A/N: Thanks for reading this. And for those who have followed or favorited, I'm forever grateful.
Heavy schmoop ahead, lots of brotherly love and angst.
Please review, comment, critique!
Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine. Dammit
CHAPTER 4
Dean crouched at the edge of the woods, looking cautiously out at the empty field, a black plane in the night, illuminated only by a sliver of moon and the Milky Way stretching out above him.
He was panting, like he'd run for miles through the wood. As if he'd been running for his life. Towards something? Away from something? He didn't know, but he knew — he knew — that the reason he was running was in this field.
And he saw it. A dark shape rising against the blackness, coming closer, out of the shadows and suddenly recognizable in the light from the night sky.
Sam.
He relaxed as his little brother moved towards him, and smiled for a moment, before he saw the blade in his brother's hand.
"Sam?" He whispered, confused as the kid — his kid — raised the dagger as if to strike.
"Dean." His brother's voice, but deeper, weirdly echoing with other sounds and a hiss like the hag that had attacked him — when? It seemed like minutes ago.
It seemed like years.
"Sam, what are you doing?" He found himself backing up a step, from his own brother, driven back by hazel eyes suddenly glittering yellow, glowing in the night like a cat.
Or a certain demon.
"Dean," Sam's voice again, but deeper now, older. Weirdly familiar in its depth and tone, but not quite right. "If he dies, I swear I'll kill you," the voice growled at him, raising the knife above him, bringing it down to just barely prick his chest. "Should've done it years ago."
"No," Dean shook his head. This couldn't be happening. Sam would never threaten him.
Would he?
Wouldn't he? Hunter Dean challenged, deep in his mind. Are you so sure? How do you know it's really Sam?
It's Sam. It IS, Big Brother Dean insisted. And he'd never hurt me.
"Get out of here," his brother's voice again, but not…."Get away from me, or I'll kill you right here."
He shook his head. He couldn't leave, couldn't move really.
Couldn't believe that Sam would say these words. Not his Sam. Never his Sammy.
Not your Sammy then, is he, tough guy?
"Dean," Sam's altered voice called him again, from closer this time, and the knife penetrated his skin a little deeper.
"No," he gasped. "No. Sammy, don't"
"DEAN!"
He came back to himself with a start and tried to sit up, but a firm hand pressed against his aching chest, holding him to the ground.
"Easy there, Tiger. Just stay still a minute." The voice from his dream. He could place it now. Not Sam. Dad.
His eyes fluttered open and he looked up at his father, who broke into a wide smile. "There you are, Champ. How're you feeling?"
Dean frowned and took a quick inventory. "I'm — I think I'm okay," he decided, sitting up slowly, this time with John's help.
"Take it slow," John advised. "You're a little banged up."
Dean nodded and looked around, surprised to find himself back on the main level of the cavern, a few feet from the pile of bloody rags where Sean was.
Had been, he corrected himself, because there was no evidence of the boy now.
"The kids?"
John smiled at him, beaming with pride. "You saved them all, son. They're all on their way to the hospital and their families. You did good."
Dean nodded, absently, and his gaze flicked up the wall that hid the ledge and he fugly's layer.
"How — the hag. The egg. What—-" Dean wondered, trying to grasp the threads of the recent past.
John put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You killed her," he assured his son. "You did great, Dean. I'm proud of you."
"No, I — it wasn't me," he shook his head. "It was Sammy," he remembered. "She was…attacking me, and…"
The memory hit him full force and he ran his hands over his chest. His slightly bruised, a little tender, chest, totally lacking in gaping holes or talon marks.
"What the hell?" he whispered, and suddenly looked around, getting to his feet, despite his father's protests. "Where's Sam?" He wondered.
John scoffed. "I found him hiding on that ledge above," John reported, disgust and disappointment dripping from his voice. "You're down here doing all the work, and he's up there, playing with rocks. Useless."
"No, he —" Dean stopped himself, knowing, from experience, that their father would never believe that Sam had been the one to save Dean. "Where's. Sam." he repeated, his voice growing cold with demand.
John brushed a hand against the air, waving concern about his youngest son away as easily as smoke. "I sent him to the car. We didn't need him here."
"Wait, you said I was down here?" Dean repeated and looked at the wall again.
John nodded. "Right next to the ashes of the hag," he smiled at his eldest, gesturing to the pile of ashes a few feet away.
