Author's Notes:

Penultimate chapter, ladies and gents. Sorry about the wait. The semester is wrapping up and I'm completely swamped.

Thanks to Ophelia, who patiently sat through the many drafts I sent her of this chapter, none of which bore much resemblance to each other. She wisely waited until I sent her one I admitted I was pleased with before making any comments, and while she didn't make many, I think this chapter turned out better for them.

Thanks to my readers. You guys rock for waiting this long.

With that, Chapter 9.

Chapter 9: Strength and Weakness

It had been about fifteen minutes, and the first words out of Sam's mouth were an apology.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean had been sitting there, in the silence, waiting for Sam to say something to start the process. Waiting for what seemed like an eternity. For blame. For tears. For anything. This was what Sam came up with? Dean had to fight—hard—not to laugh. He looked up at the wall in front of him with a thin, exasperated smile.

"For what?"

"For freaking out. You shouldn't have had to see that."

Dean could hear the shame in his brother's voice. He'd seen Sam at a weak moment, a moment no one was supposed to see. Between the nightmares and the visions, Dean had seen a lot of his brother's weak moments, though none were as bad as this. Sam was never that out of control, never that far from reality.

Or had he been far from reality? Wasn't waking up afraid of Dean perfectly rational?

"I'm okay," Dean muttered.

"C'mon man, I saw your face."

Oh, so this wasn't just the embarrassment. This was guilt too. Sam felt bad that Dean had to see the consequences of...Dean's failure to protect him. Again Dean stifled inappropriate laughter.

"Don't worry about it."

"It's just—that's not how I feel, Dean. I'm not afraid of you."

The statement was so ludicrous that Dean nearly came unglued. Yeah, Sam had seen his face. He'd seen Sam's too. Even if it was only the aftermath of a nightmare, that still meant that somewhere, deep down inside, Sam was afraid of Dean. He'd fucking seen it. Did Sam think he was blind?

"Right. You punched me out of brotherly affection."

"I'm sorr…"

"Would you stop with that, Sammy?" Dean sighed deeply, a little surprised at the volume and insistence in his own voice. "I get it. You don't want me to feel bad. But, dude, youapologizing isn't helping."

Dean's heart almost broke as he heard his brother swallow what he could only assume was another apology.

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Another few minutes passed.

"I had a nightmare Dean. Which, you know, isn't exactly weird for me." Sam found it difficult to get the words out. He knew this was hard on his brother, but dammit, it was hard on him too. Couldn't Dean give him a fucking inch? Let him say what he needed to say? He forced calm into his voice. "But now that I'm awake, I'm not scared."

"Dude. Leave it alone. God!" Dean fairly shouted. "It isn't my issues we should be talking about."

Sam fought back the wave of frustration, focusing on what he knew about the shape Dean was in. Dean wasn't making eye contact. He wasn't even looking at Sam, or in his general direction. He was sitting in his chair on the left side of Sam's bed looking at the wall in front of him. Even when Dean was repressing, he'd never needed to avoid eye contact.

He had this stone-faced expression he could use, so he could look you right in the eye and convince you he was fine even when he wasn't. It worked one everyone. Even Sam. But for some reason he couldn't manage it now. And that, more than anything, scared the shit out of Sam.

"We're not talking about your issues. We're talking about mine. And I'm telling you they're not as bad as you think."

"So I should feel better now?"

Sam didn't know what to say to that. He hadn't thought that far ahead apparently. Comforting his brother was something he didn't really have much experience with.

"Yeah," Sam mumbled weakly.

"Okay then, are we done? Can we be done with 'make Dean feel better time?'"

Sam flinched at the contempt. He still didn't have an answer, though, and Dean was closing himself off. Before Sam could think of anything, Dean spoke again.

"Sam, we're going to have to talk about this eventually."

An incredulous look blossomed across Sam's face and he practically erupted in frustration.

"Dean, I've been trying to talk to you this whole time!"

"No, Sam. You've been trying to make me feel better, not deal with your shit."

As the words hit him, Sam balled his fists against the anger boiling up inside him. He took a deep, calming breath before speaking.

"Is that what you've been waiting for? For me to open up and admit I'm not okay?" It was hard, he found, to keep this under control, to not explode at his brother. He took another breath. "Why would I do that when you won't?"

"'Cause we're not the same person, Sam." Dean's voice was paternal, and whether it was there or not, Sam couldn't help but hear condescension.

Sam winced at how much that hurt. How young and weak and small it made him feel. He couldn't contain the anger this time.

"So sensitive little Sammy needs to cry on his brother's shoulder, but big tough Dean just suffers alone? Are you my brother or a cliché from a bad cowboy movie?" Sam yelled. Dean still refused to look at him, but Sam could see the anger building in his eyes. Which, in turn, only made Sam angrier. "I'm not twelve anymore Dean as you might have noticed from the fact that I'm bigger than you…"

"Yeah, well, I'm still stronger!"

The shout sucked the air out of the room, and for the first time since he'd lifted Sam back onto the bed, Dean was looking at his brother. It was only for a moment, but Sam saw the progression clearly—anger, followed by stunned realization, then regret. Dean turned wordlessly back to the wall.

Sam felt like he'd been kicked. It was degrading, emasculating, at least in part because Sam knew it was true. In every way that mattered, Dean was stronger than him. But that didn't mean he never needed help, and his outburst was evidence of that need. Never in a million years would Dean have said something like that, something that awful, something that hurtful, unless he was flying apart at the seams. Sam shook away the tears—he wouldn't let them unman him too—and summoned what little determination he had.

