So this chapter is a bit short and is mostly exposition, which I really don't enjoy writing! Hopefully it's not as boring to you as it is to me. Sorry, it was a necessary chapter to get the boys to where I wanted them to be for the next one (Also, the thing about my broken keyboard still applies, so let me know if you find typos)
Dean pushes himself briskly off the couch and sees Cas do the same out of the corner of his eye. He deliberately avoids eye-contact, because not only did a god-damn angel of the god-damn Lord just basically gave Dean the go ahead to commit incest (and gay incest at that, sweet mother of fuck), but he also said 'homosexual' and 'carnal' and a whole host of other words that should never come out of an angels mouth; all in the space of about five minutes and that's – just – there are really no words to describe that level of awkward. Dean's still reeling a little and if he meets Cas's unblinking, steel blue gaze, he'll either crack up or lose his breakfast. Unfortunately, as he comes within a few steps of the kitchen where Sam is now sitting at the table with his back towards them, Dean remembers one more thing he wanted to say before they can put all this sticky discomfort behind them and go back to the standard level of uneasiness Cas's presence usually causes.
Dean turns around and beckons Cas into the stairwell so Sam won't hear them, purposely keeping his gaze fixed at a spot around Cas's collarbone.
"Hey, Cas? You know all that stuff about the horseman and it not being Sam's fault this time?" he asks quietly and the angel nods. "Do you think you could repeat that to Sam? And not tell him I told you to?"
Cas narrows his eyes a little, which Dean only sees very faintly through his peripheral vision.
"I suppose so. Why?"
"He just feels really guilty about everything, and you don't really lie, so." Dean shrugs. He isn't at all sure whether it's actually a good idea or not, but he figures it just might make Sam stop blaming himself and being so mad at himself, so it's worth a shot.
"Isn't he already aware that he couldn't control it?" Cas asks, sounding genuinely perplexed.
"He, yeah he is, but … I don't know, I just think it would mean a lot to him coming from you."
"Oh. Well, if you think it would help."
Dean meets Cas's eyes briefly and forces a smile, already pretty certain this isn't one of his better ideas.
When Dean strolls into the kitchen with Cas trailing closely behind him, neither Bobby or Sam can get out so much as a 'Hey Cas', before the angel launches himself into a chorus of how powerful the horsemen are and how no one stands a chance fighting against them once they're infected and that Sam should know they don't blame him and how much they all care about him; all the while glancing back at Dean, wide-eyed, to make sure he's doing it right. He definitely isn't. The words are all true but coming from Cas they sounds rehearsed and Dean can barely keep from laughing and rolling his eyes in amusement-slash-exasperation. When Sam stammers a thank you and Cas goes for broke and moves forward enough to wrap an arm around him in the world's most awkward hug, Dean actually does crack up a little at the 'What the fuck is happening?' look Sam tosses his way over Cas's shoulder.
Later, when Cas is checking Sam over in the living room to make sure he's completely clean, Dean mentions their plan to take a few days off to Bobby. He's not sure how he expects the man to react, but what he gets is a thick, calloused finger wagged menacingly in his face.
"You heard Cas when he said it wasn't Sam's fault, right?" Bobby asks sharply. "Because I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you drag that boy's ass outta here so you can lock him in a motel room and get in his face about what he did."
"Yeah, 'course I heard him, I'm the one who asked him to say it!" Dean snaps back defensively, and then immediately regrets his harsh tone. Bobby's just trying to protect Sam; he should be grateful. But he can't help how much of a slap in the face it is that Bobby feels the need to protect Sam from Dean. If that isn't a perfect metaphor for how messed up things are, nothing is.
He takes a deep breath and starts again. "I'm not mad at him, Bobby. Everybody seems to think I am, but I swear I'm not. We just … ever since Ruby, it's like there's been this wall between us."
Bobby frowns, but nods. "Yeah, you ain't the only one who's noticed that."
Dean runs a hand through his short hair. "Maybe it even happened before that, I really … don't know. Maybe …" Dean closes his eyes for a moment and sighs again, "maybe me going to hell messed him up a lot more than I realized."
"I didn't see him much, but the few times I did, he … he had me pretty damn worried," Bobby says quietly, a touch of sadness in his voice now. "He went nuts, it was like I didn't even know him anymore, and I've known that kid almost as long you have."
"Yeah," Dean mutters, choosing not to dwell on that comment because he just can't. It hurts way too much to think of his baby brother in that kind of pain. "Well, look, either way, I mean if we're gonna stop this thing? We gotta be a team again and the only way that's gonna happen is if we hash this out. And we can't do that here."
