Author:Mirrordance
Title: One Night
Summary:He was going under the knife tomorrow. He wasn't sure if he was going to wake up. It was perfectly excusable to torment his estranged brother at Stanford for one night, wasn't it? Set Pre-Pilot, that last time Dean bothered Sam before Episode 1.
" " "
One Night
" " "
3
California
" " "
"Hey Dean," he said with that small, uneasy smile, "You look better."
Dean winced at him. Sam, on the other hand, looked worse than when the last time they saw each other.
I did that...
The nurse excused herself. Neither brother noticed.
Sam settled down on the weathered, well-used seat next to his bed. When Dean woke up fully-alert for the first time in days a few hours back, the first thing he looked at was that empty chair. He stared at it for hours, knowing immediately who had pulled it near, knowing who had been sitting there. He flipped on the TV, and found it on the news channel. There was a thick book on his night table. There were ghosts of Sam everywhere.
"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" Dean asked, gruffly.
A tell-tale pause. Sam opened his mouth to lie. Dean covered up his chance with a despairing groan.
"Sammy," he wailed, melodramatically, "You're not supposed to be doing stuff like that. What about your scholarship, dude? You're supposed to become a lawyer. We agreed already. What's gonna happen to our dreams, huh? I do the crime, you half the time..."
"Your nurse was right," Sam teased, "Doesn't whining use up a lot of air?"
So you heard us, Dean deduced, wincing again. God, this was precisely why he kept this shit to himself.
"I'm not sick anymore," Dean grumbled, "They took it away."
"They cracked your ribs and opened your chest," Sam scoffed, "Your heart stopped, Dean. They pulled a tumor from your lungs, you know, those little weird things that help you breathe."
"I'm not a fucking idiot, Sam--"
"Oh yeah?" his kid brother snapped, suddenly, and why the hell was it so easy to court that anger, "You not telling me or dad what's going on with you, what the hell was that, huh?"
"A work of pure genius," Dean replied, willing to cloud the air with bleak humor, "Until the magician's assistant pulled a dead bunny out of the hat. God, these people."
Sam looked at him angrily, and then it softened to just resigned weariness.
"Dean..." he was doing the puppy dog routine, the one that one hundred percent worked on Dean every time, "What would I have done, huh? What would I have done if that night..."
If that night was the last night I talked to you?
And I spent it buried in a book and turning you away?
"Well you don't have to think about that now," Dean pointed out, shifting, uncomfortable because the puppy dog eyes were as effective as ever, "Right? Everything's fine, I'm fine. Go to school, stop skipping classes, dude. Drop by only if you're free. I'm outta here in a few. I got it covered."
"How are we paying for all this anyway?" Sam asked.
"That's just the thing, dude," Dean smirked, "You mind toning down on the 'Dean' thing? I'm having a hard time explaining to the nurses how 'Dean' is short for Rodrigo."
"I still can't believe you're a Rodrigo Hernandez," Sam said, skeptically, because laughing about that was misplaced as hell and he was tempted like crazy to do it, "You should worry less about the nickname and more about how you look. You don't look like a Rodrigo Hernandez."
"I look good," Dean winked, "God, this guy is loaded. The insurance thing won't even dent him, I swear. And the best part is, Rodrigo has a Santino."
"Do I look like a Santino?" Sam asked, choking on a laugh he tried to smother.
"Maybe we can get you a mustache," Dean grinned.
One side of Sam's lip quirked up. "Would that help me pick up chicks?"
"But I thought you only liked other men."
"Ha," Sam said, falling into his brother again, rubbing a hand over his face, "There's this girl."
"Oh god, I gotta talk to you about the birds and the bees again?" Dean groaned, "That last time was a nightmare--"
"Shut up," Sam laughed, "Are you listening or what?"
"I am," Dean said, eyes glinting, "Go, go."
"I stood her up."
"Well you're a jerk," Dean said, pretending to be obtuse. Sam didn't mean to rub it in his face, he knew that, it was just an honest provision of information leading to a question. But Dean suddenly understood that there's only one reason Sam would stand up a girl who makes him smile like that. It was his pesky older brother and his thrice-damned tumor-ed lungs.
Cutting classes and dumping dates, Dean thought, grimly, This is what happens to you when I'm around.
"You really like this broad?"