"That's not…" Dean began, realizing that the pile of ash must have been the remains of the hench-zombies he and Sam had killed. He stopped talking, and shook his head, knowing it was useless. His father had decided what had happened, and he'd never change his mind, no matter what Dean said. "What about the other one — her offspring?"
John laughed humorlessly. "So Sam sold you that lie, too, did he?" He scoffed. "A stone egg! Just another excuse for playing it safe, while you did all the hard work."
Dean shook his head and glared at his father for a moment, then ran a hand over his mouth. Don't bother, he told himself. He'll just get pissed off that you're 'lying' for Sam.
"Can we go?" he asked instead and John smiled, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Yeah," his father said, and the pair started back out of the cavern and through the tunnels.
"That was a good idea you had, marking the tunnels," John congratulated him, gesturing at the Xs and arrows on the walls as they passed them. "The kids had no problem finding their way out, and once I had turned them over to the EMTs, I was able to get right to you."
Dean glanced at his father, frowning. "Sam—-"
John raised a hand. "Now, Dean," he said reasonably, "Sam already tried to take credit for your work. I know you think you have to defend him, but we both know he's useless as a Hunter. Even if he did mark the walls, we all know the idea must've been yours."
Dean scoffed and shook his head, knowing that, no matter what he said, John would believe what he wanted.
Sam deserves better, Big Brother Dean groused silently.
Damn straight he does, Hunter Dean agreed. Even if there is something weird about him lately.
Dean huffed a laugh. Must've hit my head harder than I thought, if you're defending Sam.
What? Credit where credit is due. I can recognize the kid got the job done, while still wondering just what the fuck is wrong with him.
Dean shook his head as he and his father exited the cavern's mouth, stepping out into an overcast day.
A quick look showed Dean that the EMTs had left, and the cops had, apparently, not yet arrived, although he could hear sirens in the distance. He knew without asking that his dad would want to leave quickly, before the police arrived on the scene. Let them make of the caverns what they wanted. The Winchesters would be long gone, back to the river front cabin they'd rented, just the other side of Asheville, a little more than half an hour away.
The older Winchesters walked through the little stand of trees between the field and the road, returning to where they'd parked.
For the first time since before they'd entered the caverns — how long ago? Dean wondered — Dean smiled a genuine smile, seeing a slight figure straighten up from where he'd been leaning against the side of the Impala.
"Sam," he grinned and walked a little more quickly towards his brother, his eyes drinking in the sight of his baby brother, smiling back at him, evidently unharmed.
And not a dagger in sight.
John grabbed his son by the elbow and Dean looked back over his shoulder.
"You head straight back to the cabin, Dean," John ordered. "No stops, no wasting time. Sam and I have an appointment."
"Yes, sir," Dean said quietly, his smile fading to nothing. He knew what kind of appointment John had in mind. And there was no way Dean was allowing that to happen without being there to keep it from getting out of hand.
John broke away, not even looking at his younger son, and in a minute, was driving off.
Despite his dad's insistence that he 'not waste time', Dean pulled Sam into a bear hug as soon as he reached the Impala.
"You okay?" He whispered into his brother's hair.
"I'm good," Sam assured him, hugging him back for a moment, before pulling away. "How're you? I'm not the one that bitch was trying to eat."
"I'm….I'm good," Dean said, frowning. "Not sure how," he admitted, rounding the car to get in the driver's seat, as Sam climbed in to ride shotgun.
"I'm just glad you're all right," Sam said, clearly avoiding the implied questions.
Dean let it ride until they were back on the two-lane highway heading towards Asheville.
"What happened?" he demanded, and glanced briefly at his brother, who kept looking out the passenger door window.
"She jumped you, I cut her head off," Sam shrugged. "We burned her, took out Junior the same way. Nothing to it, really."
"How did I end up back on the main floor?" Dean wondered. "Because I know I didn't climb back down, Sammy."
"Of course you did," Sam countered, glancing at his brother briefly before looking out the window again.
"Sam."
Dean waited until his brother turned in his seat to look at him, his puppy eyes wide and innocent and not fooling his big brother for a second.
"We killed the fugly, and saved the kids, Dean," Sam said levelly. "If you don't remember climbing down, well, maybe it's adrenaline or something."
"Adrenaline my ass!" Dean countered. "Dammit, don't lie, Sam! Not to me!"
