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Entertaining wouldn't usually be a word Dean would use to describe a hunt, but when Sam got ghost goop in his hair, Dean decided it was a good day. It was a pretty average job, just some angry old lady haunting an old house in some backwater Minnesota town. The standard salt and burn treatment did the trick. With all the crap they'd been dealing with lately, Dean was grateful for an easy job. One he knew he could take care of when everything had gotten so out of control.
Dean sauntered into the motel room, followed by a sullen Sam, with green mystery goo dripping in his face. Usually, Sam would be outwardly disgusted by the ectoplasm getting in his precious hair, but he hadn't said a word. Now that Dean thought about it, Sam had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past couple of days.
"I dunno, Sam, I don't think you're getting that out. Maybe you should just shave your head," Dean teased, trying to get a reaction out of his brother. Any reaction.
Sam's head shot up, his eyes widening in shock. His mouth opened and closed, and for a moment, Dean was hopeful that Sam would reply with some snarky comment and lighten the tension. A flicker of pain darkened Sam's eyes, so fast that Dean thought he had to be imagining it, before Sam turned his head to stare resolutely at the carpet. Dean deflated as Sam headed to the bathroom without a word. Moments later, he heard the shower turn on.
Dean sighed. He turned on the television and began to gather his stuff from around the motel room. They needed to get going the next morning. Dean figured they should maximize the number of people saved before the angels inevitably caught up to them with who knows what in store for them. He started shoving everything into his duffel, but for some reason, his clothes wouldn't all fit back into his bag the way they had when he had first unpacked. He could hear Sam in his head telling him they would fit if he just folded his clothes, so he transferred only the dirty laundry over to Sam's mostly empty duffel. He unzipped the bag, preparing to stuff it with ectoplasm-covered shirts, when a glint of gold tucked in a side pocket caught his eye.
Dean reached into the pocket, his hand closing around cool metal and a worn leather cord. His heart gave a jolt as he traced the shape with his thumb and slowly removed the horned pendant from its pouch. Dean unclenched his fist, and the amulet settled in the palm of his hand, its familiar face staring back at him. A rush of emotions surged through him at record speed; relief that it wasn't lost forever, guilt at having thrown it away, and anger at remembering the trip to Heaven.
Red tinged his vision as he recalled that day. How his brother's Heaven had been his hell, and how it became clear that Sam was only finally happy when he left their father. When he left Dean. How could he be so selfish? Sam had never appreciated their family. He couldn't wait to be away, no matter how Dean felt about it-
"What are you doing?"
Dean glanced up, his eyes briefly meeting his brother's before Sam's gaze skittered to the floor. What Dean saw in that fleeting moment wasn't annoyance at Dean going through his bag, nor was it hope at Dean finding the amulet. No, what was evident in Sam's gaze was fear.
Irritation rolled over Dean in a wave. How dare Sam be afraid when he was the one who made Dean afraid he'd be left alone?
"You kept it?" Dean growled, stalking across the room. Sam made no effort to move out of the way or defend himself. He just stood there, his eyes angled slightly down. Dean shoved the amulet at Sam's chest. Instinctively, Sam reached and grabbed it, but without removing his gaze from the floor. Dean repeated his accusation, deadly soft. "You kept it?"
Sam reluctantly met his eyes. "Of course I did," Sam said almost in a whisper. "It means too much to throw away."
"I thought you made it perfectly clear just how little this means to you," Dean responded, slowly raising his voice.
Sam looked stricken. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about Heaven!" Dean yelled. "I'm talking about how your Heaven was abandoning your family. I'm talking about how fucking selfish you have to be that your best memory is walking away from everyone who cared about you!"
"I wasn't walking away!" Sam protested. When Dean scoffed, he continued. "I just wanted to go to school. I wasn't trying to choose between college and our family. Dad's the one who told me to stay gone. That's a happy memory for me because I was finally able to live my own life. I hated growing up the way we did! I needed to live my own life, and I accomplished something. I’m proud of myself. In any other family, a full ride to Stanford would be something everyone would be proud of too!"