Bobby somehow seems to understand and not at the same time, but Dean thinks that's sort of always been Bobby's view when it comes to them – maybe Bobby doesn't always get the way he and Sam work but he always gives them the benefit of the doubt. Bobby nods his agreement and doesn't say anything else, so Dean takes it for the silent approval it is and claps Bobby on the shoulder. He thanks him for his help with Sam last night, and then heads upstairs to start getting their things together. Sam joins him a few minutes later, announcing that Cas had to leave again and Bobby has re-buried himself in a mountain of books – "that's almost as tall as me," Sam adds with a wry smile. Dean smiles back; even though it's not a full, thousand-watt smile on his brother's face, it's a lot better than that lost, sorrowful look Sam's been wearing all day.
Dean packs up his clothes in silence, making sure to reach under the pillow he'd slept on for his knife, and then internally scolding himself a little when he realizes he'd been so worn out and upset last night that he hadn't remembered to put it there. Sam doesn't say anything further, but every time he passes by Dean he brushes his fingertips over Dean's shoulder blades; gently, like little physical post-it notes reminding Dean that he's there. Dean tries to smile but the tentativeness of Sam's touch makes Dean think what Sam's really saying is that he's sorry. Sam hasn't been his usual talkative self this morning, and at first Dean thought he was just tired but now it feels more like Sam's going back to how he was the first few months after he broke the final seal – quiet, remorseful, and dutifully taking whatever Dean was willing to give him because he didn't think he deserved anything more. And that happening is absolutely the last thing Dean wants. What he does want is to lean into the touch; maybe wrap Sam up in a warm hug, scratch through his hair and whisper to him until he believes that Dean forgives him. Or maybe just pounce and throw Sam onto the bed and show him just how much he still loves him and how relieved he is that Sam's okay. But he doesn't do any of that, he doesn't even speak, because if he gives himself an out then he'll cave and they'll never even make it to the car, and he can't let that happen. As much as it's going to suck, they need to fix this and they need to do it right now.
After a quick goodbye to Bobby during which the older man glances back and forth between Dean and Sam and throws a look at Dean that clearly says 'Don't you be too hard on him', Dean makes his way to the impala with Sam following behind him. He throws their bags into the backseat and when he drops his exhausted body down onto the leather seat he smiles encouragingly over at Sam, trying to pretend he's confident that they'll get through this. Sam's lips twitch a bit like he meant to smile back, but couldn't quite manage it, so Dean starts the car with a sigh, and pulls out of Bobby's lot feeling more hopeless then ever. He toys for a few moments with the idea of saying something, anything to get rid of that lost puppy look on Sam's face, but he can't even begin to fathom what the hell he would say. They don't exactly make an "I forgive you for drinking demon blood" Hallmark card. Sam doesn't really seem to feel like taking anyway; he just slumps against the seat and within five minutes his head's drooped against the window and his breathing's evened out and Dean's pretty sure he's fallen asleep. Damn.
Dean knows Sam's just wiped out, but he wishes Sam had stayed awake because being alone with his thoughts seems like a really bad idea right now. He can't even convince himself that things will be okay, let alone convince his brother, and Sam didn't even seem to have the energy to try. But they have to try, they just have to. This is about more then just the two of them now – it's about the whole damn world. The only hope they have of stopping the apocalypse is if they do it together, as partners, and it's been so long since they've acted like partners that Dean's not even sure how to do it anymore. They need to get it back, whatever it was that they had, because if the worst happens and they can't stop it? Dean can't let them go down with things so wrong between them. If they're gonna die, then they're gonna die together, and Sam's gonna know exactly how much Dean loves him when they do – how much he loves every cell, every molecule, every thought and feeling, every inch of Sam's soul and every single beat of Sam's heart.
The heart that could so easily have stopped beating last night.
That thought makes Dean freeze and then tense up, damn near driving off the road for a second as a searing wave of ice rolls through his chest. Once he's got the steering wheel straightened out, he glances over at the giant body next to him, and then suddenly he can't help himself. He's pulling over to the gravel shoulder before his mind even knows what it's telling his limbs to do, and the second the impala is in park, Dean reaches over and grabs Sam's arm. He pulls his sleeping brother toward himself, as carefully as he can in his panicked state, and then drapes his arm around Sam's shoulder. Sam is so deeply asleep that he puts up no resistance – falling into and then setting against Dean's body, his head lolling onto Dean's shoulder. Dean's throat makes a choked noise that's completely beyond his control, just like the rest of him seems to be right now. He wraps his other arm around Sam as well and squeezes tightly, pushing his nose through the hair on the top of Sam's head and trying desperately to stop his stinging eyes from giving in to tears. Again. Fuck, could he be any more pathetic? Sam's fine, everything's fine, why is he still being a giant girl about it?