Sam looked quickly at his brother, then away again. He sighed and nodded, defeated. "What do you want to know."
"What HAPPENED?" Dean demanded. "The Truth. Not what Dad wants to believe."
Sam sighed again, and rubbed the back of his neck. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"I...She got me," he shrugged. "She knocked me flat, and...and muttered some incantation or something, and I dropped the machete, and she…."
Dean glanced at his brother, sitting safe beside him by the grace of a god Dean had long ago stopped believing in. Sam was watching him, his eyes all but glowing with concern and affection.
"I was dead," Dean admitted, flatly. "Or as good as. I remember — I remember her talons, claws, whatever they were, ripping into me. I think she punctured my lungs…I couldn't breathe." He shot another glance at Sam. "And then you cut her head off, and I think I passed out."
Sam nodded. "She was on top of you by the time I could get to you," he confirmed.
"And not in a good way," Dean muttered.
Sam laughed, softly. "No. Not in a good way. She was scratching at your chest," he confirmed and his gaze drifted back to the blacktop stretching out before them through the windshield. "But she hadn't broken skin, and certainly didn't puncture a lung or anything. I kicked her off of you, but...you had this weird look," he added, frowning, "like you weren't quite there. I couldn't get you to respond, but you weren't seriously hurt. I figured, another spell, like she'd put on Sean. Thought the best way to end it would be to end her. So, I burned her, then her head."
"And Junior?"
"Never got all the way out of the egg. It popped its head out and I took it off, then poured lighter fluid all over and inside the egg, lit it up."
"How did I get down?"
Sam shrugged again. "You were still out of it, but once she was burned, at least basically responsive. We climbed down together."
"Dad said you were still up there when he got to us."
Sam nodded. "We'd left both machetes up there. As soon as I made sure Sean was okay, and sent him after the others, I climbed back up to get 'em. That's when Dad showed up."
"And he assumed you'd been hiding up there the whole time," Dean shook his head, disgusted. "You did the whole job practically by yourself — probably saved my ass in the bargain — and he thinks you were just dead weight. Why didn't you tell him, Sam? Why didn't you tell him the truth?"
Sam chuckled at the idea. "What?" He laughed. "And get punished for lying as well as talking back?" he scoffed. "He'd never believe me, Dean, you know that. He never does."
"He used to," Dean muttered.
"That was a long time ago."
"Yeah," Dean frowned and sighed. "Listen, when we get back to the cabin…."
"Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that," Sam interrupted. "I need you to do me a favor."
"Of COURSE!" Dean promised, glancing at his brother looking so earnestly at him. "I'll tell Dad everything, the way it really happened, who the real hero is. You don't even have to ask," Dean assured his brother and reached out his hand to lightly pat the younger boy's chest.
"I know I don't," Sam nodded, "but that's not what I'm asking you."
Dean frowned. "Then what?"
"I need you…" Sam paused, bit his lips and ran a hand over his mouth. "Dean," he said calmly. "When we get back to the cabin, I want...I need," he corrected himself, "for you to leave."
"I—-" Dean squeaked, too stunned to make a coherent noise.
"I don't care what you do, what excuse you make," Sam continued, quickly. "Get gas for the Impala, go pick up dinner, just go for a walk by the river, I don't care. But I want you out of the cabin when Dad and I have our...talk."
"He's going to kick the SHIT out of you," Dean snapped. "You know it, I know it, and I won't just leave you to it!" Dean practically bellowed.
"Yes, you will," Sam said confidently, his voice low and even. Confident. Steady.
Far too mature for his baby brother.
"Why the HELL would I?" Dean demanded, his own volume not even slightly moderated by his brother's calm response.. "When we both know he's going to...why would I do that? Why would you want me to do that?!"
"Because I need you on his good side."
"His—"
Dean stopped talking, glanced in his rear view mirror and signaled right as he pulled his car to the shoulder. He slipped her into park and twisted in his seat until he was looking full on at his baby brother.
He rubbed his left hand over his mouth and, without even really noticing it, extended his right across the back of the seats to lightly touch his brother's shoulder.
"Okay," he said quietly, consciously gathering his control. "Explain. What. The. HELL. Is going on with you, lately? You're keeping secrets from me, Sammy. You've never kept secrets from me, man. Dad, sure, why wouldn't you? But me. Nah. Never."
