"Seriously. Thank you."

The unfathomable gratitude in his brother's tone fed what had been the dying embers of fury in Dean. The depth and sincerity of it wasn't meant for the sandwich alone. Dean was not going to let Sam use his grilled cheese as a metaphor for everything he'd ever done for him. Not only was that absurd but it was utterly unnecessary for two reasons. One, Sam wasn't going to die. Second, you don't thank your brother for doing shit brothers are supposed to do.

Sam shouldn't have thanked him unless it was a disingenuous snipe. Dean would've been able to handle that because that was his brother. That was Sam acting on all four cylinders: fighting, getting digs in at Dean like he was going to live long enough to apologize for them later. Sam was a stubborn entitled asshole that refused to take no for an answer, not a frail loser with a martyr complex.

Dean knew exactly where to hit if he wanted to get Sam there. He'd have to pull back the curtain a little earlier than he'd have liked but then again maybe not. Sam was either in full recovery (please God, Dean thought) or Dean was pressing the window of opportunity to have this out with Sam before he'd have to triage any new symptoms at the same time. Now was as good of a time as any and really, the sooner the better.

Dean turned to look at Sam for a second, nearly snarling his reply.

"Hey it's my job, right?" he said bitingly and moved to slam the door behind him.

"Dean!" Sam shouted back. "Come back here!" He demanded, his voice strong and irate. Good, Dean thought as he swiftly turned on his heel and re-entered Sam's room.

"What?" Dean locked eyes with Sam. Oh yeah. Sam was angry.

Sam wished dearly he could stand up, get in Dean's face. Instead he had to remain in bed, the tray of cooling grilled cheese in his lap, looking for all the world like death warmed over, a full on zombie given his wet, tangled hair and gaunt face. Sam was sure Dean would be laughing at his expense right now if he wasn't returning the fire in Sam's eyes with his own.

Sam always lost their staring contests. He looked around the room helplessly, gestured to the tray and finally looked up at Dean, desperation starting to mingle in with his frustration and anger.

"What the hell, man? I'm sorry I made the stupid joke about hospice care thing, okay? But-"

"That's not it, Sam."

"Well what is it because I don't know how to fix this otherwise. It's like you're fighting with air right now and I have no idea how-"

"No idea how to what, huh? How to settle out with me? You want to die knowing we're cool, Sam?"

"Yes!" Sam shouted, exasperated. Dean glared at his brother, silently promising that wasn't going to happen. "Dean, we're almost there. Don't you get it?!" Sam's cheeks flushed even though the rest of him was practically freezing.

Dean studied his brother for a second, then theatrically clapped his hands and opened them out to his brother's place on the bed.

"Yeah you know what? I get it now, actually," he said, plastering a fake smile onto his face, his gestures taking on a sarcastically charismatic appeal. "We're good, Sam. Totally good," Dean cut the air wide with his palm. "No problems. Nothing."

"Oh man, seriously?" Sam started, disgusted, "Don't give me that shit. This is so-"

"No, really, Sam. You just keep on with what you're doing. Just give me a call when you need anything. I'll let you know if Kevin comes by with the third trial," Dean paused, exaggerating the second thought that occurred to him, "Oh - that is, if you're even still alive. Now you've got my blessing to die, you're all set to go right now."

"Dean..." Sam tried weakly, suddenly too shaken by Dean's words. His brother's flippancy towards his death paired with the acid in his words ate at Sam's defenses. Dean wouldn't - couldn't possibly - hate him for dying. It was out of his control. Neither of them knew what would happen.

"Yeah," Dean nodded along with his own thoughts. He huffed, licked his lips and shook his head. "That's you, isn't it?" Dean tilted forward, unconsciously moving like he was getting under Sam's skin just as much as he knew his words were. "Just gonna go quietly into the night." He finished softly, his contempt sliding out smooth and steady.

Sam's head was spinning. No, he didn't want to die but if he did...

