Better Than Fiction
K Hanna Korossy

"Whatever Chuck did to Amara, he's probably more powerful than ever. Billie wants us dead. Jack's powerless. And Michael's not returning our prayers. So we have no heavy-hitters on our side. We're basically at zero."

Sam sagged at Dean's ruthless recitation. "We'll regroup, somehow," he still said, trying to believe it.

"Right. Yeah." Dean lifted his glass. "To somehow."

Sam didn't toast. He drank his whiskey, still contemplating his brother, who sat in despairing silence. Yes, things looked…bad. It wasn't the first time, but perhaps it had never been this bleak. Contrary to what he'd said to Dean, Sam had no ideas, and no notion where to look for one.

But it was maybe their last night together, and Sam wanted to clear the air completely. Even if it changed nothing, he wanted the two of them at least to be good.

"I guess I never really got how trapped you felt," he broke the silence, his voice low.

Dean snorted into his glass. "Me being ready to shoot you clued you in, huh?"

"You weren't ready to shoot me," Sam countered calmly. Dean had been desperate, even enough to draw on Sam, but Sam had never feared he'd actually pull the trigger. "We did do some things Chuck didn't want us to," he pointed out.

"Did we, Sam?" Dean cocked a head at him. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah," Sam said with certainty. "We did."

Dean made another scoffing noise, wagged his head once, but he didn't argue.

"But, I mean, first it was Dad ordering you around, drilling into you that you didn't have any options besides hunting."

"That's not how it—"

"And then, I guess, in some ways it was me, right?" Sam said with painful honesty. Like he'd told Dean earlier, the one thing he always knew was true was that he could count on his brother. But at what cost? "You would've left the job a long time ago except you had to watch my back, even when I was dragging you down with me. 'Take care of your brother,' right?"

"No." Dean sat up, feet thumping on the floor, and his voice carried emotion for the first time since Sam had wandered into the room. "You never made me feel trapped. Crap, Sam, do you really believe that? Yeah, okay, there were a few times when I wanted to walk away and I didn't because of you, but that was because I wanted us to stay together, not because you had me on some kind of leash. That year you were in Hell and I was 'free' to play house with Lisa? I swear on Mom's memory, Sam, that was the worst year of my life. Seriously. You were the best thing to happen to me, you know?" His eyes drilled into Sam. "And that's the reason we made it this far, the way we've saved this world from going off the deep end, how many times now? Because of what we have, you and me. You saved me, over and over again. So, no. You never were, and you're never gonna be, my weakness. Not for Chuck or anyone else." He took a breath, deflating a little. "Just…was there a point to any of it? All the losses and sacrifices and-and misery—was it just entertainment?"

"No," Sam said, and the warmth in him made everything feel just fine, at least in this moment. "I don't believe that. But you know what? Even if it were, even if this is the end, I'm still glad we had this." He moved his hand between himself and his brother. "No one else could have written that or made that happen." Countless other worlds had proved that point.

Dean considered his words, sipping his drink. But he'd relaxed back into his chair, eyes weary but no longer lifeless. "Yeah," he finally said. And while it didn't ring with belief, it didn't sound like he was faking it, either.

Good enough. Sam tipped his drink forward, clinking glasses with Dean when his brother mirrored him.

More than good. This was everything.

The End