's "crusade" or your love for the old man. It's all about revenge with you. You and the old man, so alike." A bitter laugh accompanied his shake of his head. "Nothing else matters to you two but getting what you want."

"All I've done on this road trip is to do what you want!" Sam yelled, climbing to his feet to tower over his seated brother.

Tilting his head up so his eyes could bore into Sam's, Dean dangerously countered, "You have no idea what I want, Sam. None."

"You dragged me along to search for dad like you were five years old and now you want me as far away from you as I can get. Do you have any idea what you want, Dean! I mean really, without Dad here giving you orders, do you know what to think, how to feel?"

"I want you to get away from me," Dean's tone deadly and sharp enough to cut diamonds. Sam would never suspect the demand was devised to protect him, not when Dean's true reasons for his statement remained masked behind the anger he let reflect from his eyes and roll off his soul.

Pushing down his hurt, Sam let his anger answer Dean's request. "Just like that, huh? Beg me to come alone, to stay with you and now kick me to the curb," beginning to pace in front of his seated brother.

"I was wrong about you," Dean's voice was thick and low like control was slipping away from him.

The statement froze Sam in place. "What are you talking about?"

With a sigh, Dean rested his head back against the bed, his eyes so dark they seemed black as they focused on Sam. "I thought there was some part of Sammy still alive in you."

Sam tilted his head and bit his lip as his brother's sorrowful words lanced into him.

Dean continued, knowing the hurt he was about to inflict, convincing himself that it was for Sam's own good. "Some part of you that still gave a damn about Dad, about me, about Mom. I almost had myself believing that the past four years were tough on you, because you missed your family, no matter how little." He gave a scornful laugh, "I told myself that if you knew Dad needed you, that I needed you, you would have been there for us. You would have skipped out on taking exams, writing papers, shacking up with Jess to protect your family. You would have been there to help me remove two bullets from Dad so he wouldn't die, if you had only known. That you would have answered my phone call two years ago if you only knew my insurance cut out and I got booted out of the hospital while I was still too messed up to even walk and Dad was no where to be found." He shook his head but no humor was in the gesture. "And I thought you were good at running from reality. Must run in the family," his tone coated with self disgust.

Sam was left standing, bleeding and broken, his breath coming hard and fast. Dean's censure was everything he deserved and his revelations of the past four years bared every fear Sam had to the bone. Where did he go from here? How could he make amends for what he had done…and not done, said and not said!

Drawing in a breath, Dean raised his head from the mattress, "You certainly didn't need me in the past four years Sam. And I don't need you now. I'll call you when Dad tracks down what killed Jess. I won't stand in the way of your revenge, yours or Dad's." Pulling out his wallet with a wince of pain, he tossed it to Sam, who numbly caught it. "Take the credit card or if that hurts your honor code, take the cash. There should be enough cash to get you a bus ride back to Stanford."

"You really want me to go," Sam choked out, his hurt, his devastation unmasked.

"Yes, I do," Dean's voice was steady, firm, cold. 'Go before I get you killed, Sammy.' Dean nearly flinched as he recalled the report of the gunshot in his nightmare all over again. "Go home, Sam," he lowly ordered, dropping his head down onto his knees.

'Home', the word echoed in Sam's head, cutting him to the quick. It hurt hearing Dean label Stanford as his home. To Sam, his true home had always been Dean. A home he thought he would always be welcome to…even when he didn't reciprocate the invitation. Suddenly he felt like he had lost everything and everyone he had ever loved.

In defeat, Sam pulled the cash from the wallet, never contemplating taking the credit card because he knew his brother had need of it. He held the wallet out to Dean but Dean remained unmoving, his head still resting on his knees. Placing the wallet on the bed, Sam walked to the door. "I'll leave in the morning," he said as he pulled the door shut behind him.

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As the door clicked shut behind Sam, Dean knew he had heard worse sounds in his life but right now he just didn't know when. Tightly wrapping his arms around his knees, Dean huddled there on the floor, broken, alone and victorious. Sam was going to leave, Dean wasn't going to get his brother killed. He would protect him…by letting him walk away tomorrow and never seeing him again.

