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“It wasn’t real.” Sam murmured, head pressed to the Impala’s window.
It had been a few hours since they left Heaven, since their hopes had been shattered by the notion that God didn’t care enough to stop his archangels from destroying the earth - since Dean took the necklace Sam had given him all those years ago and tossed in the trash can like it meant nothing.
“What?” asked Dean, keeping his eyes firm on the road ahead of him.
It was still nighttime, and they were the only car for miles on the secondary road they were travelling.
Sam had no idea where they were going, and he suspected Dean didn’t either.
“My Heaven, what they showed me…” he started.
“Don’t, Sam. Just don’t, okay? I am not a kid, I don’t need you to sugarcoat shit for me.”
But Sam had to, because he could feel the space between him and his brother getting wider and wider.
He could see it in the way Dean had stopped calling him Sammy, in how they had started keeping things from each other, in how easy it was to pin them one against the other.
Most of all, he had seen it in the way the small amulet had landed among the fast food leftover and beer cans, heard it in the small thud it made when it finally reached the ground, and felt it stronger than he ever had before when his heart clenched at the sight of Dean’s newly empty chest.
He could see their relationship cracking under the weight of his stupid mistakes and his stupid lies and his stupid life.
And he’d be damned if he was ever going to let that rift become permanent because of some asshole angel who wanted to mess with them.
Sam had no doubt that wasn’t his Heaven - at most, it could have been a washed down version of some of his goodish memories. It wasn’t his Heaven, because how could it be if Dean wasn’t in it? No matter how much crap the world threw at them, or how mad Sam could get at his brother - nothing and no one could ever matter like Dean. There was no world where Sam's happiness came at the cost, or god forbid went hand in hand with, his big brother being absent from his life. Missing Dean had always been a barely-worthy and temporary price to pay to get away from their father, from hunting, from all the stuff Sam hadn't yet figured out how to be okay with. And every single time, leaving Dean behind had felt like ripping out a part of his heart and abandoning it on the side of the road.
Sam shook his head and bit his lip, trying to collect his thoughts and express them in a way that wouldn’t send his emotionally repressed brother running for the hills. He took in a deep breath, before turning down the Metallica song that was filling their unusually awkward silence and initiating a chick flick moment Dean would definitely hate him a little bit for.
“I’m not sugarcoating anything, Dean. Just listen to me for a second. The memories they made me relieve weren’t my best memories. They just weren’t. I don’t know why they did it, but they messed with my Heaven. Whatever we saw upstairs was specifically designed to piss you off and hurt us.”
Dean was still not looking at him, hands holding the steering wheel tighter and tighter, almost like his damn life depended on it. The way his heart was beating, it might as well have: he wanted to believe his little brother, God knows he did.
But he couldn’t - couldn’t trust him completely, couldn’t allow himself to be vulnerable because if it turned out Sam was lying, trying to spare his feelings or some other crap, he just couldn’t take the hit.
Sam had been right when he’d told him Hell had changed him, made him weaker.
He wasn’t the man he used to be anymore: that version of Dean Winchester died the day that hell hound tore him apart and was buried under the weight of the souls he tortured in the pit. He was afraid there was no coming back from that, that he just could never be himself again.
His soul had spent more time in Hell than it had on Earth, and after forty years downstairs being back among the living still felt foreign, wrong, too good to be true. He didn’t deserve it, this second chance at life, and sometimes he didn’t want it either.
Moments like this, when he felt like his little brother was a stranger, too far away to reach and touch, he found himself wishing he was back in the pit. Being so distant from the one person he swore he’d never be far from made him feel like he never left.
“And why the hell would they do that?”
“To keep us apart! They know as long as we’re together we won’t say yes, and they need us to let Michael and Lucifer wear us to prom. They've been manipulating us from the beginning, Dean; they know how to get in our heads and what buttons to press to make us turn against each other.” Sam shot back.
It made sense, Dean thought. Rationally, it really did. But he was too tired, too far gone to think rationally right now.
While a part of his brain fought to believe Sam, stop the car, hug his gigantic little brother and go back to get the necklace from the freaking trash can, the rest kept replaying his time in Heaven.
Thanksgiving, the dog, Stanford - the worse night of his life.
Worse than seeing Sam die, worse than his time running out at midnight, worse than freeing Lucifer.
His brother, his kid, had left him, not because he had to, not because he’d died - but because staying with him was worse than cutting him out of his life. He’d abandoned him, closed the door shut in his face and never looked back.
Dean thought he almost deserved it, for not being there more, not standing up to his father, not being good enough a big a brother. He'd done his best, given everything he had, and still it hadn't been enough to make Sam stay.