Maybe because everything isn't fine, at all.
Sam lets out a sleepy sigh and sinks a little further into Dean's side, blowing out hot breaths on Dean's neck and making a snuffley noise that probably means he's dreaming. Dean hopes with everything he has in him that it's a good dream, but after yesterday the chances of that are probably pretty small. Dean's pretty sure neither of them have had anything good to dream about for a really long time. Sam's breathing quickens and Dean can't fight the urge to rock him a little back and forth like he used to when Sam was seven or eight and would wake up in a cold sweat and beg to sleep in his big brother's bed. Dean never gave it a second thought, then – Sammy was scared and it was his duty to protect him. Dean's never taken anything as seriously in his entire life as he always took his job of caring for Sam. And it was never a burden to him, like Sam seems to think it was; never even for a second. He's aware of what psychological professionals would say; that it robbed him of his childhood or something, being responsible for another person at such a young age, but Dean wouldn't hesitate to start throwing punches at any asshole who ever said Sam wasn't good for him. It was him and Sam against the world, had been since the day Sam was born, and as messed up as everything is right now Dean still wouldn't trade it for anything.
Sam whimpers a little, so quietly that if Dean hadn't felt it against his skin he probably wouldn't have noticed. He closes his still-burning eyes and rubs up and down Sam's back lovingly a few times.
"Its okay, Sam, I'm right here," he whispers into Sam's hair, and just like when they were kids, that's all it takes for Sam to settle.
After a few minutes of breathing deep lungfuls of Sam's comforting scent, Dean gets himself back under control enough to drive again, but he doesn't move Sam back to his side of the bench seat. Even after a night from hell Sam's actually sleeping peacefully for a change so Dean's not gonna risk waking him. He adjusts the body against his a little so he can hold Sam up with just one arm, and then pulls back onto the highway; tires squealing on the blacktop in a peel-out Dean can never quite resist.
Dean's plan had been for them to drive the 20-ish minutes from Sioux Falls to Canton and set up at the nearest motel, but when Sam had fallen asleep Dean changed his mind. He figured Sam probably hadn't slept well at all the night before, so after pulling Sam's warm body against his, Dean hit the I-29 and kept going until his arm was so numb he was starting to worry that it might need to be amputated. Sam finally wakes up as Dean is pulling into the parking lot of a pretty decent looking hotel with white and blue trim and Tudor architecture. Sam blinks himself slowly awake and Dean gives him a minute to squint in the sunlight and get himself upright before he glances over.
"Morning," Dean grins.
Sam blinks a few more times and then rubs his fingertips into his eyes. "Where are we?" he mumbles groggily.
"Omaha."
Sam looks back and forth between Dean and the hotel in front of them a few times, and Dean can almost see the wheels turning as Sam's foggy brain attempts to process that.
"We – Nebraska?" Sam asks after a minute, his voice still rough and thick with sleep. "What are we … did you find a job or something?"
"No, I … you fell asleep," Dean says, shrugging. "So I just kept going."
Sam wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and squints over at Dean, still looking so adorably confused that Dean has to resist the urge to chuckle and lick Sam's sleepy skin.
"How long have we been driving?" Sam pushes his long bangs out of his eyes, leaving them sticking out at an odd angle over his ear.
"About four hours."
Sam fixes a gaze on Dean, now looking considerably more alert, and … something else. He almost looks a little … sad maybe?
"You drove for an extra four hours because you thought I needed a nap?" There's a note of incredulity in Sam's voice, almost like he's offended or something, and Dean isn't sure what to make of it so he just shrugs again.
"You tossed and turned all night."
Sam's still starting at Dean with a look on his face that's an odd mix of surprise and misery, but he doesn't say anything else, so Dean decides to let them drop it. He pushes the squeaky driver's side door open and goes into the lobby to book them a room without another word to Sam. The twenty-something, auburn-haired clerk glances at Sam in the car when Dean asks for a king-sized bed, but the crack he's always half expecting doesn't come; the girl just smiles softly, maybe a little bit knowingly, and wishes him a pleasant stay. When he gets back with two old fashioned bronze keys, Sam is just staring at his hands, lost in thought. Dean gets back into the car and leans over, bumping his fist on Sam's shoulder and snapping his brother out of his reverie.
"Hey, listen," he starts quietly, "I just wanted to say, before we go in there, that … I mean, whatever happens, I still …"
Dean trails off, but unexpectedly, Sam reaches across the seat and takes Dean's hand.
"I know," he says, gently squeezing Dean's fingers. "Me too."
PS - For those of you asking if I was actually gonna make them go to a motel and have it out, damn straight I am! Ohh, it's gonna be so angsty *giggles menacingly*