"Um--"
"Okay so that's a yes," Dean rolled his eyes, "Then there's no trick, man. You just gotta ask her out again. And if she says no you ask again. And so on. It doesn't matter if you get pissed or impatient. You stand up a chick and she deserves all the no's she wants to give you."
Sam's brows rose. "Yeah?"
"If you didn't like her," Dean said with a grin, "I'd have tossed the brother-in-the-hospital card. You'd have had her eating off of your hand." He glanced at the door of his room, at the doctors and nurses passing by.
"So ah..." he hesitated, "How much did they tell you? How soon can I get out?"
"A few days," Sam said, vaguely waving his hands, "You nearly died, bro. Relax."
"You didn't call dad, did you?" Dean asked, brows furrowing in worry.
"Didn't think you'd want me to," Sam replied, "Where does he think you are right now?"
"Probably to the last job he sent me to," Dean replied, averting his eyes, "He's just been dropping me coordinates for jobs. I gave those to Bobby, with access to my voice mail, told him I was gonna be busy and if he could delegate those to someone else." He bit his lip, thoughtfully.
"Sam..." Dean said, "I'm sorry. About all this, I really am. I was taking care of it. Everything is- would've- been fine. I got dad off my back. I got the jobs covered. I got the insurance covered... I wouldnt've bothered you. It's just..."
Did he have to say this now? It didn't matter anymore, did it? He was supposed to be bold the night before the operation just in case he didn't make it, not his first morning awake after he already had. But the night... the night before forced bravery because it feared sudden death. The day inspired it because it was a fresh start.
"I wasn't gonna bother you," Dean said, "But I had to see you before, just to make sure you were all right," Without me, "And I put your name in the emergency thingie because in case something happened to me, you and dad deserved more than just wondering, you know? That was all. I don't want you to be bogged down by this. I am sorry, bro. It's a hassle, I know, I hate putting you in this spot and you don't have to do anything for me--"
"Don't worry about it, Dean," Sam said breezily, "That big test I was telling you about meant the end of a period. I have all the time we need now."
Dean did a quick count of months and semestral shit in his head.
You fucking liar.
"Sam..." Dean growled, threateningly, making his kid brother cringe.
"I got it covered too," Sam retorted, "You need me, bro--"
"I don't need anybody--"
"I need to be here," Sam said, with finality, "Nothing you can do about it, Dean. All right?"
Wanna bet?
"Sam," Dean said in a low voice, "Don't do this."
"Do what?"
"This," Dean snapped, waving his arms out frustratingly, "Put your life-stuff on hold, you know? I'm fine, I said."
"You're my brother," Sam told him, flatly, determinedly, matter-of-fact, "I'm gonna do whatever the hell I think is best for you, okay?" he shifted uneasily in his seat, "'Sides... the more I see you, Dean... the more I think I shouldn't have left. That I should just go back."
Dean watched his brother's face carefully. "The more you see me...?"
"This is a big job, dude," Sam said, "What we do... it's too big and we're too few. I understand that, now. One man missing from the fold and whomever's left is left to pay a little bit more. I want that guy to stop being you."
" " "
Sam anticipated the backlash of his decision easily.
Dean was not at all a hard one to read sometimes. Sam knew he wasn't at all happy about Sam leaving school to return to hunting, to return to him. And so Dean began his tireless campaign to change his brother's mind.
First, he liberally bashed Sam's decision to quit school. He rapped about it every moment he could bring it up. He rapped about it 'til his voice literally ran out. When the hoarse voice had melded into exhausted coughing, the doctors shut him up with an oxygen mask, but could do nothing about his hotly glaring eyes.
The next day, he shifted techniques, and started talking about how important Sam's education was, how much potential he had, how proud dad was of Sam, how proud he was of Sam, how people would kill to be in his spot, how hard it would be to go back later, how hot the chicks there were... and, most painfully, Dean walked that line he almost never ever touched, he said he was sure it was what their mother would have wanted for Sam.
"Mom would want the family to be together," Sam told him quietly, after a long moment, "Mom would want you to feel better, and be safer. She would want me to help you."
But Dean was irrepressible. He sold the idea of school until, again, his voice ran out and his doctors shut him up again. The glare had softened to imploring eyes. On his pallid face, he only looked more ill and in-need. Sam was sure he was doing the right thing.
