I'm out of the loop when it comes to writing, TV, and actually most things in general now days. This is a very rusty story coming from a very rusty writer, put up only because I feel guilty for dwelling too long in the scientific arts and neglecting anything that isn't somehow tied into chemicals and lab reports. So if I seem out of sorts- more so than usual- chalk it up to a double major in biology and biochem.
Warning: Events may be out of order… it has been a while since I've watched any season 1 episodes. May or may not make sense, depending on your grasp of reality.
After that night in the asylum, on the long ride to another sleazy hotel, Dean told Sam that he didn't blame him, even though Sam never said otherwise.
When they were settled in the dim room and Dean eased out of his shirt and Sam stole guilty looks at the smattering of bruises across his brother's chest, Dean told Sam that he was fine. They were just a little sore and that it was nothing a good night's sleep in a crappy hotel room couldn't fix. The way Dean eased himself onto the bed—chin tucked to his chest; teeth gritted underneath a calm mask—.
That night, when Sam woke up in a cold sweat in a waddling of torn up bed sheets, Dean had been the one to tell him that it was only a nightmare and that he should get some sleep because he's miserable to drive with when he goes without. Sam can only nod mutely, his mind still grasping the fringe of his night terror as he desperately tries to push the thought away. He didn't do it, he thinks forcing his breath to come in slow, steady draws. He didn't do it. The tingling in his fingertips and the phantom feeling of cool metal beneath them.
Sam smiles at Dean, a lazy pull that flashes his brother's straight, white teeth, and claps the man on his back. "I'd never leave you," Sam tells Dean, "you're stuck with me." And Dean smiles back, a sarcastic comment rolling off his tongue: "That's beautiful. Hold me."
Everything seems right between them, even though behind Sam's eyes there is still that light of psychosis. The same light that was in his eyes when he "woke up" that night in the asylum all those towns back. That mixture of fear and self-loathing and hatred and disappointment when he realized what could have happened. What he wanted to happen. And what had transpired none the less.
Even now, when Dean looks into Sam's eyes he can see his brother begging for forgiveness. He knows that the jest behind his words 'I'll never leave you' holds more weight than apparent in their light context. Sam asks Dean for his forgiveness and Dean grants it.
And Dean does his best to ignore the whispers of doubt ringing in his ears like the death cries of a bullet.
Constructive criticism please!