"Sam!" Dean yelled, making Sam flinch.

"No," Sam replied carefully, his voice so controlled that it came off low and flat.

It sure as hell didn't sound like resolve to Dean.

"Mm... No," Dean repeated, dragging Sam's monosyllabic answer out disdainfully. "You sure about that?"

"Y-yes," Sam stuttered, feeling like Dean was ripping this out of him, making him feel like shit for truly not knowing the answers. Dean didn't know them either so why the hell was he demanding Sam to respond with a sense of certainty over things both of them knew they could only hope for?

Dean sneered. "Really?" He asked skeptically. "I mean, hell. You're so ready..." Dean paused, looking around the room, then back to Sam, eyes narrowed. "Do you even want me around? I could just step away altogether. Let you die in peace, right? You've got my approval now. We're fine. Right?"

Sam felt his eyes start to water, that pierce in his sinuses before full-fledged tears. He had to look down at his food before Dean could see. He bit down hard on his lip as he inhaled a shaky breath. Another chill blew through him.

"Do you even want to complete the third trial, Sam?" Dean whispered cuttingly and waited for Sam's answer. He didn't miss the tear that fell from Sam's face onto the tray.

Shit.

"Yes," Sam whispered at the tray. A knot had formed in Sam's throat, suspending the ability to say anything steadily at a normal tone.

"What? I didn't quite hear you!"

"Yes!" Sam cried back, his voice shattered. He gasped tears back but he stared right back at his brother, puffy, smudged eyes slit with hate.

"Good. Well that's great." Dean offered snidely. "Death always comes into it somehow with you though, Sam. So after, are ya gonna die? Is that what you expect?"

"I don't know," Sam shouted, red-faced, cheeks glistening with tears.

"Well shit. Is it gonna happen before or after the last trial, Sam? I'm just asking because you're prepping like you know so it'd really help me out." Dean's voice dripped with contempt, his anger boiling into something more - something that needed a target. "You know, seeing as I'll be able to finally rip off the fucking burden of hospice care, right?" he screamed. Dean had balled his hands into fists awhile ago but it wasn't enough. He whipped around for something to punch, found the wall, and slammed into it at every emphasized word: "-For my poor, fucking useless piece of shit little brother!" Dean shouted, scattering paint and bruising plasterboard, eyes bright with rage. Sam flinched at every hit and couldn't keep it together when Dean finished his last two words.

Sam broke and covered his face with his hands. His whole body felt frozen but it was nothing compared to the pain of Dean's outrage.

Dean seethed, staring at the beaten wall and listening to Sam's desolate sobs behind him.

The two of them remained silent for awhile, not saying anything to each other. The room's ventilation seemed to roar loudly in the midst of it. The heat was working on full blast.

Dean regained control, his anger draining and regret surfacing. His fist stung. It was a little bloody. He'd have to wrap it.

That had been inappropriate.

Dean's stomach roiled and bile threatened to rise up. Dean bent over, panting, as he pressed his palms against the wall, steadying himself so he wouldn't throw up.

Sam could barely see, his vision blurry from tears and though he desperately wanted to read Dean his own riot act, he was too exhausted, too cold, and too ruined to get anything coherent out.

Dean let out an audible sigh. He wanted to acknowledge his mistakes right now but he was too raw to actually do it.

"Listen Sam," he said to the wall, unable to face his brother. "You either live like you want to live or live like you want to die. S'up to you. I'll be on the radio," he finished quietly.

Sam swallowed and hiccuped, wanting to respond before Dean left but Dean was too fast. He gently shut the door behind him, cutting Sam off from any possible retort.

The cold seeping through Sam's shuddering frame had been the last thing on either of their minds.

His shakes so much worse now and his appetite gone, Sam managed to get the tray off him and onto the floor. He pulled the blankets up and over his head so he could cry his way to a restless sleep.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading - please comment/review if you can spare the time! xoxo Alex