On day three, Dean changed tactics yet again. In an effort to force Sam to return to school, he had barred his brother from visiting him. Literally had him barred from visiting, like, black-and-white on paper.
Clever, Sam conceded after he got over the profound irritation, but he too, could play that game. He talked to Dean's doctors and the nurses on shift, spoke with the hospital's legal team, and ten minutes into being informed that he wasn't allowed near Dean, he walked into the room with a triumphant expression on his face.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" Dean snapped at him, eyes snapping toward the door and opening his mouth to start complaining or screaming (probably screaming) at someone.
"I'm your medical proxy, genius," Sam said, "I told them you were in no position to make decisions like that 'cos you're fricking brain-damaged."
"I should have asked for a fucking restraining order!"
Dean was livid. And no one could run that mouth like Dean Winchester. He ragged on Sam so hard he was getting his kid brother angry too. But Sam was at least as tenacious as Dean, and nothing was going to make him change his mind. He was rejoining his brother on the hunt even for just a little while, and nothing, not even the very person he was trying to help, was going to stop him.
On day four, Lisa told him Dean tried to check himself out AMA, except Sam had wisely not yet lifted the medical proxy thing. It was Sam's turn to go livid except he just took a deep breath, and weighed his options.
"If he checks out now," he asked when he sought out Dr. Mathis, "What can we expect?"
"Well he's recovering nicely," Mathis explained, "If he gets a scrip for the pneumonia and takes it easy for a couple of weeks, he'll be fine. Some coughing and breathing issues, sure. The broken bones and cuts from surgery will hurt for awhile too, but nothing he can't live with, if he has the proper meds. If I had my way though, I'd keep him a week more. But from the look of things, if he's careful, he should be okay."
"Any chance of this same thing becoming a problem again in the future?" Sam asked.
"There's always a chance," Mathis said, "But the recurrence of this kind of thing, especially since the tumors are benign are pretty slim. Many patients have made full recoveries."
"Thanks, doc," Sam said, nodding excitedly, as he formulated a plan. He appeared by Dean's door, wondering what sort of technique he'll be going against, today.
"Hey Dean," Sam said, cautiously, as his brother lifted his head to look at him. He still looked very ill, but he was all there and his eyes were sharp, shifting a little as if he was contemplating what to shove down his kid brother's throat also.
"Hey," Dean said, warily, watching as his brother stepped into the room. His eyes were thoughtful. It struck Sam that Dean was probably wondering why he wasn't mad. Sam sat down on the bed, by his brother's arm, and let him sweat about it a little.
"So, ah..." Dean hesitated, "I guess you haven't lifted that my-brother-is-brain-damaged thing."
Sam's brows quirked. "Should I have?"
"I guess not," Dean said, chuckling a little.
Sam sighed, "Listen, Dean... I know you don't want me going back with you--"
"It's not that--"
"Listen a moment," Sam said, insistently, "But I want to tell you that this is already how it's gonna be, okay? Only for a little while, I promise. Okay? Only for a little while. I'm not gonna let everything go."
"It's easy to say that now, Sammy," Dean said, "But the farther you are from here, the harder it is to go back. Doesn't taking a leave cut you off of the free ride? The truth this time, Sam."
"It does violate the contact," Sam muttered, "But I'm really good at what I do. You know I am. I can always find something else--"
"No," Dean insisted, "I can't live with that."
"I can't live with you stumbling out of here on your own," Sam told him, imploringly, "Only for a little while, Dean, okay? Work with me here." He took a deep breath, "So. I have an idea. You must be climbing the walls, huh? Wanna get out of here? I spoke to your doctor. He said with the right meds and rest, it's safe for you to check out. But you're not checking out without me. So. Work with me, bro. Work with me and we get out of here. What'll it be?"
Sam waited with baited breath. It was a really, really good deal, wasn't it? Dean hated hospitals, and Sam was offering him a way out. Except of course, he had to accept Sam's help first.
Dean chewed at his lip. "Nah."
Sam's brows must have shot to the ceiling. "Nah?"
"I'm..." Dean's gaze shifted away from his brother, "Not yet. I'm not feeling so great today, bro. I just... you mind if I sleep off this funk for a little while?"
