Chapter Text
I love him.
It’s a mantra. Over and over, the same sentence repeats inside of his head.
I love him, I love him, I love him.
It never stops. It especially rang loud when he grieved the absence of his brother who had abandoned him to go to Stanford. He had felt like a ghost then; restless, impulsive, and quicker to anger. It wasn’t so bad at first when they continued talking over the cell regularly, but then all the noise had come to a stop. When Sam had stopped returning his calls, Dean truly felt like he couldn’t move on. Like he was stuck in purgatory, the veil, and he was never going to be able to leave it.
And then like a prayer being answered, years later, Sam was on the road with him again. And again it plays, it sings—
I love him, I love him.
Yet Dean is reminded of all the reasons why he can’t say those words. After this long and especially after Jessica’s death, there was no way that Sam still harbored those twisted feelings towards him. Unlike Dean’s, whose feelings seemed to have only burned brighter and hotter for his brother.
Dean wonders if Sam ever thinks about it.
—
It’s a while after Jessica’s death when Dean gets to witness another glimpse into the world he so helplessly desires but denies himself of.
They’re smokin’ Mary Jane in Bumfuck, Egypt under the stars and among trees when Sam turns over to look at him. At first, he just stares which Dean doesn’t pay much attention to since he’s enjoying his high, but then Sam inches closer to him from where they sit on the grass. The rustle of nature is what makes Dean finally peer over at his brother.
In front of him, Sam is staring deep into his soul. Instead of being creeped out or shoving him away, Dean repositions himself to face his staring brother; he stares back into Sam’s soul, unblinking and undeterred, as if it were a staring contest.
It seems to snap Sam out of whatever haze he was because he blinked at Dean and asked, “what are you doing?”
Dean smiled widely, “you blinked! Which means ya lost!”
Sam blinks again, scoffs, and then shakes his head with a little smile, fond, “ok, whatever.”
“Why were you staring at my face, anyway?”
The question seems to catch Sam off guard, as if he had expected Dean to ignore it, but there was just no way that was going to happen. Dean wanted to know everything about his brother. Everything. No matter how small of a thing it is, Dean wants to know.
“Well?” Dean prompts after a few minutes of Sam refusing to answer.
“You look… nice under the stars,” Sam mumbles, eyes dancing away from Dean’s, clearly embarrassed, but Dean feels alight. He wants to pull his brother into an embrace and never release him; Dean would place shackles that his brother would never be able to escape because Dean wants to fully appreciate this. But he can’t.
“Now what, you’re a nerd and gay,” Dean sneers, snorting at his little brother with a shake of his head, “what am I going to do with you, huh?” He nudges Sam with his elbow, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to send a message, and he watches almost apathetically as Sam wilts.
He almost hates Sam for not being able to keep the love buried in a box where he could never reach for it, but he loves him even more for keeping the box wide open so Dean can taste the forbidden fruit. And he hates himself for indulging in the delicious taste of what he cannot— shouldn’t— have.
Too bad, now the high is ruined.
—
Sam’s dead.
The light of his life is now gone. The only person to keep Dean tethered to the world, reality, is now gone. Lifeless. No longer living. Dean’s heart feels like it’s going to give out. What does it mean when Sam’s gone? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he longs for nothing more than to join Sam. But there’s something big going on. Big behind the scenes. Dean can’t bail out on Bobby now.
He can’t.
But he needs to be with Sam. He cannot be without his little brother. This life ain’t worth living without him. Dean stares longingly at the bed that coldly holds his brother’s corpse and something shatters in his mind. He doesn’t hear it, but his heart becomes thoroughly ripped apart when he can’t see the rise and fall of Sam’s chest.
Dean prays for once in his life, please bring him back.
Please bring my brother back.
When his pleading proves futile, the prayer changes—
Please take me with him. Please take me with him. Please take me with him.
But death does not want him. Does not welcome him. Dean is rejected and his heart is broken.
All he wants to do is hold his little brother.
With his face numb from tears and his body numb from shock, Dean wobbles over to where his brother lays. Lifeless. Dean flinches from the sight of his brother’s greying skin and the rotting smell, but a cold comfort is brought to his heart when he carefully and slowly lays down next to Sam. Lifeless.
“Hey, little brother,” Dean whispers, voice cracking towards the end, and he can’t help himself — he kisses Sam’s cold forehead, a fragile press of the lips because he didn’t want to break his brother. Lifeless. His bottom lip quivers when no response comes, as he’s not expecting it yet, and Dean shakily brings the corpse closer to his chest. Cradling his brother. Lifeless. Dean’s never experienced grief like this. Not with his Mother. Not with his Father. This pain… this pain is agonizing.
It’s too agonizing.
With the conclusion that he cannot do this and will not do this, Dean comes up with a plan.
He’s going to burn in hell for his little brother.
And he’s going to do it smiling.