"I know, Dean," Sam said, just above a whisper. "Believe me I know that."

"Sam, I didn't mean…"

Dean's voice quavered, and in that moment Sam's anger melted away.

"There are only two ways for me to take that, Dean. Either you're saying that you can beat me up, or you're saying you don't break as easy. And I'm pretty sure you didn't mean the first one."

"That's not…" Dean began. Sam cut him off.

"Yeah, it is. And however you meant it, you're right. Both of those things are true." It wasn't an easy admission. They were men—worse, they were brothers and they were competitive by nature. They measured themselves against each other. Admitting weakness, admitting Dean was stronger than him, was humiliating. So what was this strength he found in it? What was this new clarity? "But God, Dean, do you honestly think that you'll always be the one who's coping better? In every situation? All the time? How weak do you think I am?"

"Sam, I don't think you're weak." Dean started, faltering a little. "What I said before was stupid. But I didn't know what else to say. You're not okay, Sam, and I'm not dumb enough to believe you when you say you are."

"You're not okay either, Dean." The calmness in his voice surprised even him.

"Yeah, well, you're worse off than me. And not because you're weaker. You're worse off because what happened to you was worse."

Sam turned to look at his brother, who was still staring away from him, into the wall. Certainty welled inside of him, and he realized he could do this. He could be strong for Dean. He shook his head, hoping Dean could see it out of the corner of his eye.

"No it wasn't, Dean."

Dean seemed unsettled by his brother's serenity. He was breaking down, bit by bit, and was becoming agitated.

"Yes it fucking was!" Dean's voice betrayed the fear his anger couldn't conceal as he came to his feet and leaned forward, pressing his palms onto the wall.

"No it fucking wasn't," Sam replied coolly.

Dean looked caught, confused. His hands balled into fists.

"I'm not the one the demon was screwing with from the start."

"Yeah, 'cause he didn't do anything to your mind."

"I'm not the one who saw and felt everything that fucker did."

"Yeah, but now that he's dead I don't remember much of it."

"I'm not the one who got blamed for the deaths of his mother and girlfriend, got beaten, got his arm broken, ribs crushed, and stabbed by his OWN GODDAMN BROTHER." Dean spun to Sam, eyes burning with fury, with pain, with guilt. And if Sam hadn't also seen fear, it might have been intimidating.

Sam looked back up at him with sad, sympathetic eyes.

"No. That was me. But I'm not the one who's blaming him."

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Dean couldn't tolerate another second, and he tore his gaze away from Sam's gentle, compassionate eyes. It was confusing, this pain growing in his chest, this hunger to let his brother help him. To let himself be weak. Terrifying, even, because it went against everything that he was. Everything he'd ever been taught to be. He had to get out of there.

"I, uh. I need to get some air," he managed as he tried to make his way around the bed to the door.

He was shocked as Sam heaved himself over on the bed and grabbed Dean's right arm with his left hand. Dean instinctively pulled away but Sam held on, yelping in pain as his arm was extended, his ribs protesting the movement. Dean's eyes shot to his brother, guilty, terrified. Sam looked back up with pained determination.

"You're not going anywhere, Dean. Not unless you want to hurt me even more."

The tears were there, Dean could feel them building inside of him as he looked down at his brother, building even as looked away, as he tried to fight them. He was coming apart and he didn't want Sam to see it. He needed to leave.

"Please, Sammy, let me go," he whimpered, embarrassed to beg, unable to look his brother in the eye.

"No."

They stood there, for a moment, at an impasse, until Dean knew Sam wouldn't relent. He couldn't stand to hurt his brother. Not now. Not even a little. So he gave up. He reached out with his unrestrained hand and pulled his chair over next to the bed. Only after he sat down did Sam release him.

"It was my fault, Sam," Dean said resignedly.

"No, it wasn't. You're not a superhero, Dean. You may be stronger than me, but you're not so strong that you can stop something like that. All this time, did you think Ellicott only got to me because I was weaker than you?"

"No. But it had to be my fault. It's worse if it wasn't."

"Why?"

"Because if it wasn't my fault…" Dean swallowed heavily and looked down at the floor self-consciously. "If there was nothing I could do…Then that means that I can't protect you. From me."

There it was. It was a revelation for Dean. He looked up at Sam with a broken half-smirk, almost pleased that he understood himself a little better. Sam didn't look surprised, just empathetic. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"You can't, Dean."

Dean's eyes widened in surprise.

"Thanks, that's comforting, Sam," Dean snarked. Sam laughed and Dean smiled a little. For a moment they just let themselves breathe.

Then Sam turned and looked right into his eyes, open and vulnerable, and Dean saw him. Really saw him. He saw Sam's pain, his fear, his guilt. He saw how hard this was for him, how much it cost. He saw the love, unashamed and deep. And for the first time, Dean saw just how strong his little brother was.

"Dean, if you hadn't come and gotten me at college, I would be dead. I would still have had the visions, and I wouldn't have known what to do, and some evil thing would have come and killed me. Every day I live and breathe I owe to you." Sam was on the verge of tears, but so was Dean. Dean could see him will the last words out: "Even if you can't protect me from yourself, you can, and do, protect me from everything else."

That was it. That was enough.

"God, Sammy I'm so sorry," Dean whispered desperately as he looked down and cried.

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Sam reached over and grabbed his brother's head, pulling them together, and was amazed that it didn't feel weird, didn't feel awkward, even as his older brother trembled against him. He cried too, but his were tears of relief and pride. Relief that he had been able to give his brother what he needed. Pride that Dean, the strongest man he knew, had found the strength to let himself, just this once, be weak.