Why would now be different? If Dean at his best had not been good enough for Sam, why the hell should the poorly stiched-back together version of himself he was now be?
“Yeah well, maybe we should.” and he meant it. Only after the words left his mouth, he realized he really did: maybe they should - say yes, give up control, let the angels have their way and finally find some peace.
“What the hell are you talking about? Is that what you wanna do? Just give up on everything we stand for?”
Dean almost laughed at that. Almost, because there really wasn’t anything funny.
“What do we stand for, Sam? What? I’m serious man, ‘cause at this point I don’t know that anymore. We talk this great deal about free will and family, but who are we kidding? We haven’t been a family in a long time, Sam, a long ass time. And I’m starting to think we never were.”
Sam’s shoulders dropped at that, and Dean saw it, but couldn’t bring himself to care.
“What the fuck do I need free will for, if my own brother can’t wait to get away from me?”
“I told you, those --”
“- Yeah, Sam, I get it. They weren’t your real Heaven or whatever. But who tells you that? You left me in the first place, didn’t ya? Hell, if it weren’t for dad going MIA you’d still be on your way to becoming some big shot lawyer and wouldn’t even be thinking of me anymore! So why shouldn’t they be? The only reason you’re here right now is because I dragged you back, and I know you’re just waiting for a chance to leave again. And I get it Sam, I really do, 'cause who in their right mind would look at the shit fest that's our lives and choose them? So let me make it easier for you, huh? I say yes, Lucifer keeps that poor bastard Nick, the halos beat the devil and you go on your merry way.”
It was Sam’s turn to look away now, Dean’s words going deeper than he expected. He knew things were bad between them, but he never allowed himself to believe they were that bad. And yet, it had been right in front of him the whole time - he'd been losing Dean bit by painful bit every single day, but he'd been too distracted, too blinded, too high to do anything about it, and by the time he could admit to himself something was wrong he'd had no idea where to even start to make things right; so he'd kept his head down and ingored it and tried to prove himself any way he knew how - but none of that was working.
Sam sucked in a breath, fought against the urge to grab his big brother and just shake him until he saw things for what they were - and gathered the courage to speak. He knew whatever he’d say next, would determine the fate of not only their relationship, but possibly the world too.
“Stop the car.” He said, determined to have this conversation face to face.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Answered Dean, his tone exasperated.
“Stop the fucking car, Dean, or I’m gonna stop it myself.”
Letting out an annoyed sigh, Dean complied and got out of his baby.
“First of all, I am not leaving, not now, not once all of this is over. I don’t wanna leave, haven’t wanted to in a long time. This is my life, as long as you’ll have me.”
Sam looked for his brother’s eyes, but they were locked on the trees behind him.
“I don’t blame you for coming and getting me and Stanford, I never did. I was never gonna cut you out my life. Never.”
He got closer, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Dean finally looked at him, and Sam could see the emotional battle going on in his brain. He cursed himself for allowing it to get this bad, removed his hand and kept going.
“I know that wasn’t my Heaven, because you weren’t in it. They were good memories, sure. Or at least most of them. But you want the truth?”
Dean didn't answer.
“You know what I was thinking that night, at Thanksgiving? What was really on my mind, for most of the night? That you would have loved the turkey and probably spent fifteen minutes explaining exactly why there was no need for salad to my friend's mom. I couldn’t stop thinking that something was missing. I couldn’t stop wishing you were there, because even though that night was everything I thought I wanted, everything kid me thought I was missing - it was one of the loneliest I’d ever felt,'cause you weren't there.”
Sam took another deep breath, and God it felt like the hundredth of that night. It was worth it, though, when he saw the shadow of a smile on Dean’s face.
“When I left for Flagstaff” – Sam couldn’t help but notice Dean flinched at that, and just what had their father done to him? – “I won’t deny that I had fun. I can’t, because I would be lying, and I swore I’d never lie to you again. So yeah, I had fun. But I was a teenager living on his own for two weeks, surviving off pizza and dog treats for the puppy I never got to have as a kid. So, of course I did. And still you know what I’d have after dinner every night? Fucking lucky charms, because I missed my big brother and they made me feel closer to you."
Dean finally dared a glance at his little brother, and noticed the teary eyes and resolute look on his face.
"The night I left for Stanford, though, that was what confirmed to me that it was rigged. That night was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. The fight with dad, leaving you guys behind, I thought it would be easy, had convinced myself I could just walk away - but it was everything but. I hated every second of that night. Sure, I was glad to finally be able to do my own thing, but that wasn’t how I wanted it to go. I wished things had gone differently, I swear I did, Dean. When dad told me to never come back, I just assumed he was talking for the two of you. I was sure you’d never forgive me for walking out, so I never reached out to you, but being at Stanford wasn’t easy. I had friends, I liked college, and God knows I loved Jessica, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you every second of every day.”
