8.
As Long As Someone'll Bleed
Sam sat on the edge of his bed, once again staring at the blank TV, lost in thought. I had a plan. I got close. He couldn't believe it, couldn't comprehend that Dean could even be capable of considering taking the life of an innocent human being. If he could contemplate murder, what else could he do?
"Were you telling the truth back there?" he asked as Dean stepped out of the bathroom, followed closely by a cloud of steam.
"What?"
"Did you actually have a plan? Could you really consider…?"
Dean sighed, sitting down in the chair in the corner of the room and hanging his head. "You tell me you would have done things different. I didn't know if we would ever leave town, Sam, and each day it got worse. I didn't know what to do. It got to the point that it was so bad… it was either her or me."
Sam stared at him. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that… if dad had been around more to raise you… if I didn't think you needed me as much as I did… we might not be having this conversation right now."
The younger man gaped at his brother, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. A sudden image rushed unbidden to the front of his mind. His brother, maybe 23 years old, sitting alone in a motel room, waiting to hear from their father, knowing that the older man wasn't coming back, that Sam didn't need him any more, just looking at the gun in his hand, wanting to end the pain.
"No."
"Look, it's no big deal."
"No big deal? Dean, she… she messed up your entire life. What are you talking about, it's no big deal? She almost turned you into a murderer."
Dean shook his head. "I kill things all the time."
"Yeah, but not human things. Not," he paused, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat, "not yourself."
"I'm fine now. Really."
"No, you're not. Dean-"
"I thought we agreed not to turn this into a thing."
"Well, I'm making it a thing. Dean, if you had killed her back then, if you had killed yourself, I don't know what I would have done."
"Why do you think I didn't? Huh? Why do you think I didn't waste her? Why do you think I didn't off myself, even when I wanted to? Even when I was alone? Huh? You really think I wanted to live like that? You really think I enjoy going through life knowing that I'm some kind of freak that everyone leaves? You think it's easy to trust people? Hell, Sam, I half expected you to start calling me Goodwill after the other night."
Sam blinked. "You really think I'd do that?"
Dean shrugged. "Why not?"
"Well, I like to think I'm nicer than that."
"Yeah," Dean snorted, "some nice guy, going off to college and leaving me to rot." He stood up. "I've gotta take a shower."
"But you just-" Sam started. He was cut off by the sound of the bathroom door slamming as his still-wet brother ignored him.
Laying back on the bed, Sam sighed. That conversation hadn't gone quite the way he'd hoped it would. Worse yet, Dean had said some stuff Sam was sure he'd hate revealing in the morning. As far as the younger man was concerned, there was only one thing he could do to make it up to his brother.
He got up and grabbed the car keys from the dresser. He had a debt to pay.
o0o0o0o0o0o
"Sam!" Sam jumped awake as the sound of his name being yelled by his favorite, apparently very pissed, older brother echoed through the small room. "What the hell did you do with all my clothes?"
Sam blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked around. Dean was clad in only his boxers and a tee shirt, digging through the duffle bag and making some irritated grunting noises.
The younger man grinned, pumping himself up for the big reveal. Dean had been asleep when he'd snuck back into the room around midnight with his bag of purchases.
"Well?" Dean demanded, spinning around to glare at his brother. "What? Wipe that grin off your face."
"Sorry," Sam said happily, rolling out of bed, "can't."
"And why the hell not?"
"Because I wanted to apologize for last night."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, let's just forget about this hellhole of a town, all right? Wipe the slate clean. You're not a little bitch, and I'm not suicidal. Happy?"
Sam frowned as he walked to the closet and pulled the doors open. There was something about the way his brother was talking that he didn't like, something about the almost conversational tone, like it was everyday thing to consider killing yourself.
Deciding to worry about it later, Sam reached into the closet and pulled out a couple of plastic bags from the local superstore. Smiling, he held them out to his brother.
"What's that supposed to be?" Dean asked, taking the bags.
"Just look," Sam shrugged.
Sighing, Dean opened up one of the bags. His eyes went wide as he pulled out a band new black tee shirt. He looked up at Sam.
The younger man shrugged again. "I saw you looking at something like that after our last hunt. I just thought-"
"You followed me?"
"I just wanted to know what was taking so long."
"You followed me?"
"I didn't get it until now."
"You…"
"Hey, let's not make a thing out of it, ok? Besides, I owe you."
Dean dropped the shirt back into the bag. "What do you mean?"
"I remembered what you and dad were fighting about. Thanks."
The older man grinned, pulling a shirt and a pair of jeans out of the bag. "Man, Reese Witherspoon's got nothing on us."