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It was four in the morning when Sam got the text.
got hurt on hunt dad dumped me in motel near u can i come round
Sam's eyes hurt staring at the tiny phone screen. Blinked a few times before texting back sure. He rolled back into bed, buried himself in the covers and then he heard a knock at the door. A loud banging. And Sam was out of bed in a second, fighting the urge to reach for the knife under the pillow. He went to the door. Could just make out spikey hair through the peephole. He unlatched it, opened up, let Dean fall into the room.
"Good, 'cause 'm already here," Dean smiled. "Heya, Sammy, you look..."
Dean paused, took a good look at Sam. Eyes up and down and then he frowned. Pulled Sam into a tight hug.
"Have you lost weight?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, a little," Sam said. He pushed Dean's arms from around him and stood back. There was still a wary look on Dean's face, and Sam felt cold under the stare. "Why, what's wrong."
"Nothing, nothing, you uh," Dean forced a smile. "You look great, Sammy."
"Not you," Sam said. He pulled out a chair for Dean at his kitchen table. "You look like shit, what happened?"
"You know, salt and burn gone wrong. Damn thing threw me into a closet, dislocated my shoulder, concussion, the whole nine yards, but," Dean sat at the table, "we're not here to talk huntin'. I missed my little brother, how are you? How's college going?"
Sam stood up, hands on the back of the other kitchen chair. He didn't know how much he wanted to divulge. If Dean cared at all. But there was a look of worry that made Sam not want to go into detail with how he'd been. Two years apart and Sam didn't know who he was anymore than he had done when he'd left. He offered his brother a shakey smile.
"I'm alright, classes are kicking my ass," Sam forced a laugh.
"That's not the Sammy I know," Dean said. "Bet you're top'f class and all the other kids hate ya for it."
"Something like that, yeah."
"That's my boy, always setting the curve," Dean's proud grin was almost feral. It didn't meet his eyes, and he asked again, "how are you?"
"Fine, Dean, 'm fine."
And he had his big brother eyes on, was watching Sam with calculated carefulness. Sam couldn't do much but squirm. Shiver. It was always so cold in his apartment these days. Had to keep the window open always. Couldn't get rid of the smell of rotting, no matter how much fresh air flushed into his flat.
"Do you wanna go for a walk," Sam said hastily. "I know it smells bad in here, 'm sorry."
"It's 4am, Sam, I ain't going anywhere," Dean said. "And it doesn't smell any worse than it used to smell in motel rooms with you."
"Can't you smell it? It's like," Sam paused, sniffed the air. "Gone off fish, it must be my downstairs neighbours." It has to be the neighbours, I promise I would never have anything that gross in.
"Nah, Sammy," Dean's eyebrows were pinched and angry and Sam had seen that look before. "It might be the concusion talking but it smells kinda... good."
Sam frowned but nodded.
"You got anything to eat?" Dean continued. "Man, I'm starved, Dad took off before he could even order me a pizza!"
And Sam laughed, because they both knew they could be on death's door before their dad would order pizza for them. And he laughed because of course there wasn't anything in his kitchen. The fridge had some stuff in but. It was all veg and Dean was never one for salad. So, Sam laughed and shook his head.
"My roommate got baked earlier, ate the whole kitchen."
"Well, we could order pizza?"
"It's four am, nowhere's gonna deliver at this time."
"Sam!"
"What?"
"You're skin and bone, man, look at you," Dean snapped. He reached an arm across and circled his hands around Sam's bicep. "What happened to you, you look sick!"
And Sam paused. He didn't know what to say. That being broke mixed with control issues meant that food didn't see his body. That he was pulling a Karen Carpenter. That sometimes he just didn't see the point in it. That he functioned just fine on 300 calories a day.
He couldn't say any of it. Couldn't watch his brother's heart break in real time.
"Sammy, you're worrying me."
"I'm fine, Dean, trust me."
"The last time you said trust me, you ran away to Cali, man I don't know if I can."
And Sam winced, because he didn't have to say that.
"It's exam stress, I'm majoring in law there's a lot of cramming," Sam said, forced a laugh. "You've seen Legally Blonde, right? It's just a lot."
"Then drop out."
"Dean."
"I'm being serious, if it's making you this sick, drop out. Come back on the road with me and Dad, we'll get the band back together."
"I'm not going back with Dad," Sam said. Fists clenched, jaw gritted. "If I'm this sick now imagine how it'll be with me and Dad at each other's throats again. It's not good for anyone."
And Dean's eyes were wide. Something that Sam could never explain was that even though Dean was older, he had the puppy dog eyes. Only for a second, because he blinked back tears and smiled again. Dean's sense of humour was deflection.
"Well, if that's that..." Dean stood, neatly pushed the chair back under the table.
"Dean, stop," Sam asked. "Please, I don't wanna fight."
"We're not fighting," Dean said. "You don't want back in the life, fine. But I know you better than anyone, little brother, and I know for shit when you are lying. So, tell me, don't tell me, whatever, but you can't expect me to trust you when you so clearly don't trust me."
Sam sighed. Something about this felt worse than the night he ran away. That was anger and shouting and his dad throwing punches and it hurt. But this. This was something else. Every word Dean said felt like a knife in his heart. Sam, the lady of sorrows and Dean handing him the swords.
"I love you," Sam said, all that he could offer.
"Love you too, Sammy."
And he left. As quick as he showed up at Sam's, he was gone again. Who knew when John would let them take another case in California. Who knew if Dean would be back.Sam didn't.
But he did know one thing.
He was so full of swords and he only knew one way to empty himself again.