Sam frowned in worry and suspicion. But the worry won. The worry always wins, so Sam left and let him sleep, ushering in the final stage of Dean's campaign.
Arguing with Sam hadn't worked. Reasoning didn't either. Nor did going AMA. It was apparently time for grand gestures, as Dean plotted out his own Great Escape.
Except it didn't turn out so great.
That night, Dean tore at his IV's and slipped into his street clothes and snuck out the fire escape and made his huffing way toward his car. He wove dizzily as he tried thrice to open the door before succeeding. He sank on the driver's seat, and leaned his aching head on the rest. He coughed helplessly, a hand clutching at his aching chest, futile and weakening. He lost consciousness soon afterwards.
Sam found him when he returned to the hospital later that day, just to check if his brother was feeling better. He passed by the Impala everyday on his way to the doors of the hospital, and it always looked a little bit forlorn on the lot. There was something about it thats seemed different that day, not-quite so alone, and he realized that the only times the fricking car felt like that was when Dean was inside it. Heart pounding, he ran for the car, and found exactly what he thought he would: Dean slumped against the window and the door on the driver's side, looking gray and and absent.
The door was unlocked; this wasn't typical Dean, but sometimes, sometimes, Sam really could give some credence to his brother's unblinking, unyielding certainty that the stupid car always looked after them. Sam wrenched the door open, and caught Dean as he slid, as if boneless, from the seat.
Dean jerked instinctively at the fall, but was too far gone to do anything else. Sam shakily held him close, placed fingers to the throbbing pulse at his neck, murmuring, "You're all right, you're all right..."
"Sammy," Dean whispered, eyes cracking open, as he shifted to get a good angle to look at his brother's face.
"What?" Sam asked him.
"That doctor," he licked his lips, closed his eyes for a moment to let the world settle down, "The idiot who said I was well enough to get out. Fire his ass."
Sam snorted at him, but just held him tighter. "He said with meds and proper care, you stupid jerk. I should be mad at you right now."
"But what?" Dean asked, taking a whistling breath that made him hiss and wince. The world was spinning again, apparently, because he closed his eyes.
"Look at me, bro," Sam implored him, shaking him a little until he complied, "How long are we gonna do this dance, Dean? How far do you wanna go with this? I'm sticking with you. I'm not going anywhere. That's that."
And the gauntlet was thrown down. Sam had said it with finality, and nothing was going to make him change his mind. Nothing. He was practically daring Dean to change his mind perforce.
"It's not supposed to be like this," Dean muttered, shutting his eyes again, and gripping Sam's sleeve as he coughed, "When I went to see you. One night, that's all I needed. I didn't want anything else, I don't want this. When I let you leave you were supposed to go somewhere nicer. You had every right not to answer my calls, or, or be busy. I knew that. I just needed one night, and I don't know why but you gave it. You shouldn't have, but you did. I'm cool with that, Sammy. 'S all I needed. You can go. You should go. You know you want to go."
Sam blinked at the tears that came unbidden to his eyes. "Let's just get you back inside, Dean," he said, quietly, rising to his feet and taking his brother up with him. Dean sagged against him, blinking slowly as if he was half there and half somewhere else.
"This isn't working," Sam muttered when he tried taking the first step away from there and they both stumbled on each other's legs. He shifted his grip, and even half-conscious and slipping further, Dean understood full-well what he intended to do.
"Don't--" Dean begged, brokenly, when his favorite Sasquatch began to lift him off his feet. His eyes rolled back in his head with the change of altitude, and they were both grateful he finally passed out.
" " "
His little excursion set back his recovery by days, both in terms of his healing body and the caution of his 'captors.' It set back his self-confidence a little bit too; what an embarrassing effort, not even out the parking lot? God, he had no face to show anywhere anymore, and that was before his stupid kid brother had the gall to carry him back and that was just something he didn't even want to think about.
Dean wanted to kick himself thrice over the head for the stupid stunt. He should have made sure he could hack an escape before trying, because now his brother and the staff were infinitely more cautious. He dealt with it the best way he knew how: a pretend-defeat, just until he got enough strength to make a successful attempt.
He suffered through the ministrations. Looked appropriately chastised when Sam ribbed him about the failed attempt. He slept early, he ate well. He took meds without complaint. He let his brother hover. He even let Sam push him around in a fricking wheelchair sometimes, just to go out and get some air. The truce held nicely, and it was even pleasant when they talked about random everyday things. Just a bit sad, because even as they talked, Dean plotted his escape and suspected that Sam was preparing to stop him also.
