Dean stopped the car and stared at the small door, the light bulb flickering next to it. Relax. He told himself. This is a college dorm. The lights are old, not possessed.
Sam was behind that door. That's all there was separating him from his little brother. A simple slab of wood. Dean kicked down many doors in his lifetime, but this was the most threatening one of all.
It didn't just keep him out of Sam's room… it kept him out of Sam's life. And Sam had been the one to close and lock it.
It wasn't that he thought Sam wouldn't let him in… it was that Sam wouldn't let him in. That's what worried him the most. He was scared to see the look on Sam's face when he saw his brother. Would it be, "Oh my gosh! Dean, how are you? Come in, sit, tell me how you've been." Or would it be, "what do you want? You want to drag me into hunting again and ruin what little of a future I have left. Thanks, but no thanks, jerk." He figured it would probably be the second one.
Dean knew that's what he would say to himself if he were Sam.
Dean always knew Sam was destined for greater things. All Dean had to look forward to was an incredibly spectacular death at the hands of something… or maybe the spectral tentacles, of something most people didn't even know existed. He wondered if Sam would go to his funeral.
He doubted Sam would even know. He'd probably grow up and on his son's eighteenth birthday when he got curious and decided to find his long lost uncle he'd discover he'd been dead going on twenty years. And Sam would shrug and say, "That's a shame. Dean was a pretty nice brother."
Dean had worked himself into a shallow insanity pit with thoughts like these. Though deep in his heart he knew Sam loved him, it almost hurt him less to make up these stories.
If Sam hated him he knew he wasn't as worried. He didn't sit up at night worrying about Dean the way Dean did for him. He didn't have that constant lurch in his stomach every the phone rang or he turned on the news thinking just maybe he'd lost his brother and his best friend. Well… physically lost them. They'd all ready lost each other in more ways than one, but losing Sammy physically… well… Dean would lose himself.
If only Sam knew. If only he knew how much Dean missed him. He missed those sharp comments that normally flew directly over his head. He missed Sam pacing around the house, picking up last night's dinner dishes huffing about them being disgusting slobs under his breath. He missed Sammy's concerned face when he got hurt. He missed Sammy's warm hand always wrapping around his when those monsters got particularly feisty and Dean ended up down for the count. He missed yanking his hand away and calling Sam a bitch. Hell, he even missed Sam and his father fighting like an old married couple about every little thing. Nit picking and nit picking until the slight marks of a disagreement had festered into open, gaping wounds.
Damn it, he just missed his little brother. Words couldn't describe it. Sam was his missing piece… well one of them.
As Dean opened the door he told himself that this was the first step to completing the puzzle.
Can I assume you know when that takes place? Before Dean "breaks" in to Sam's apartment. :) Thanks for reading. Now, press that blue-purple button and review for me puh-lease. REVIEWERS: THANKS THANKS THANKS THANKS. non-reviewers; thanks