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For the hundredth time, Sam rolls over in bed. He’s been trying to sleep for four hours, miserable because of his cold and the endless brooding thoughts in his mind. The sobs, however, take him by surprise. His heart sinks, his eyes fill with tears and it’s not long before his breathing speeds up.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, trying to calm down as silently as he can. Dean is sleeping in the bed just next to his and he has already woken him up several times these past couple of weeks. Every time, his brother jumped out of his bed to hold him against his chest, pressing him to tell him what was wrong. He can’t let him do that again, especially without telling him what’s going on. And how can he possibly tell him that he is done, that he has sent his last college application today and that will probably be gone in less than a year? He can’t do that to him. Even if he could, he still wouldn’t have the words. Sam sometimes wonders if the right words for this exist. But Dean is starting to worry. He’s been staying at home every night for some days instead of hooking up with girls in the neighborhood, explaining they weren’t hot enough. Sam knows it’s bullshit. He can see it in the green eagle eyes his brother watches him with.
The other side of his bed creaks and lowers.
“Alright.” Dean’s voice is soft and his body is warm when he presses his chest against Sam’s back. “Come here,” he adds, encircling his waist with one arm, his other hand stroking his hair.
“You gonna catch my cold,” Sam hiccups between two sobs.
“I don’t fucking care, Sam.” There is no animosity or urgency in Dean’s tone, compared to the other times they found themselves in this kind of situation. It’s almost like he got used to it. Oh, he still cares, Sam can tell by the tender way he holds him. But it’s become more of a habit than anything. He’s so pathetic, even his brother has stopped trying.
“Sshh, Sammy, stop racking your brains like that,” Dean murmurs, like he can hear the pounding in Sam’s head that comes from too much thinking. “Just let go.”
But Sam can’t. He’s taken inside a vicious circle of self-depreciation, fear, sadness and guilt. He just wants it to be over. That’s when Dean starts to hum Hey Jude. Sam tries to concentrate more on the melody than on the thought that he might never hear Dean sing this song ever again. Strangely, it works; not completely but enough for the cries to stop.
“You know there’s no monster under your bed, right? And that I’m gonna protect you anyway, no matter what?”
“Yeah, I know.”
No, there’s no monster under Sam’s bed anymore. This time, he is the monster. He’s the one who is going to rip Dean apart, again. He will never tell it to his brother, but he wasn’t asleep when Dean whispered in his hair, a few nights ago, that seeing him like this broke his heart. He wonders if it is what he is meant to be in the end: neither a hunter nor a lawyer, but the guy who tears Dean’s heart apart, over and over again.
He is a monster and he doesn’t deserve to sleep in his brother’s arms, not anymore.
He tries to free himself from Dean’s embrace but his brother holds him tight and doesn’t let go.
“Don’t push me away, Sam,” Dean murmurs with a brittle voice.
Sam stops immediately.
“Don’t push me away, that’s all I ask. Please.”
Sam can do nothing but lean back against him. He can’t deny him that. And if it’s the only thing Dean asks for, so be it.