"I win," he drawled, his voice rough and seemingly loud in the empty room even muffled as it was. 'Don't even think about crying, freak,' he contemptuously warned himself, desperately trying to lock away his ragged emotions, to ignore the tightness in his chest, to dismantle the sob crawling up his throat, choking him. He didn't cry, that was his Dad and Sammy's department, never his. He was the strong one, he had to be, people got hurt if he wasn't strong, if he allowed any weakness to worm its way past his barriers.

As they had so many times in the past month, the preacher's words came back to him, condemning him to his fate. "I saw a young man with an important job to do and it's not done." His hunting days were not done, he knew they would not be done until he took his last breath. But Sammy's hunting days were limited. His brother had one battle yet to wage, one revenge mission to fulfill and then he would walk away, forever, right into that story book life he wanted, deserved. 'Sammy won't share my fate. And that's enough of a happy ending for me.' Dean concluded, feeling some of the anguish melt away at the thought.

Lifting his head and letting it again rest back on the mattress, Dean pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket along with his lighter. Deftly he put the cigarette in his mouth, lit it and drew in the cancer causing nicotine with satisfaction. With his lifestyle, he figured it wasn't like he was going to live long enough to get cancer and smoking in a non-smoking room didn't even give him pause. Now he thought it strange that Sam actually thought the sign would stop him. 'Sam thought you wouldn't break the rule because he clearly didn't want you to,' came to him like a bullet. "Sammy, Sammy. Such misplaced faith in me," he drawled hoarsely, taking in another deep drag from his cigarette.

The cigarette nearly fell from his fingers when Sam, without warning, stalked back into his motel room and came to a halt in front of him.

"For four years you had all the room to breathe you could ask for," Sam stated, his voice steady, his stance like granite, his eyes blazing with unshakable resolve. "I hope it was long enough because it's going to have to last you. I'm not going anywhere, Dean."

Stunned at the turn of events that was stealing away his victory, Dean couldn't even formulate a suitable come back, could only stare at his little brother in confusion. Why was Sam back, why wasn't he in his room cursing Dean's name to the rafters!

At Dean's silent shock, Sam, not looking a gift horse in the mouth, snatched the cigarette from Dean's hand. "You getting lung cancer, I can't handle," he said, as he took the few steps to the bathroom and with an angry toss, sent the cigarette into the commode before returning to stand over Dean. Reaching into his own pocket, Sam dropped a bag of peanut M&Ms on his brother's drawn up knees. "Stick with getting cavities."

Having gathered together his scattered thoughts, Dean accused, "Can't you do one thing I ask, Sam? One thing!"

"Sure," Sam, crouching down, let his eyes fall level with Dean's before he continued, "ask me to do anything but walk away from you and I'll do it, Dean. You want me to die for you, I will. You want me to kill for you, give me the gun. But what I won't do is leave you alone again. So don't ask me to." His eyes as resolute as Dean had ever seen them.

"If you won't leave, then I will," Dean growled back, turning to the side, a hand on the bed, he struggled to get his feet under him. But his body was listening to his demands as well as Sam was.

Sam's heart broke as Dean's strength faltered. Instantly Sam was at Dean's back, wrapping his arms around his brother, cushioning his fall, holding him against his chest. "Dean," he pleaded, his voice breaking on his brother's name, his head leaning against Dean's. "Don't do this. Don't punish me like this."

Hearing Sam in pain was Dean's Achilles heel, he didn't have it in him to turn a deaf ear to it now. "Sam, I'm not punishing you, I'm trying to protect you!"

"Protect me from what? From who?" Sam demanded, tightening his hold when Dean made a token struggle to be released.

"From me!" Dean shot back angrily, frustrated that his plan had been scattered to the four winds.

"From you!" Sam said in disbelief and exasperation, releasing Dean only to slip around him to face him, his hands latching onto Dean's arms to keep him in place. "What are you talking about Dean?"

Clenching his jaw, Dean looked away. He had said too much already.

Suddenly fear mixed with Sam's confusion and frustration. He gave Dean a shake, "Talk to me Dean," he demanded, feeling as if his brother was slipping away from him before his eyes. His hand shot out to grasp his brother's jaw and turned it forward, forcing Dean to once again face him. "I'm not going anywhere Dean. And neither are you. For once in your life you're going to open up to me."

Sam's stubbornness Dean had never doubted but now he knew, firsthand, what a formidable weapon it was to build a defense against. "Sam, let it go."

"No, not this time!" Sam replied. "There has never been a time I needed to be protected from you! Never, Dean. Never."