"Yeah, well." Dean briefly turned away. "I'm sorry I'm not your perfect apple pie family. I'm sorry you got stuck with us."
Sam stammered. "You know that's not what I meant. I just wish you were proud of me for what I worked so hard for!"
"What you worked hard to do is abandon your responsibility," Dean spat, his words clipped. "We don't get to go to school and lead normal lives! We have a job-"
"A job that was forced on us as kids!" Sam matched Dean's tone. "We should never have had that put on us as kids. Dad-"
Dean cut Sam off. "You know you always complain about Dad and how you never had a family or whatever. You pushed us away!" Deans anger exploded. He rushed Sam, grabbed his shirt collar, and shoved him into the wall. "Newsflash, Sam. Dad wasn't that bad. He did his best for us, and he did right by Mom and by us. He was a good father to you, you ungrateful-"
"'Sammy is twelve years old today,'" Sam muttered, his voice suddenly flat. "'He's a handful. Spends all of his time on the computer, unless he's arguing with me. I can't understand him, and he doesn't try to understand me.'"
"Sam, what the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked. Something itched at the back of his mind, and he briefly registered that this felt wrong.
Sam continued, his voice rising with every word, but staying monotonous. "'Sammy is fourteen years old today. He's been having strange dreams again. I've tried to keep an eye out for any signs that he's more than a regular kid, but I don't see them. He's sensitive, has a lot of imagination, but that's about it. Plus now that he's hitting adolescence, he's a giant pain in the ass.'"
It occurred to Dean that it sounded as though Sam was repeating something he had heard over and over. "Sam, what-"
"'Sammy is eighteen years old today,'" Sam spat, a bit of bitterness and heat creeping into his otherwise dull tone. "'Surprised he didn't take off. We're not getting along too well. He hunts when we need him to, but he's never committed himself the way Dean did.'"
The comparison to himself triggered something in Dean. His mind provided an image of Dad's journal with those exact words printed neatly on the page. His skin crawled uncomfortably as he recalled the words his Dad had written. However, a spark of mutinous rage lit in his belly, and Dean's lip curled in a snarl. Sam wasn't the only one Dad had carped on.
"So what?" Dean challenged. "Dad said shit about me in there too."
Sam was practically shouting now. "'Sam told me and Dean today that he is going to Stanford. I told him that if he goes, he better stay gone. I think Dean would have taken a swing at him if I hadn't kept my cool. Barely. Trying to work out what to do about this. We can't tolerate any of us quitting. We're better as a team. I've protected Sammy his whole life, and so has Dean. Could be I've gone too easy on him. Dean always responded to discipline because he believed in the mission. I thought that by giving Sammy more room, I'd let him find his own way to dedication like Dean's. Doesn't look like that worked out. Now he's a straight-A student, computer whiz . . . I think he's gone a little soft. How many tight spots have we been in since he was a baby? And now he's going to college? He can go to hell, is where he can go.'"
Sometimes Dean forgot how tall Sam actually was. Typically Sam carried himself in a way that made him seem smaller and less intimidating. Now he stood ramrod straight, towering over Dean.
Sam didn't pause. "'Sam left. I told him that if he was going, it was permanent. I meant it.'"
With that, he looked pointedly at Dean. Dean could see the pain in his brother's eyes, and his anger was beginning to dissipate. "You could have called," Dean said weakly, not yet ready to admit defeat.
Without a word, Sam walked across the room and picked up the journal. As he trudged back over to Dean, he flipped to a specific page and handed the journal over. Dean saw precisely what Sam was trying to show him—something he had forgotten.
Sam's gone because he's headstrong and because I couldn't make him understand how important this is to all of us. Now Dean tells me he's cut off contact with Sam, and it's killing me. I can't stand the idea of the boys separated. It's one thing for me to take a stand. I'm the father, I have to lay down the law for the family. Maybe that's the Marine in me talking, and maybe it's not the right thing to do all the time, but it's gotten us this far. Now I'm questioning myself. Brothers have to stick together.
