Everyone who enjoys this chapter should send a big thanks to Twinchester Angel for making me get my ass in gear and finally writing it! I had been putting it off for way too long!
When Dean blinks himself slowly to consciousness, he realizes pretty quickly that he's alone. If this were any other morning, he'd spend the next few minutes just floating in that not-quite-awake place where he's warm and comfy. Where monsters don't exist and demons stay in Hell where they belong and the apocalypse is just a story in an old book. Where nothing exists but him and Sam, breathing together in a sea of blankets and pillows and pretending, just for a minute, that it could always be like this.
But this isn't any other morning, it's a morning after one of the worst nights of Dean's life, and even though that list is long it doesn't make things any easier. So, even though his body is still clinging to sleep, his mind catches up all too quickly and Dean grunts in annoyance and forces himself to sit up. The lamp on the bedside table is far too bright when Dean flicks it on, and he can't resist throwing a glare at it before he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. If Sam were here, he'd make some crack about Dean trying to scowl things to death, and the thought alone makes Dean roll his eyes as if Sam had actually said it.
He pushes the quilt back and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, the cool wooden floor against his bare feet pulling his foggy brain a little closer to its normal sharp alertness. Dean knows he should be already out the door and on his way to locating Sam, because for all he knows Sam is puking his guts out in the bathroom or has fainted and fallen down the stairs or something. They didn't have to deal with this part last time – when they were zapped away from that church, something wiped Sam clean so it was as if the whole demon blood thing had never even happened, physically at least. But this time there weren't any magic fixes so Dean really has no idea what to expect. So even though he should be making sure his little brother is okay right now, Dean takes a minute to stretch out his stiff arms and back and try to envision what the hell he's going to say to Sam to even begin to make things right again.
As if on cue, the oak door creaks open and Sam is standing there, looking battered and miserable but undeniably alive, and Dean lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"Hey," Sam mutters, not meeting Dean's gaze.
"Hey Sammy," Dean says quietly, his eyes scanning his brother's body for any signs of injury or illness but Sam seems to be alright. "How you feeling?"
Sam shrugs. "Okay. A little shaky, but okay."
Dean throws Sam a look that Sam must've somehow felt because he still hasn't looked up when he starts speaking again.
"Fine, I feel like I got hit by a train. But I'm alright, Dean, really."
Dean nods and stands slowly. "That's … good, I guess."
"Thanks for … you know …" Sam gestures aimlessly toward the bed. "It's lame, but I think I would've been freaked out if you weren't there when I woke up."
Dean lets himself smile a little and, trying to force the idea through his skull that sometimes emotional moments are okay, he moves toward Sam and pulls him into a hug.
"I'm really happy you're safe," Dean says into Sam's shoulder. He almost rolls his eyes at how idiotic he must sound, but instead busies himself with taking a deep lungful of the Sam smell currently invading his senses.
Sam is stiff for a moment at first, but then he slides his arms around Dean's waist and squeezes tightly.
"I'm so sorry," he whispers brokenly.
"I know. It's okay," Dean sighs, silently willing Sam to let it go, at least for now. At least until they're alone.
"It isn't okay, at all," Sam counters, and Dean feels Sam's shaky breath, warm and humid on his neck.
He pulls back a little to stare into watery blue-green eyes, and alright fine, looks like they're gonna have to do this now.
"Sam, it's – "
"I messed up, I know I did, and I'm sorry, and – just – look, I understand if you never wanna speak to me again but just please don't leave, Dean," Sam blurts out in a rush of air.
Dean blinks in surprise as he attempts to decipher the waterfall of words that cascade down on him. Damn it, Sam thinks he's going to leave?
"Sam, I'm not going anywhere, what are you talking about?"
But Sam barrels on as if Dean hadn't spoken. "I know how much this hurt you last time, I'm so sorry I did this to you again, and – god, I started the freaking apocalypse because of this last time, and there isn't anything I could ever say to make that okay, to make any of this okay – "
"Sam!" Dean grabs Sam's face and forces the worried, frightened eyes to meet his own. "Stop it! I meant what I said last night, I'm not mad at you. So just stop, okay?"
Sam's expression loses its frantic edge but then his eyebrows tilt up in the middle and he goes back to looking just plain miserable.
"I tried so hard to fight it, Dean."
Dean releases his death grip on Sam's cheeks and slides his arms back around Sam's neck, fingers tangling in soft hair and stroking soothingly.
"I know you did," Dean says gently.
"I didn't want to do it again. I mean I did, but – my body wanted to, but I tried …" Sam takes a deep breath and then closes his eyes like it's too painful to talk and look at Dean at the same time. "I didn't wanna let you down again."