Sam had thrown down the gauntlet, insisted that he was sticking around. But he had to understand that Dean was dead-serious about leaving him behind if it meant Sam would have a better life too.
" " "
There were a great many things about the Winchester family that occasionally prompted the idea that perhaps they were cursed.
Some of the more famous so-called cursed bloodlines fell on the Kennedys of course, but there were the Lees and the Brandos - which Dean's pop-culture oriented mind found fascinating- and across history there were the Romanovs and the Habsburgs - which Sam was more interested in - just to name a few. Their father hadn't at all been interested in attributing all of their misfortunes to this, however, and squashed the idea even as his boys just started to word them, during one of those quiet motel nights and Sam had his turn on the TV and the three of them were therefore stuck watching a documentary.
"That's supernatural ain't it dad?" Dean asked during the commercial break, his face looking pensive. Sam's beside him was more earnest and eager, as if he was excited about the idea that they may have found the answer to everything. The two teenagers were sitting on the floor side by side, legs stretched before them and leaning on the bed. It was unhealthily close to the TV, but the remote control was acting up.
"It's just a lot of crap," John said, "It's just a numbers game, Dean."
"What do you mean?" Sam asked.
"These people live extraordinarily dangerous lives," John pointed out, "If you're on the path of a gun most of the time, you're bound to get shot. You ride a plane too many times, you increase your chances of dying in a crash, 's all."
"But there's cursed lands," Sam pointed out, "Cursed objects. Cursed individuals. Why not families?"
"It's possible," John admitted, "But I've never seen it. 'Sides, so what, huh? You can't stop a curse, you can only get out of its way. There's no escaping your blood, is there?"
The idea that they were cursed was promptly dropped after that. It would have been more depressing to discover that they were and not be able to do anything about it, after all. Besides, the Winchesters were blessed in many ways too.
There was the uncanny physical instincts, that were both innately there and nurtured by John's training. The boys were unquestionably born smart also. The looks didn't hurt either, John surprisingly realized this as his boys grew up handsome (and rightfully abusive of this) right before his eyes. Wily Dean played charming and obstinate or mysterious and brooding, depending on the kind of female. The blond rake and rebel. Sam, on the other hand, owned a different set of cards, but no less effective (occasionally more). He had the lonely orphan boy look down pat. People didn't have to be asked to help him, or give him information. He had the ability to attract fricking volunteers. They were born con-men, these Winchesters, and it was by some higher power's graces that their gifts were oriented toward the good.
There was, however, one very inconvenient Winchester talent that the three of them tended to occasionally hate. It was the ability to just seemingly vanish off of the face of the Earth.
They used it when hiding from the law, not the least of which was Child Services. And occasionally, they used it when hiding from each other.
John Winchester was unmatched in this, of course, and Sam had taken to this talent also, in the turbulent teenage years that preceded the ultimate escape to Stanford. Dean, lagging a distant third, was the one saddled with pulling them back.
This was John and Sam fighting: a motel room and two slamming doors. One of the doors was to the bathroom, where someone had decided to hole up and cool off. The other door led outside. John and Sam took turns on which doors to take. Sometimes, just to ease up on the misery of the situation, Dean would make a bet with himself on who would take which door for this round. He knew them well enough to almost always be right.
The one taking the door out of the room would always need some sort of searching afterwards, of course, which fell on him. Out of sheer practice, though he lagged in the hiding talent, Dean led like no other in the searching department. He was very good at finding his dad or Sam, whoever was away. It didn't even have to be physically hiding. He was just as good at drawing them out of themselves, in darker, bleaker days.
But he was a Winchester through and through too, and though lacking in practice, when Dean wanted to hide, he could be just as good as his father and brother.
One day, Sam stepped into Dean's room and just found him gone.
" " "
A day after that, half-insane with the search for his brother, Sam turned on his laptop to find an e-mail from his academic advisor, who was expressing his relief that Sam had reconsidered taking his leave and welcoming him back into the semester.
He growled under his breath. Looked like his idiot brother was busy making calls since getting out. Just not to him.