Dean's anger snuffed out, and guilt flooded in. He had cut contact. He had abandoned Sam the same way he thought his brother had abandoned him.
"Sam, I-"
But Sam wasn't finished. "My whole life, I was supposed to live up to you. But I was never good enough for him. I have read this journal a thousand times, and I can't for the life of me figure out how he could have thought of us like that. We were kids! Kids, Dean." Sam's eyes blazed. "All I wanted was a chance to live my own life, and you disowned me for it! I had no one."
Sam took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was considerably softer. "As far as I knew, you hated me."
He glanced up at Dean, trying to get angry again but seemingly having trouble mustering the energy. "If you had called, you know I would have-"
All of a sudden, Sam's voice broke. He tilted his head away. Stunned, Dean just stood there, watching a transformation happen before his eyes.
Sam hunched over himself again, and instead of rage, Dean caught the glint of tears in his eyes. He looked forlorn and defeated. For Sam to get to that point, he must have wanted to say these things for years. Sam angrily tried to wipe away the tears, but it was futile. A sob broke free, and Sam clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle it.
But it seemed as though it was the straw that broke the camel's back. Soon, Sam gave in and collapsed down onto the bed, his head in his hands, the cord of the amulet still wrapped around his fingers from where he was clutching it.
Dean had never felt so helpless. As his giant of a little brother sat quietly sobbing, all Dean could see was the little kid he had protected his whole life. The kid he put above everything, the one he would destroy the world for if it meant Sam got to be happy. He didn't know how they had gotten to this point.
He had never thought their upbringing affected Sam this much. Dean had tried his best to shelter Sam from things like this, and Dean had assumed that since he had given up everything to protect his brother, he must have been successful. Dean had survived; hell, Dean had fully embraced their life. But Sam wasn't like that. Now Dean really thought about all the crap their father had done to them over the years. Suddenly Sam didn't seem like a helpless kid to him anymore, and Dean was in awe of how Sam had managed to become the kind, loyal, strong person he was.
Dean sat down next to Sam and pulled him into his arms. "Sammy, I'm so sorry," he whispered. He hugged his brother tight, who completely collapsed into him. Dean could feel the sobs wracking Sam's body. Sam had endured so much without even a single tear. Seeing him like this scared Dean more than any monster they'd ever faced. More than any angel, more than even Lucifer. Dean rocked back and forth slightly, something he used to comfort Sam when they were little.
"I never meant for you to think that I didn't care," Sam whispered suddenly, his focus on the necklace clasped in his hand. "I wanted to get away from Dad, but never you, Dean. You're my big brother. You gave up everything for me. If you had asked me to stay, I would have given up Stanford in a heartbeat."
Dean's throat closed up, and tears pricked his eyes. "I know," he choked out.
And suddenly, he did know. It was so blindingly clear to him that Dean felt stupid for not seeing it sooner. Yes, Dean had given everything for Sam, but Sam would willingly leave his shot at happiness just for Dean.
Dean let out a breath, squeezing his brother tighter. They could have stayed like that for hours, or maybe only a few minutes before Sam straightened up and blinked at Dean.
"Sammy, I-"
"I know." Sam smiled softly. "I'm sorry too."
Sam wiped his nose and gave a half-hearted laugh. Despite how red his eyes were, Dean could see relief shining through. "You good?" He asked.
"Yeah," Sam replied shakily. "We good?"
"Yeah," Dean responded. After a moment, Dean saw the amulet resting in Sam's hand. He nodded at it and then looked at Sam. "Can I?"
Sam's smile could have lit up the entire country for a year. He untangled the leather cord from around his fingers and handed it to Dean. He immediately slipped it over his head. "Cas better not need this back. I am so not taking it off again."
Sam smiled wider, then cleared his throat. "We should probably head out now."
Dean nodded and smiled back. They both started zipping up their bags. Sam caught a whiff of the dirty shirts Dean had put in his bag and gagged.
"Dude," Sam said.
Dean started cackling, and Sam cracked a smile. With that, the brothers packed up the Impala and took off for their next adventure, Led Zeppelin blasting from the speakers as they drove off into the night.