"How would you know?" Sam asked mildly, barely suppressing a grin.
"WHAT?"
"If I were keeping secrets from you — and I was successful at it — then you'd never know, right?" Sam said, logically, and grinned at him.
Dean looked at him, narrowing his eyes. "Don't start with me, Bitch."
"I'm not starting anything, Jerk," Sam practically laughed. "I'm just saying." And suddenly he was as serious as Dean had ever seen him. "Maybe you don't know everything about me, Dean. Maybe you haven't for a while."
AH-HAH! Hunter Dean smirked.
The entire rest of Dean's psyche flipped him off.
"Sam…" Dean groaned, rubbing his forehead to try to stop the headache that was just starting to form.
"Look, Dean," Sam said earnestly, "I'll tell you, I will. You'll get it all," he promised.
"When Dad leaves," Dean growled.
"Yeah."
"WHY? Why do I have to wait until Dad is out of town? I mean, he's a paranoid bastard, but he's not bugging the rooms, if for no other reason than he couldn't possibly afford the tech."
Sam chuckled softly. "I'm not worried about Dad bugging rooms," he assured his brother with a smile. "He doesn't need to," he added, once more with that oddly serious look on his face, in his hazel eyes, that suddenly made it seem like his baby brother was far older than he appeared. "You tell him everything, Dean," Sam shrugged, "because you're the Good Son. And there's nothing wrong with that."
"I have never — NEVER — told Dad anything you told me in confidence. You know that," Dean reminded him through clenched teeth, hurt beyond all reason at the casual accusation.
Sam smiled, softly. "Yes, you have," he practically whispered. "When you've thought that my secret put me in danger, you've told him. Every time. And you SHOULD," he admitted. "It's saved my sorry ass more than once. I was a kid. I did some monumentally stupid shit."
"Still a kid," Dean muttered.
Sam grinned. "Maybe," he conceded. "But not always. And," he added with a deep breath, "right now I'm a kid that has an appointment to keep, so...drive, will you? It's gonna be bad enough without us being late."
Dean shook his head. "Not until you tell me why you won't let me protect you!"
Sam sighed and shook his head. "DRIVE," he urged. "And I'll tell you."
===========SPN=============
Sam leaned back in his seat, inhaling deeply of the familiar smells of leather, old coffee, and engine oil, with faint notes of greasy road food and guns. The smells of the only real home he'd ever had.
Damn, I'm going to miss this, he thought, as Dean shifted the Impala out of park and pulled smoothly back onto the road.
There was little in his life that gave him the same…joy wasn't quite the word for it. Neither was happiness. Contentment, then, he decided. Nothing gave him quite the same level of contentment that he got from just being on the open road with his big brother, as the Impala ate up the miles and too-loud Mullet Rock poured out of the speakers.
Even when they were arguing — hell, even when they were out and out FIGHTING — there was still no place better.
Just him and Dean against the world. If only it could stay this way forever, Sam thought with a smile.
But it couldn't. Their father was waiting (Sam frowned a little, wondering when he'd stopped thinking of the man as "Dad", even tough he still used the word aloud. Probably around 5 years ago, he realized), and nothing good would come of being late.
Nothing good would come of being on time, for that matter, but there'd probably be fewer actually broken ribs if they got back to the cabin reasonably soon after John did.
"Spill," Dean ordered beside him, and Sam couldn't stop the tiny bit of a smile from forming.
Funny that Dean can order me around, and I have no problem with it.
When John ordered him to do something, on the other hand…well, he had good reason to question what his father wanted him to do, didn't he?
And now, he had to share those reasons with Dean.
Shit was going to get ugly.
=======SPN===========
Dean looked over at his brother as the Impala ate the asphalt, watching from the corner of his eye as a small smile crossed his brother's face, turned into first a frown, then resignation.
"Spill," Dean said firmly, not willing to let…whatever this was…drag out any longer.
Beside him, Sam closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
Well, that's not a good sign, Hunter Dean observed drily.
No shit, Sherlock, Big Brother Dean rolled his eyes.
"Okay," Sam said softly, blowing out a long, slow breath and twisting sideways in his seat to face Dean fully, even though Dean had to keep his eyes on the road.
"Whenever I tell you something, however many times I make you promise not to tell Dad," Sam repeated, "if you think that something is putting me in danger, you will break that promise. Every. Time."