Suddenly the solution was so clear to Dean. The truth was the sharpest weapon he had, the best weapon to salvage this building disaster. The truth would set Sam free to walk away from him, without guilt or misplaced loyalty.

"I picked you, Sam," Dean confessed, his voice low but steady, his eyes holding Sam's.

Confusion hued Sam's reply, "Picked me for what, Dean?" as he let his hand drop from Dean's bruised jaw.

'To die,' sprang to Dean's mind but he needed to swallow three times before he could force his mouth open and even then the words wouldn't come.

Dean's raw vulnerability cut Sam to the core and he loosened his hold on his brother's arm. Abandoning his crouch, Sam settled onto the floor Indian style and soothed, "Just take your time, Dean. I'm not going anywhere."

"You should," Dean croaked, dropping his eyes to the floor.

Sam's barriers were not made to endure such gales of anguish from his seemingly invincible brother. It took Sam a few moments to check his own emotions enough to talk. "The Benders, they did something to you, didn't they?" his voice nearly breaking in anguish and guilt.

"I made the wrong choice, Sam," Dean's voice was broken, wretched as his head stayed lowered.

Bending his head in an attempt to see his brother's face, Sam gently pressed, "What choice, Dean?"

Bitter self hatred hued Dean's next words. "I thought you'd have a chance…that's all I could do for you. I screwed up, Sam." Dean's hands once again came up to bracket his bowed head. "I screwed up."

"How! By getting caught! Dean that wasn't your fault! I know I kidded you about the girl…"

Dean's words cut across Sam's refute, "You wouldn't have been there if it weren't for me." And Dean's head came up, his pain filled eyes lancing into Sam's very soul. "You'd be back at Stanford, with your girl, with your life intact."

"Dean, it's not your fault for the way things turned out. I don't blame you for Jess!" Sam's tone implored Dean to listen, to accept his words as truth.

"We're better off apart, Sam. You know that in your gut, same as me."

Before all Dean's words were out, Sam began shaking his head. "No! It's splitting up that nearly gets us killed…every time! The shape shifter, the truck, your electrocution, my kidnapping, the scarecrow, each time we split up, things go to hell."

"You were fine when I went to Burkinsville, safe."

"Safe! I almost lost my brother! Damn it Dean, what happens to you, affects me!"

"I told them to hunt you," Dean announced without forewarning, his eyes remaining steady on Sam, forcing himself to watch as the love Sam had for him winked out. Sam blinked at the change in topic but didn't react otherwise. "They were gonna put the poker to my eye if I didn't choose who they would hunt, you or Kathleen." As steady as he could, Dean revealed. "I chose you."

Sam rent the air with a curse and surged to his feet, his long legs eating up the room's length back and forth quickly.

"I…I thought I was giving you the best chance to survive, Sam," Dean stammered, wanting, needing Sam to know that what he had done was out of love. "You have to believe that. I didn't know they were gonna shoot you in your cell, I didn't know that! I know you can't forgive me…"

Having stumbled to a stop as his brother began stammering out his apology, Sam now quickly bent down, his hand again catching his brother's jaw and forcing his head up so the brothers' eyes met. "I'm not mad at you, Dean! I'm furious at those bastards! Who burned you? Was it the father or the sons?" a deadly edge to his voice, the dark depths of which Dean had never heard from Sam before.

"Didn't you hear me, Sam? I betrayed you," Dean growled.

"You stupid thick headed jerk, you didn't betray me!" Sam refuted with love in his eyes. "You gave me the best odds to survive! In or out of that cage."

Dean tilted his head, "You're not mad at me?" his voice breathless, Sam's absolution was too much to hope for, certainly more than he would ever deserve.

"Yeah I'm mad," Sam replied but his voice was light and a smile was fighting to turn up his lips. "You made me go through all this chick flick crap just to learn what I already knew." With that, Sam claimed a seat beside his brother. With his shoulder touching Dean's, he pulled his knees up to his chest, rested his back against the bed, his position mirroring his brother's as their eyes remained fixed on one another.

Raising a questioning eyebrow at his brother, Dean waited for Sam to complete his thought.

A wide smile lit up Sam's face. "You're still the big dumb hero of the story," he said, daring to snake his right hand out to ruffle his brother's spiked hair affectionately.

TBC (One more chapter to go!)

Thanks for reading!

Cheryl W.