Sam tried Dean's cellphone again. It went straight to voice mail. He was surprised he hadn't filled up the box yet. The first messages he sent out were imploring. Dean please, you're not well yet... I'm worried, call me... Are you okay, please call me...
He wasn't an idiot, he knew what Dean was trying to do, and he appreciated that. But the ones after the imploring messages were helplessly angrier. You're such an asshole... Selfish prick... This doesn't change anything... I'll still skip school, except this time I'll be looking for you, not after you... This doesn't change anything, damn it. Call me...
The ones after that kind of swam the thin line between the two, depending on his mood.
"Let me know you're not lying dead in a ditch somewhere," he snapped after the beep, before hanging up smartly.
He called up Bobby, asked if he'd been in touch with Dean. The older hunter said that Dean called him some hours back, just checking on the jobs he had passed over.
"Is something going on?"
"Just..." Sam bit out, "Dean being Dean. You know."
"Everything all right?" Bobby asked.
"No," Sam sighed, "But what's new? Thanks, Bobby."
Sam took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Was Dean just expecting him to stop looking, go back to school? He had searched hospitals in the area, and no one matching Dean's description was there. He searched motels, hotels, inns, beds and breakfasts. He stopped by diners and asked hot waitresses (Dean's weakness). He even went to shelters. It seemed that at the first taste of freedom, Dean wisely left California, and the road was too wide from there, the country too damn big.
He knew Dean was more-or-less fine. He'd spoken with Bobby. He'd e-enrolled Sam with his academic advisor. But for how long, huh? He needed Sam, needed someone watching his back, needed someone who could tell him Dude. Stop a moment. Breathe...
Sam sighed, and looked down at his cellphone. He's exhausted everything he could think of. Tracing Dean's cellphone had been futile. Calling up their father's old friends was also useless. He even tried to trace the prescription drugs he knew Dean was taking, for any thefts or scrip pick-ups in the area. That led nowhere too.
The last thing on the list was calling up John Winchester.
It was not a promising prospect, but he was getting desperate. Calling up his dad... who'd have thought hurling curses at each other wouldn't be the last thing they said to each other, huh? Calling up dad was like swallowing a bitter, bitter pill. Of cyanide. But what else could he do.
This was about Dean, now. Dean had always been the only one who can make the hunting life bearable. Dean had been the only one who could ask him to stay. And, apparently, the only one who could make him come back. If he can't swallow his resentment for Dean, he couldn't do it at all.
He grimaced, shut his eyes, and pressed the call button on his father's name before he changed his mind. The phone rang six times, before falling to the machine. Sam exhaled in inexplicable relief.
"Dad," he said, mouth dry, "Uh... this is Sammy."
As if he wouldn't be able to tell...
"Dad call me when you get this," he said, "It's about Dean. He's really sick. The doctors, they ah... they had to open him up. And then he ran off hiding somewhere. He's not that well yet. I'm worried. Has he called you? I know it's probably the last thing you wanna do but if you hear anything... call, will you?"
He hasn't hung up for a full minute before his phone started ringing. He snapped it up the moment he saw his father's name except, placing the phone breathlessly to his ear and listening to his father's earthy breathing for the first time in a long time, he didn't quite know what to say.
The man on the other end of the line was apparently just as clueless, and Sam wondered if the twinge he felt in his heart was him missing his father, even just a little bit. Did John Winchester feel the same way? But did that matter, really, since it was probably something he would never say?
I'm sorry... I miss you...
"I'll take care of it," came the more characteristic, clipped reply, before John hung up. Sam blinked at the tears in his eyes. It hurt like hell, but he believed his father anyway.
He sat on his desk, just gathering his breath. Feeling more alone than ever. He ran a weary hand over his face, and half-blindly reached for the long-neglected school books on his desk. He had a lot of catching up to do.
" " "
"You little snitch."
Sam had answered his phone call at the first ring, and it was the first sputtering thing that came out of Dean's mouth.
"Got a call from dad, did you?" came the sleepy reply. He woke up Stanford. Great. Add that to the list of injustices he had done against Sam these last few days. He heard Sam shifting in bed, gaining awareness and with awareness, irritated acid too.
"You ditched me," Sam snapped at him, "Where the hell are you?"
"Nowhere," Dean replied, "Only bitches send grown-ups, Sammy."