"You didn't," Dean insists. "Remember that first couple? They literally ate each other to death. That's not something you choose to do. They were infected by famine, just like you, and you couldn't control it. I know you tried to fight it. Hell, Sam, you let me handcuff you to a sink and push a giant wardrobe in front of the door, that's how hard you tried!"
Sam opens his eyes and nods, a few tears spilling over. "I really did."
"I know, baby," Dean repeats, pulling Sam back down into his arms and brushing his lips across the soft skin on Sam's neck. He doesn't use that endearment very often, it's been months since he has, but right now it seems like Sam needs it. Needs to know that Dean still loves him.
"You don't need to be worried that I'm mad or that you let me down, because I'm not and you didn't, I swear. And I'm not leaving, not ever, so put that right out of your mind."
"You should be mad at me," Sam mumbles against Dean's shoulder, and Dean can hear the self-loathing in Sam's shaky voice – a feeling Dean knows all too well.
Sam's arms make their way back around Dean's body, and he clings to Dean like a lifeline. Dean can feel Sam trying to keep it together, but then feels when the dam breaks and the chest pressed against his own starts shaking in silent sobs.
"Shh," Dean murmurs into Sam's hair. "Its okay, Sammy. Everything's gonna be okay, I promise."
"How?" Sam chokes out, and god Dean wishes he had an answer for that.
"I don't know," he says honestly. "But we'll figure it out, you and me. We always do."
Every strangled sob cuts deeper into Dean's chest until he's fighting to keep his own eyes dry and his own breathing steady. He has to stay strong right now, damnit, for Sam. Because as crappy as Dean feels about this whole situation, Sam undoubtedly feels about a million times worse after what he went through last night, whatever that may be. That almost makes things suck even more for Dean; that he's attempting to comfort his little brother with absolutely no idea what he's gone through. They didn't talk about it last time – Sam didn't seem to want to and so Dean didn't push. Dean's almost entirely sure he'd rather not know at all, but thinks that maybe this time it's important he asks anyway.
But later, not while Sam's still squeezing the life out of him and crying into his shoulder. Dean can feel wetness seeping through the fabric of his t-shirt, warm at first and then cooling around the edges as fresh tears fall.
"I got you, Sammy." Dean kisses Sam's neck a couple more times, damn he hates it when Sam cries.
Even as he rubs Sam's back, he can't help feeling a little helpless. When Sam was a kid, Dean knew exactly what to do when he was upset. But now … this big man in his arms has almost become a stranger to him.
"Fuck," Sam mutters suddenly, pulling away from Dean and wiping angrily at the wetness on his face. "I promised myself I wasn't gonna do this."
"It's okay. It's just me," Dean offers.
Sam only shrugs halfheartedly and moves a few steps away and Dean really wishes that didn't sting so much. Yeah, they both hate to cry, but really, the one person in the world Sam shouldn't be afraid to cry in front of is Dean.
This feels uncannily like further evidence that Dean really has lost that sweet, sensitive little brother he misses so much.
"Look," Dean begins slowly, if only to change the subject in his own mind, "while we're already at this, if anyone should be apologizing here, it's me."
Sam whips around quickly. "What? Why?"
"Because, I – " Dean sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "Shit, Sam, because I left you there with no way to defend yourself! We knew there were demons in town, and I just tied you up and left you there like an offering or something!"
"Because I asked you to!" Sam cries indignantly. "Dean, it never occurred to me that they would come looking for me either! That isn't your fault!"
Dean doesn't believe that for a second, and it must show on his face because Sam's expression turns dark and angry.
"Alright, fine, let me have it."
"Have what?"
"Whatever insane reason you've come up with in that self-deprecating head of yours to explain why my latest screw-up is all your fault."
"I didn't say it was all my fault!" Dean snaps back, and shit, how did they go from hugging to yelling so damn fast? "I just – Sam, I should have realized it was going to happen!"
"Oh, so what, you're some kind of psychic now?" Sam spits sarcastically. "Now it isn't enough to save people from monsters, but you're actually expecting yourself to start seeing cases before they happen?"
"No, would you just shut up and listen to me?" Dean shouts. "I didn't need to be a psychic, all the pieces were right there in the open! I just didn't put it together in time!"
Sam stares, his cheeks flushed and his eyes narrowed. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means we were fighting something that kills people by making them give in to their strongest temptations," Dean explains, straining to keep his voice steady. He really, really doesn't want to fight right now. "People all over that town were eating each other alive and drinking themselves to death and I should have realized that famine would get to you too."
Sam looks lost for words, instead opting to growl in frustration and turn away from Dean, running a hand through his hair.
"I know you still feel it every time we fight a demon," Dean continues, quieter now but still with as much intensity. "I can see it on your face; how much you want it and how much you have to fight yourself to stay away from it. And if I had stopped to think for a minute instead of diving in head-first, I would have realized what would happen if famine got to you. I would have gotten you out of there before any of this happened."
