Idk why but I decided it would be kinda fun to turn this one shot into a multi-chaptered fic (except each fic still stands alone) about different chick flick moments shared between the brothers :)
Also, to Spnlady: Thank you so so SO much for the comment! I don't get them on here very often, so it quite literally made my day. Glad you enjoyed and hope you continue to enjoy in the future!
The library is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of paper and the low hum of the overhead lights. Dean is buried in a thick tome about werewolf lore, while Sam, unusually close, leans over his shoulder, scanning the same pages.
"Uh, you know you can grab your own book, right?" Dean mutters, not looking up.
Sam nods yet doesn't move away. "Yeah, I just... this one's got everything we need."
Dean sighs but lets it go anyway, flipping to the next page. Sam's proximity is stifling, his breath warm on Dean's neck. They've been at it for hours, and he hasn't strayed more than a foot from the elder all day.
Dean reaches for a book on lunar cycles, feeling Sam's gaze burning into his back. "Alright, seriously, what's going on with you today?"
Sam hesitates, his brow furrowed. "Just focused. We need to nail this one."
Dean narrows his eyes but doesn't push further. They have a job to do, and Sam's obsessive focus isn't entirely unusual when he's stressed.
They spend the rest of the day in similar fashion, Sam always within arm's reach, offering a book here, a note there, always watching Dean. Sam's unease is evident; he fidgets with the edge of his jacket, taps his foot nervously, and keeps asking Dean if he needs anything. The tension is thick, and Dean can't shake the feeling that something is eating at his brother.
By evening, armed with silver bullets and a solid plan, they track the werewolf to an abandoned factory on the outskirts of town. The hunt is swift but beyond brutal. The werewolf lunges at them, a blur of fur and fangs, but they manage to put it down. In the aftermath, they find Kyle, one of the victims, mortally wounded. Despite their efforts, he dies in Sam's arms, his brother Ethan arriving just in time to see the light leave his eyes.
Ethan's cries echo in the factory, a raw sound of anguish that cuts through the Winchester brothers like a knife. Sam kneels beside him, his face twisted in guilt and sorrow, holding Ethan as he weeps.
"I'm so sorry," Sam whispers, his voice barely audible over Ethan's sobs. His grip on him tightens, his own tears mingling with the young man's.
Dean, glancing around nervously, knows they can't stay. The authorities will be here soon, and the last thing they need is to be caught at the scene. "Sam, we have to go," he says gently but firmly, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We don't need the cops on our tails."
Sam looks up at Dean, his eyes wide and pleading. "But Dean, we can't just leave him. Look at him."
Dean's heart aches at the sight of his brother's pain, but he knows they have no choice. "Sammy, we did everything we could. Sometimes... it's just not enough. Come on, we have to go."
Sam reluctantly releases Ethan and stands up slowly, his eyes never leaving the grieving brother. "I'm so sorry," he repeats, his voice breaking.
The ride back to the motel is silent, the weight of the day pressing down on them both. Sam stares out the window, his face a mask of grief and guilt.
When they reach their room, Sam stands in the doorway, staring blankly at the floor. "I should have saved him, Dean. I should have done more."
Dean closes the door behind them, his own heart aching at the sight of his brother's pain. "Sam…"
Sam finally looks at Dean, his eyes red and raw. "What if that was you? What if I lost you?"
Dean's expression softens. He walks over to Sam, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere."
Sam's shoulders shake with suppressed emotion. "I can't stop thinking about Ethan. About how he lost his brother. It could be us, Dean."
"Sammy," Dean says, his voice firm but gentle, "we've been through hell and back. Literally. We're still standing. And we'll keep standing, together."
Sam collapses on the bed, his face buried in his hands. Dean sits down beside him, patting his back awkwardly. "Remember what I always say. No chick flick moments."
Sam lets out a choked laugh, his body trembling. "You're such an ass."
Dean smirks, though his eyes are soft. "Yeah, well, sometimes even I make exceptions. You're my brother, and I'm not losing you either."
Sam looks up, gratitude and pain etched in his face. "Thanks, Dean."
Dean nods, giving his brother a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "Now get some sleep. We've got another hunt tomorrow, and I need you sharp, not moping around."
Sam lies back, the tension slowly easing from his body. Dean stays there until he's sure the younger is asleep, then quietly gets up and grabs a beer from the fridge. He hesitates, then puts the drink back and returns to Sam's side.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dean places a hand on Sam's back, rubbing gently. "You did everything you could, Sam. You hear me? Everything. Don't beat yourself up over this. We can't save everyone, no matter how much we want to."
Sam murmurs something inaudible, but Dean catches the word "sorry" in the mix. He sighs heavily, feeling the weight of his brother's guilt.
"Listen, Sammy," he says softly. "We're in this together. Always have been, always will be. You're not alone in this. And no matter what happens, we face it together and we figure it out."
Sam finally drifts into a less fitful sleep, his breathing evening out. Dean stays with him, his hand still resting on his back, offering silent comfort. He watches his brother sleep, the lines of worry and sorrow easing from Sam's face.
As he sits by the bed, watching the moonlight filter through the curtains, Dean silently vows to do everything in his power to keep his brother safe. Because no matter how many times he says it, he knows chick flick moments are unavoidable when it comes to Sam.
And that's just fine by him. (Though he would never admit it).