"Where the hell are you?" Sam asked again, venomously.
"I'm fine," Dean insisted, "I'm alive, I'm breathing, I'm taking the medicine, I'm not taking any job, and dad called me up and got sassy with me so yeah, you get what you want, I'm taking it slow, okay? Your turn. Gone back to class yet?"
"No," Sam replied, "I'm coming after you--"
"Sam," Dean growled, "Damn it, I'm fine--"
"Yeah but for how long?" Sam asked, "We dodged a bullet with this one, but what about the next time? I can't stand it, Dean. I can't have another call like that last one, it'll kill me, bro. Kill me."
"Don't be so melodramatic," Dean muttered. He sighed. "What's it gonna take, Sammy? Let me be, live your life there?"
"Nothing," Sam guaranteed him.
Dean recognized the resolve. Sam was as sure about leaving Stanford to join his brother as he had been about leaving his brother to go to Stanford in the first place, years ago...
And then lightning struck, illuminating everything. When Sam left for college, there seemed no stopping him either. Nothing, except for Dean.
The realization warmed him, understanding the extent of Sam's love, his loyalty and devotion to his older brother. Dean had been the only one who could keep Sam hunting. All he had to do was ask. And apparently, he was also the only one who could bring him back also.
But as soon as the realization warmed him, it burned him too... burned him with the sense of responsibility that went with that peculiar power. Because no one can doubt or question his love for his kid brother either.
He realized, bitterly, that being the only one who could keep Sam, he was also the only one who could keep him away.
Dean swallowed the lump in his throat.
Sorry, bro...
The easiest way to get Sam off his back was to hit him where it hurt the most. Kid had the most developed sense of guilt Dean had ever seen.
"What did you think was gonna happen when you left, huh?" Dean asked, "You wouldn't have left if you didn't know I was covered? What a crock of shit."
"What?" the voice on the other end of the line was a hurt, broken whisper. Dean knew exactly where to hit, and it had to be extremely hard, so that the punch landed right at the place where Sam's logic couldn't outrun his pain.
"Somewhere inside you you knew," Dean continued, closing his eyes at his own harshness, but swallowing it down like a bitter pill, knowing it was ultimately for Sam's own good, "You know what the job is. Someone was bound to get hurt. Someone could die. And you'd be somewhere else. When you chose, you were willing to live with that."
"Dean--"
"This is what it means," Dean went on, ignoring him, "This is how it is, what that choice meant. Live with it. You chose, Sam. I don't mind that you're going after what you want, bro, that's fine, you got a right. But for god's sake, have some integrity and just live with it. And leave me alone."
"Dean--"
He was just relieved he didn't have to look at Sam's eyes. This was like Sam, packing for college and avoiding looking at him. Today, this phone call, it was his turn. This was Dean, walking away. Walking away because he didn't want to destroy his brother's life. He had asked for just one night, damn it, one night because he thought he was dying. He didn't want Sam to give up everything. He's already taken so much.
"Dad'll take care of me," Dean continued, mercilessly, "I'm sorry I even bothered you about this, bro. I really am. Just... do what you gotta do there, all right? Dad and I will be fine. We don't need you to look after us. We haven't needed you since you left. I ah... I really shouldn't have drawn you back, and I'm sorry. You... ah...You were never one of us, you were always different. I get that now."
No more imploring 'Deans' at the end of the line. Just dead, broken silence. Dean knew he had succeeded. But not all wins were victorious. God, his chest ached.
"Just do your thing there," Dean said, softly, "We don't need you."
"You don't mean that," came the quiet, shattered reply.
"I can," Dean said, boldly, "I can mean it if I had to, Sammy. Don't make me."
Don't hate me...
"Fine," Sam said, his tone clipped, "I'm done."
With all this. With you...
"Good," Dean said, matching the tone, "Me too."
I'll never bother you again. I'll never lure you back again. I'll never hurt you like this again. Live out there, Sammy. Dream, and live for the both of us.
But they couldn't end it this way, could they?
A characteristic recant: "Be careful out there, Dean," Sam said, quietly.
Grave, weighty silence. Expectant. And Dean had never disappointed him before, wasn't about to start now.
The characteristic response: "Give them a run for their money, bro."
And they both hung up.
Epilogue and Afterword in the Next Chapter...