"How many freaking times to we have to have this fight?" Sam begins, voice now shaking with barely controlled fury and still not facing his brother, "I'm not a little kid anymore. It is not up to you to keep helpless little Sammy safe from every goddamn thing we come across!"
"Like hell it isn't!"
"Dean, you promised me you were going to stop doing this, remember?" Sam cries, clearly affronted. "Just a few months ago, you told me you realized what you were doing to me by keeping me on such a tight leash, you said you were going to try to start treating me like your partner instead of some kid you have to drag around and look after!"
"Yeah, I did, and I've been trying, Sam, I really have!" Dean yells back, wondering how long it'll be before Bobby starts hollering at them to shut up. "But I've been looking out for you since the day you were born, you can't just ask me to stop altogether after twenty-six years! That's asking me to stop being who I am! How the hell am I supposed to do that?"
The snappy retort Dean is expecting doesn't come. Sam is surprisingly quiet for a few seconds, and then turns back around; all traces of anger gone from his sharp features. Now he just looks … sad.
"You're right," he says quietly, almost reluctantly. "I'm sorry. I just … I just really freakin' hate how messed up everything is."
Dean presses his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes, trying to stave off a headache he can already feel coming. God-fucking-damnit, he really didn't want this to happen today. He just wanted to comfort Sam and have Sam let him for a change. He just wanted Sam to let him be a big brother again.
"I hate it too."
"What went down yesterday wasn't your fault," Sam says emphatically, as if he were trying to drill his words right into Dean's head. "You weren't the only one there. I never thought about what would happen if famine got to me either, and neither did Cas, even after it had already gotten to him. We didn't think, all three of us. Not just you."
This time, Dean's the one shrugging half-heartedly and dropping his gaze to the floor. He knows what Sam said is true, but somehow it doesn't make him feel any better. He's supposed to be the one to protect Sam, not the other way around. But then Sam's across the room and right in front of him before Dean's brain even registers movement, and he's being pulled into the warmth of Sam's arms, and now it's his turn to bury his face into Sam's neck.
"This isn't your fault even a little bit," Sam says between pressing light kisses into Dean's temple.
Dean takes a few deep breaths before he speaks, a little worried that he's about to dissolve into tears at any minute.
"Can we just – " he starts, then taking one more calming breath and pulling back enough to look at Sam. "Seems like there's some shit we need to talk about. And not just about this. Feels like things have been off with us for a really long time, you know?"
Sam nods, puppy-dog eyes retuning in full HD-Technicolor. "Yeah, I know."
"But can we do that later?" Dean asks, walls fully crumbled now and willing to beg for it if that's what it takes. "I'm still freaking out a bit about last night, and you're still recovering, and I don't want us to have our big heart-to-heart in Bobby's guest bedroom. We need to get a room in town somewhere and tear each other new ones, but for now, can we please go back to bed for a while and just … be together? Just for a little bit?"
Sam nods and strokes his thumb a few times against Dean's cheek. "Yeah. That sounds really good, actually."
He leans down and kisses Dean softly, and Dean melts right into it like his spine just got liquefied and Sam's the only thing keeping him level. Then Sam takes Dean's hand and gently pulls him back to the bed, settling them both into it and curling his limbs around Dean. Sam even lets Dean wrap his arms around him protectively, and yeah, this is exactly what Dean's been wanting since he woke up this morning – to hold Sam tightly and feel a twin heartbeat against his own and to know with absolute certainty that Sam really is alive and that things really will be okay. Eventually. It's probably gonna take a hell of a lot of talking and crying and yelling and that's so not going to be fun, but still, for the first time in a long time Dean's chest swells with something that feels a lot like hope.
Dean nuzzles into Sam's hair and inhales deeply. God, he loves that pure, earthy Sam smell. Sweet and a little yeasty, like baking bread mixed with salty sea air. During that first hunt together after he'd pulled Sam away from Stanford, Sam smelled like some kind of cologne Jessica had obviously given him and Dean remembers how artificial and wrong it felt. Sam should always just smell like Sam.
"What are you doing?" Sam laughs quietly, rumbling in his chest and reverberating though Dean's.
"Smelling you."
"Why? I smell like sweat."
"Yeah, I know," Dean sighs. "I love that smell. It's what you smell like after a hunt, or after sex."
Sam laughs again. "I guess that sort of makes sense. Freak."
Dean just smiles and hugs his baby brother a little tighter.
"Love you," Sam whispers, a ghost of warm breath against Dean's collarbone.
"Me too, Sammy," he whispers back.
PS - Twinchester, that ^ little bit of shmoopyness was just for you :)