Dean sighed. "So what you're telling me is, whatever you're going to tell me — it puts you in danger. Great." Dean grimaced. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time, Sammy?"
Dean shot a quick look at his brother and was surprised to find the kid smiling. Not his full-dimples-convince-anyone-to-do-anything smile, but a smile, nonetheless.
"Actually, no," Sam countered. "It doesn't put me in danger. But it won't seem like that to you, not a first," he conceded, and sighed deeply. "That's why I need a few days with you — without Dad around — to convince you. To show you that it's really okay. That I'm really okay."
Dean frowned, and ran that one through his mind a little, turning the concept around in his head to see if he could make it fit into the Protect Sam framework that sometimes seemed to be the biggest part of him.
"Okay," he finally allowed. "I can see that. But what about now? What about when we get back to the cabin? Why would I leave you alone for that…" Dean trailed off, not willing to say aloud what they both knew was coming.
"Beat down?" Sam chuckled drily. "Well, I'd like to think because I asked, but we both know that's not going to work."
"No. It will not."
"Then how about because it's safer for me?"
Dean shot him another look. "My leaving you alone. With Dad. With Dad pissed off. Is SAFER? In what Universe? 'Cause it sure as hell isn't the one I live in!"
Sam smiled that weird little smile, the one that made him seem so much older than his 15 years. The one that reminded Dean that, in spite of his best efforts, his kid brother wasn't such a kid, anymore.
Dean was starting to hate that smile.
"Like I said," Sam told him. "I need you on his good side."
"I am on his good side," Dean countered, "and being on his good sign might just save you some bruises or out and out breaks, you idiot."
"I'm not worried about some bruises, Dean! I'm not worried about broken bones, or ribs, or a busted arm or wrist. Hell, he'll probably break my nose, while he's at it, since school's out for summer and it'll heal before I have to be back in school — and in public — in the fall."
"You should be worried, you moron!" Dean snapped at him. "What is the matter with you?!"
"NOTHING," Sam assured him and rolled his eyes when Dean just snorted in contempt. "Dean…Look, can't you please — PLEASE — just do as I ask and find a reason to not be there? You know that Dad'll probably tell you to leave us alone, anyhow."
"Yeah. And I'll tell him, No!"
"No, Dean," Sam shook his head and a break in his voice, and when Dean glanced over, he was shocked — and shook — to see tears starting to run down his baby brother's face. "Please. Please!" Sam repeated desperately. "Can't you just do what I ask? Just…you have to believe me, Dean. You HAVE to. I know what I'm talking about. If you're there…it's just going to make it worse," he insisted, his voice barely audible over the purr of the Impala's engine.
"Sam, we both know you're going to be lucky not to need a hospital tonight," Dean said flatly. "How does that get worse?"
Sam sighed, and closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Don't make me say this," he begged — begged, Dean realized with a chill, and Sam never begged, hadn't begged for anything since he'd found out the monsters in his closet were real. "Dean. Just… do as I ask, can't you?"
"No," Dean shook his head. "Sam, I…No, I can't! I can't just…leave you with him! The last time I left you alone with Dad when he was this mad at you, you almost got a punctured lung! I am NOT. Not going to be there!"
"IF YOU'RE THERE HE'LL KILL ME!"
Dean shot a quick glance to the rear view mirror — nobody behind him, thankfully — before slamming on the brakes.
Sam caught himself with a hand on the dashboard, barely keeping in his seat. "What the HELL, Dean?"
Dean pulled the Impala quickly to the shoulder, again — and screw Dad and his fucking time line. He'd make up something about slow trucks.
Dean was almost panting, his heart pounding — his head not that far behind — and twisted in his seat to face his crying brother.
"What the FUCK are you talking about, Sammy?" He demanded, grabbing his little brother by the collar of his coat and giving him a little shake. "Dad would never…He loves you, Sam. I know he's hard on you, but he's just trying to keep you safe. He'd never hurt you. Not really."
"Dean." Sam gave him a seriously? look.
"I know, I know," Dean conceded, and didn't worry that he was starting to cry even harder than his brother. "But he'd never kill you, Sammy. He wouldn't! You're his son. He loves you!" he insisted against all available recent evidence.
Sam reached out and put a hand on the back of Dean's neck, shaking his head sadly. "No, Dean," he said quietly. "He doesn't. He hates me. He has for a while now."
