Work Text:
~~~
Sam buys himself a bottle of Patron. He'd go for scotch or whiskey, but it reminds him too much of Dean, and he's got enough oozing wounds on his psyche to do something so self-flagellating as drinking his brother's poison.
He's always liked the light alcohols better; tequila, vodka, gin. He never told Dean because Dean would just call him a girl, or make fun of him some other way. And for all that Sam can hack Dean's thoughtless jibes, there's no reason to give him ammunition.
Which is why he brought a thermos. He pours the tequila in, throwing the bottle into the recycling bin outside the liquor store.
He knows how demons work. Always has done, right from the first. They take things that are the truth, things that live in your deepest recesses, and bring them out to the light of day. Things you probably never really quite wrapped your mind around, definitely things you would never say to someone, things no one with a soul would put on another person.
He'd braced himself for Dean needling him about his faults and choices as an adult. He'll never be able to completely forgive himself for those weaknesses either. But Dean saying that Sam being born ruined his life?
Sam unscrews the thermos and takes a couple of swallows.
It's true; he knows it, can feel the truth of it in his bones, in Dean's guilt. It was a complete shock, that revelation, and as much as he's felt bad about being Dean's burden for so much of his life, he's never thought Dean might have wished for him never to have been born, not really.
Sam parks the Impala in the garage and wolfs down his own hamburger to cover his tequila breath. He drops the thermos off in the library and goes to bring Dean his heart attack in a bag.
"One artery-clogging special," he says, trying to for humor and missing the mark. Dean smiles wanly at the attempt.
"Thanks, Sammy."
"Any time," Sam says, because he'll happily take care of his brother for the rest of their lives if he has to; going for burgers is the easiest part of that job. "You okay? Because I'm wiped – really need some sleep."
Dean nods. He's brewing an apology – Sam can see it in the set of his jaw and tense shoulders. It'll be a while, though, because even though it's mostly Dean that starts the talking, it takes him a while to work up to it. Sam's thankful for that – better to let the wounds scab over a little before Dean rips them all open again. "I'm good," Dean says, all false cheer. "I'll probably sleep for a week once my tank is full."
~~~
When Sam gets back to the library, he finds Cas sniffing his thermos. "Tequila?" he asks. "That doesn't seem particularly… Winchester-like."
Sam smiles, as much as he can, and grabs the thermos. "I didn't want something Winchester-like today."
Cas nods. "I would join you, but there's no point. It would be a waste of alcohol."
Sam smiles again, more genuine this time. "Yeah, Cas, I…" Cas tilts his head at Sam, like he can't imagine what Sam is about to say, which is just so typical of them. "I was planning on drinking alone."
"Oh," Cas says, frowning. "I didn't mean to impose."
"You're not," Sam says, even though he doesn't mean it. "It's just… this isn't about relaxing or having a good time or…" He sighs. "It's about obliterating enough brain cells so the echoes die down and let me sleep."
"Sam," Cas says, in that you've-been-naughty teacher's voice he has. "You know that wasn't Dean. He would never say those things."
Sam shrugs. "It was Dean. Maybe he'd never really thought about it like that before, but the kernel was there. The demon found it and twisted it, and now neither one of us will ever be able to forget what he said."
Cas's mouth tightens but he doesn't disagree. Sam can't help a sad smile. He knows how it is. He remembers being soulless; remembers the memories that sick version of him twisted around, some of them still dank and rotting in his brain, ruined forever. Maybe that's why he let things between him and Dean get as bad as they did before the concern took over the anger. So that's on his shoulders too.
"Sam," Cas says, and Sam would probably sit with Cas a while if he wasn't just another beacon of all the things that have gone wrong between Sam and Dean in the last five or six years.
"Maybe it would be better if you had a more positive outlet."
That's never really worked for Sam, either. As much as he tries to forgive himself, to find some semblance of peace, tries to believe people when they say they like him or love him… it always falls apart and then it's back to him and Dean and their danse macabre of a relationship, bound together by some indestructible force, hurting each other because there's no one else to lash out against anymore.
"Listen, Cas," Sam says. "I'm already maudlin. I just want to drink myself into unconsciousness and wake up with a hangover because at least that's a problem I know how to deal with. All right?"
Cas steps forward and grabs the thermos out of Sam's hands. "No, it's not all right."
And Sam's too shocked to move, even as he sees Cas's two fingers headed for his forehead.
~~~
The next morning, Sam wakes well rested and without a hangover. Memories of Dean's words, interspersed with those weird growling almost-screams Dean'd made, ratting around in his brain.
Typical. Not even ten seconds of blissful nothingness after he wakes up.
He takes a deep breath and throws back the covers, a little surprised when he realizes he's naked. He hasn't slept naked… ever, really. There was one night, after he'd moved into the dorm and his roommate hadn't come yet, when he'd bought sheets – 300 thread count, luxurious after eighteen years of motel sheets – and it'd been nice. But it'd been a one night only deal, and he'd actually forgotten about it until now.
He smiles a little, throwing on a pair of sweats and the first shirt he can find and heading out into the bunker to see where everyone is.
He can smell something cooking, something distinctly breakfast-like, which means Dean's in the kitchen. He debates going back to bed, but things aren't going to get better if he just starts avoiding Dean again.
"Sammy," Dean says as soon as Sam walks in the door. "Making your favorite. Banana-chocolate chip pancakes."
Sam smiles, wanting it to be more genuine than it is because they had been his favorite when he was five, and Dean had made it for him every morning for the first three months after Sam had started going to school. Looking back on it now, Sam knows it's because the ingredients are cheap, but it doesn't matter. The whole memory is tarnished by Dean's confession yesterday. Even the nickname, which Sam had secretly come to enjoy coming from Dean. The demon knew that too, and used it, and now the name just makes him a little sick to his stomach.
"What are you having?" Sam asks. Dean hates bananas.
Dean shrugs. "I'll make some plain chocolate chip ones for me."
Sam smiles, leaning a hip against the counter, trying for easy. It's a little uncomfortable, but not too bad. Dean's trying so hard, it'd be mean to be spiteful for no reason.
"Where's Cas?"
Dean flips the three silver dollar pancakes before answering. "Took that lady angel to a playground. Did you see her?"
Sam shakes his head. "He never brought her in." Sam squints a little, wondering about the "lady" crack. "I thought angels didn't have gender."
Dean laughs, a genuine laugh that Cas's antics have always brought out in him. "Cas called her a female. Maybe she's a special breed of angel."
Sam smiles, jealous that it's Cas that smoothes things over between them, even when he's not in the room. They didn't use to need any help, they worked like a well-oiled machine. Whatever they are now, though, it's broken down, a little at a time over the last however many years.
"I want to fix us," Sam says out of the blue, and Dean freezes for a second, the spatula in his hand shaking a little.
Now that it's out there, Sam has to go with it. There's no taking back something like that, not with Dean. "I'm serious. We're broken, Dean. You, me, us." Cas too, Sam doesn't say. "I... I want to be better."
Dean looks back down at the pancakes, poking them with the spatula. "I don't know how."
Sam smiles, grabbing a plate and holding it out so Dean can shovel his pancakes onto it. "Yes, you do."
~~~