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Of all the times Dean'd asked Sam to cut the crap and just be honest with him, of course the asshole would pick now to actually do it.
Dean understood that was pretty much the point, that Sam didn't give enough of a shit to try to protect Dean's feelings by lying, but it sucked. If Sam had just been this honest a few years back, if he'd told the truth to Dean instead of to Ruby, they wouldn't be in this fucking mess.
Across the table, Sam kept eating like it wasn't a big deal, and Dean guessed that to him, it wasn't. Dean made himself get back to his chopped brisket sandwich, because food uneaten was money wasted, but it wasn't very satisfying, even though the restaurant had smelled amazing while they'd ordered. He was pissed at Sam's timing all over again as he chewed — fucking with Dean's entire life wasn't enough, no. He had to go and ruin his lunch, too.
"You gonna finish those?" Sam asked, nodding to Dean's cardboard box of crinkle-cut fries. Crinkle-cut, the best kind of fries, but Dean just looked at them for a moment and shrugged. He shook a few fries onto his open sandwich wrapper and then pushed the rest to Sam, who smiled happily — well, who smiled, at least — and dug in.
It was hard not to think about what Crowley'd said, and Dean figured Sam would sell him out for an extra side dish as easily as a drink. Fucking Bobby, making that deal without telling them: who knew what sort of conditions they could have worked into the fine print, if they'd known. Simple things, really, like clauses against fucking any of them over after the fact, or keeping their souls locked up so they turned into creepy automatons. Things like that. Bobby not throwing his legs into the deal had only been the tip of the iceberg. Dean sucked at his Coke and made a mental note to spike it when they got back to the car.
"Thanks, man," Sam said, around a mouthful of Dean's fries. His own food was gone, and he was tearing right through what Dean gave him as well. That was apparently what Dean meant to him these days: someone who'd help Sam because he couldn't leave him. Dean had a lifetime of watching out for Sam under his belt, making sure Sammy was okay, and he couldn't leave him to Crowley. Dean saw the Club Med version of Hell compared to what must be waiting for Sam, if he went back. If Dean was willing to keep assholes who couldn't even treat their girlfriends right out of Hell, then he was sure as fuck going to try for Sam's sake.
Even if Sam was just using him; even if Sam just saw him as some guy he might want to fuck again in the future; even if Sam only barely cared about him. Sam barely caring about Dean was probably pretty impressive, compared to the way he felt about everyone else. It probably put Dean at the second-highest spot on the list of Sam's priorities.
Dean'd lost Sam over and over, but it was almost harder to have him like this than not at all, someone who looked right but acted wrong, who was a good liar but even better at telling the truth. This was the worst it'd ever been between them; the day Dean called Bobby up and asked if his safe room could hold Sam had been better than this.
"You still like food?" Dean asked, partially because he hated his train of thought and partially because he was curious.
Sam shrugged, still chewing. "It doesn't give me warm fuzzies or anything, but it tastes good enough. It's physical, I guess."
"I'd think sleeping would be physical, too," Dean said.
"Weird, huh?" Sam shrugged again. "More opportunities to creepily watch people sleep this way, though."
Dean paused, because it was weird to wake up and know Sam had just been hanging out overnight — maybe watching muted TV or researching, but maybe watching Dean. It wasn't like Dean would know, either way.
He'd found Sam watching him a few times in the months before Detroit, and that'd been weird enough, even though they'd usually been in the same bed at the time, and even though it usually led to Sam's hand on his dick. It was easier when Lisa watched him — maybe because he had more time to adjust to it with her, or because things were never as intense with Lisa as with Sam, or because Sam acclimated him to the habit before Lisa ever did it. But neither of the two of them made Dean's skin crawl like Sam did these days, just by being in the room when Dean woke up. Sam creeped him out, and it was bad enough that Dean wanted to ditch him almost as much as he needed to stay with him. He couldn't go back to Lisa, but he could at least be away from this stranger that looked like his brother; they'd worked on their own before, they didn't have to spend every hour together to go after the alphas.
But Dean didn't know what Sam would get up to while he was alone, whether he'd do stuff now that he'd regret later, or whether he'd barge into something he didn't have the good sense to be afraid of anymore, and get himself killed. Dean thought they'd used up all their get out of jail free cards, so that dying now would be permanent. And Sam couldn't die while his soul was still in Hell. He might not give a shit about Dean, but Dean couldn't stop caring about him.
He looked up and Sam was grinning a little, like he'd been joking. Dean shook his head and snorted. "Sense of humor must be locked up, too, man," he said, and picked up his sandwich again while Sam laughed.