"No," Dean sniffed. "No, that's not…."
"It is," Sam sighed, suddenly calm and wiped first his tears, then Dean's away. "He blames me. He wants me dead. He wants to kill me himself. The only reason he doesn't…is you."
Dean shook his head. "Why would you say that? Why would he think that? Blames you for what?" He asked desperately, even though he knew the answer.
"For Mom," Sam confirmed. "He blames me for Mom dying. He says it's all my fault. That he wishes I'd never been born. That if I hadn't been born, Mom would be alive. He says…" Sam bit his lips and angrily wiped away the tears that continued to fall.
"Oh, Sammy," Dean breathed and would have pulled his brother against him, but when Sam resisted the gentle pull, he settled for mirroring Sam's actions and put his own hand on the back of his baby brother's neck. "No."
Sam nodded. "He says I'm evil," Sam added brokenly. "And that someday…" and here he took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to meet his big brother's eyes. "Someday, he'll make you understand. What I am. What I've done. What I will do."
"No." That's not true, Big Brother Dean insisted. Even Hunter Dean was having issues with it, although...
That does explain what you heard in the cavern, doesn't it? Hunter Dean whispered, and Dad's words repeated, unbidden, in his head: "Get away from me, or I'll kill you right here."
"And when you know…."
"No. Sammy, no. Don't." Dean's voice was so soft, even he wasn't sure if he'd actually said it aloud.
"When you know…Dad says someday he'll make sure you really understand; that all of it — Mom's dying, the hunting, never having a real home, a real life — that it's all my fault, and when you understand that…Dad says you'll kill me. Together."
"Sammy…" Dean breathed and tried again to pull his brother to him.
This time, Sam pushed away and shifted back, away from Dean, pressing back into the little corner when the seat almost met the solid bulk of the door.
"Dammit, Dean," he whispered brokenly. "Why did y…I didn't want to tell you that! I didn't want to say any of that, not to you. Why couldn't you just have done what I asked?" he whimpered, and closed his eyes tightly against the shocked, hurt, almost shattered look in his big brother's eyes.
"Jesus Christ, Sammy," Dean scrambled across the seat and pulled Sam into his arms, rocking slightly as they sat clutching each other.
If there'd been a gun to his head, Dean couldn't have said who he was trying to comfort, himself or Sammy.
"Never," Dean vowed. "Never ever. I would never hurt you, Sammy. You're my baby brother, and I…I…"
"I know," Sam breathed in his brother's scent and nodded against Dean's neck. "I know you won't."
"I will DIE, before I ever kill you," Dean swore, ignoring the tears on his cheeks, unsure if they were his or Sam's. Probably both. "On Mom's grave, Sammy," he insisted and pulled back just far enough to press his forehead against Sam's, leaving them clutching the back of each other's neck. "I swear to you. No matter what. No matter whatever happens to us, whatever you do, whatever I do — damn sure whatever Dad does — I will never, ever kill you. And I will protect you to my dying breath, Sammy. From everyone. Even from Dad. Forever and ever."
"You can't be there, tonight, Dean," Sam whispered. "You can't. He's sure…Dad is absolutely sure that if you're there…you'll see something. In me. And…and to protect you, he'll…"
"I won't let him. I'll never let him."
"I know, but…Dean! I don't want…If you're there tonight, somebody is going to die, I know it, I just know it!"
"No, Sammy."
"I know it, I know it, you have to believe me, Dean. You have to!"
"Okay, okay, okay," Dean pulled him close again, and Sam burrowed into Dean's neck. "I won't, I won't, I won't. It'll be okay, Sammy. It'll all be okay."
Sam nodded and clutched harder at his brother's jacket. "Thank you. Thank you."
"Shh. ShhShhShhShh. It's okay. I've got you, little brother. I've always got you."
"I know. I know."
Dean rocked them both until the tears gave way to sniffles, which gave way to uneven breaths, which gave way to quiet understanding and, finally, a tiny bit of embarrassment at their having broken down that far.
Slowly, gently, they let each other go and looked out their own windows, wiping away tears they both silently pretended neither of them had shed.
"Well, shit," Dean laughed. "That ought to be enough chick-flick crap to last a year. Even for a little bitch like you."
"Just drive, Jerk," Sam smiled at his brother, and there was that look again — the pure trust and belief and love that only Sam had ever had for him. "I have an appointment to keep."