Sam paused, giving Dean a chance to take it all in, and praying - no, scratch that - hoping it was enough.
“I never left because I wanted to get away from you. You were never the reason I took off - hell, I think you’re the one that I kept coming back for. You raised me, Dean, more than Dad or Bobby or Pastor Jim ever did.”
“Dad did his best…” tried to argue Dean, the instinct to defend John always lurking under his skin.
“I am not saying he didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that dad on his best day wasn’t half as good a parent to me than you were on your worst. You did everything for me, and you did everything for dad and I’m sorry I never gave you enough credit for that.”
“It was my job to take care of you.” Dean said, without even having to think, and not sure when this conversation had turned from him trying to push Sam away to his little brother hitting every single insecurity he ever had and comforting him.
“But it wasn’t, and you did amazing anyway. And that’s why I know it wasn’t my Heaven. If it were, you would have been part of it. That time I was five and dressed up as batman, and I fell from the shed because I thought I could fly. It hurt like a motherfucker, and you had to drive me to the ER on your bike. But when we got back we spent two days straight watching TV and eating all the candy we could find. That fourth of July you managed to get us fireworks, because you have to know it meant as much to me as it did to you, Dean - it really did; it was one of the best nights of my life. The day I went ring shopping for Jessica, already picturing the day I’d ask you to be my best man and how it would have been the worst chick flick moment of both our lives.”
“You wanted me to be your best man?” he asked, looking so incredulous it physically hurt Sam.
“Of course. Who else was it going to be? You have got to believe me here, Dean. And you have to keep fighting because we’ll find a way to get through this. I’m here, if you want me, and if you don’t it’s fine too. I wouldn’t blame you if you had enough of my bullshit. – he choked a bit, his voice just a bit shaky, his eyes just a bit watery because he really thought that was it for them – but don’t say yes, Dean, and don’t think for a second I wouldn’t give everything I have for you in a heartbeat. The angels realize it, and they’re doing everything they can to keep us apart, but…”
Dean never found out quite what his little brother was going to say - something else that would tear at his heartstrings, for sure, but he never got to hear it, because the tears he’d been trying to hold back since he threw away the damn amulet were finally breaking free and the need to have Sam – his brother, his best friend, his kid, his fucking soulmate, according to the God Squad – close was overwhelming.
And so screw chick flicks, and screw John Winchester’s no feelings allowed attitude and screw his own aversion towards showing his emotions: he closed the distance between him and his brother and hugged him, cutting his voice mid sentence and holding him closer than he had in a long time. Sam rested his chin on his brother’s shoulder, and it fit perfectly, like they were made to complement each other. And maybe they were.
All of a sudden, Sam felt not a day older than five, when he’d climb into Dean’s bed after a nightmare, and his brother would make room for him, comforting in a way no nine year old should be able to.
He was seven again, after acing his science project and letting Dean squeeze him tight to congratulate him.
Or eight, or nine, or ten, or fifteen – or any of the other ages he’d found refuge in his brother’s arms, the one safe place not even Hell had managed to rip away from him.
“I’m sorry.” murmured Sam, after a few seconds, not sure what he was apologizing for.
“It’s alright Sammy. We’re gonna be alright.”
Sam’s heart jumped at the nickname he’d missed so much, and he pulled himself closer to Dean, if that were even possible.
“I never thought you’d call me that again.” He admitted, cursing himself right after, when they pulled away.
Dean just smiled, and deciding he’d had enough of chick flicks for one night, officially ended the moment.
“Yeah, not a chance, bitch.”
“Jerk.”
They got back into the car, the atmosphere way lighter than it had been before.
Everything seemed normal, until Dean started touching his chest every five minutes, a gesture Sam was willing to ignore, but just couldn’t anymore after he almost missed a red light.
“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” he asked, trying to sound as friendly as possible.
“Shouldn’t have thrown away the damn thing…” He said, eyes still locked on the road.
Sam smiled again, even brighter than before.
“You mean this?” he offered, pulling the black cord out of his pocket.
Dean stared at it for a moment, then at Sam, before returning the smile.
“Yeah Sammy, that.” He said, taking it and putting around his neck.
Where it belonged.
He then glared at his now sleeping brother, sitting right next to him, in his car, on some god forsaken secondary road, on their way to who knows what monster that could kill them both.
Where he belonged.