Heaven and Hell

Named for the song and alluded to lyrics by Black Sabbath that Dean's listening to.

Dean was free now so he should be happy. That's what all the shining eyes and smiles were saying.

But he had been reckless and a bit of an idiot lately. An idiot for saying yes to Michael and an idiot for taking on reckless plans all on his own.

An idiot with a heart flooding over with heaven and hell and all the high water of the tears he couldn't cry right now. He had done it all for love. Love that had blinded him, that lost him and saved him.

He'd said "yes" because how could he say "no"? What choice did he have when Sam was in the hands of the Devil? If he had to choose again, he would do what he'd done again, to save Sam. Always for Sam. Heaven and Hell and high water for Sam. Oh, well, what could he do? He was over his head with the overwhelming power of that bond. On and on and on with this mutual self-sacrifice. This crazy idiot love between brothers that had killed them both and brought them back like some Cosmic joke that never struck its punchline.

Dean's heart was clenching in his chest again. That love was so intense it was constantly painful. He reached for his iPod, placed the headphones on his head. He was half out of the body when he switched the song over to a Black Sabbath tune that embodied his life's anthem, so he thought.

He laid there listening on and on to the theme song of his life. The night grew blacker yet and the bunker retained the ambiance of a sanctuary. Here they were. Perpetually, the Winchesters. Caught between the wars of Heaven and Hell.

Dean laid there with the music swimming around in his head. He let his mind roam through his home while he lay in his bed. These were the golden halls of letters, the place he'd come to claim and keep. It was always the mystic, half out of reach and yet it kept him close in comfort. The moon and the sun were hung above him, so great was his elation to have finally found this place. Moon and sun were equal now because of the one constant in this newfound life that had not changed. That had been given back to him over and over again, sacrifice after sacrifice.

Sam.

Dean couldn't take it anymore. He'd tried to drown it out, but the need got louder and louder. It was childish and stupid. And he couldn't help it. He'd needed this for years. The last time he'd even allowed himself to think about it they were little kids.

It was around 2 am by the time Dean crept to Sam's room. He rapped on it once. There was no answer. But the door wasn't locked.

Dean pushed the door open and closed it shut in one motion. He figured that Sam would want to know what the heck he was doing in here. He pushed the headphones off his head, drawing a deep breath to explain. But how was he going to explain this sudden vulnerability that he'd delayed acting on for decades? How to explain what the song that was winding around in his head meant to him? What his brother meant to him. How sorry he was that he was acting this way when Sam and Sam alone could truly understand Dean's constant struggle with Heaven and Hell.

The words caught in Dean's throat. Fool, oh what a fool. How would he make himself look weak and childlike again to his brother who had spent a decade and an eternity in the shadow of Heaven and Hell's personal vendetta? Was he really gonna whine to this guy who had suffered more than he cared to imagine and-He shook himself. Stupid! It was stupid. But he'd wanted this badly enough for so many years that he couldn't help it. Maybe Sam wouldn't make fun of him later. With a huff, he locked the door behind him and looked up at last at Sam's room.

Dean crept into the darkness, not having expected to find it mostly dark in here. There was a candle lit on his bedside desk, burning down and burning out. Dean realized it smelled like some kind of spell spice that Sam might be using to ward his room extra from some night bumping being. Soundly tucked into his own room, but not safe. No, never safe. Not after Heaven and Hell had their way. Dean caught a hoarse little croak from escaping him.

In the light of said candle, Dean could see Sam laying on his back in the bed. He had his iPod in his hand.

Dean laughed. There was no way this could be the case. But the screen on Sammy's iPod also said Heaven and Hell by Black Sabbath.

Dean crept to the edge of Sam's bed, nudging his hand. Sam stirred out of music-induced dozing. His eyes flickered in the candlelight. Dean held up the screen to his iPod to show him the coincidence that was anything but. Sam's teeth reflected the candlelight then as he smiled.

"What the-? How'd we manage to make the same random mullet rock choice at 2 in the morning?" Sam's voice was soft with sleepiness, innocent again in Dean's vulnerable ears. Then, Dean drew in a sharp breath, twisting his lips to the side in a little smirk. How long would it be before Sam asked him why the Hell he'd broken into his room this late at night?

Sam looked up at him, blinking in the dark. His eyes adjusted and then the tender smile on his face said he wasn't going to ask. Because he already knew why Dean had come. Of course, what a fool. Dean should have known. Touchy feely Sam had probably been longing for something like this for years and years himself. But neither one of them were going to make the first move to suggest this was what was needed to heal them both.

Dean laughed at himself and cringed apologetically. Sam held his arms open. With a soft huff, tired of resisting this, childish though it be, Dean climbed into bed with Sam and laid his head on his brother's chest. Sam sniffed back a snicker, as the inflated machismo of his big brother finally let down its fences.

He pressed his face into Dean's hair and laid his hand between his shoulder blades. Dean swallowed a laugh and closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the feeling of Sam's hand on his aching back. Now that he was here, he wondered why they had danced around each other their whole adult lives about this? As much Heaven and Hell as they'd been through with and for each other, why did it matter if they reverted to their childhood anxiety bed sharing habit once in a while?

Sam nuzzled Dean's hair for a second, leaning up and snuffing the candle with his fingertips. Dean winced. Sam hadn't bothered to lick his fingers first. Maybe he didn't feel fire like the rest of them? Why would he? He'd burned in Hell for so, so long. Longer than Dean had done to save him. Alone there in the dark, possessed by Satan and then suddenly not but rather tortured by him after. And all of that for the love of his brother and trying to save the world from a mess he'd had a hopeless hand in, without meaning to. Just like Dean was now.

"This pose...Was the other way around, when we were little." Dean muttered it almost to himself. He leaned up to look at Sam as he felt a soft chuckle pass through him. He wasn't going to apologize for reminiscing either.

"Well, I was smaller back then. Fit right under your arm. And you weren't so broken." Sam sighed. His hand crept up Dean's back and rested at the base of his neck, thumb brushing over the hair at the base of his scalp. Dean was almost moved to tears. How in all of Heaven and Hell could one gentle hand set all things right with a single touch?

"We both were a lot less broken then…" Dean swallowed and reached around Sam, taking his free hand in a clenched fist and bringing it to rest near his heart. Sam smiled, opening the hand Dean was holding within the confines of his fingers and pressing his palm to Dean's chest and their twined fingers together by the tips. Dean's tortured heartbeat was slowing to a steadier pace under Sam's tapping tempo index finger that had found the music in their shared pulse. They'd be sleeping soon.

"Least you know where you left the pieces of you...How to fit them together when it doesn't make sense anymore…"Sam was half asleep when he said it, but Dean understood. Their lives were a mosaic of Heaven and Hell. A bridge of broken pieces that had put them close to God.

Dean rolled over until they were in each other's arms. He leaned up and kissed both sides of Sam's face, falling asleep with his forehead pressed to Sam's throat, having listened to his breath at its source for a chance at sleep.

Mary had been sleepless last night. She had seen Dean go into the room, but said nothing to the wiser when both of the brothers emerged from Sam's room the next morning, hair ruffled and eyes shining with this shared smile like they were both keeping an innocent secret they would never be able to put words to admit to anyway.

Mary alone understood the secret, having remembered when the toddler version of Dean used to climb into Sam's crib in the nights long ago before Heaven and Hell had taken what they would. She went away by herself and cried into her coffee, tears of happiness, that some little threads of innocence, some finite pieces of the brothers her babies were alive and teething yet at the hearts of these good men.