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Sam could not tell why he was crying like a baby. He brought Dean back, cured his tainted soul and now he had his big brother by his side once again. They were even at good terms. There was not a damn good reason for Sam to break down like this. But he was. His vision was all blurred by the streaming tears running from his eyes down his cheeks. His breathing was hitched and shallow and there was this pressure building up in his chest which would soon make his breathing more troubled. But he still could not stop balling his eyes out. The clear fluids were pooling on the kitchen table and Sam just kept crying more and more. The sleeves of his flannel were soaked with his helpless attempt to wipe his eyes and cheeks. He smudged his swollen, reddish eyes again. He knew why he was crying. He just did not want to admit it to anyone, not even to himself.
“Maybe I was just tired of babysitting you or always having to yank your lame ass out of the fire”
Sam let out a desperate, heartbroken sob as Dean’s low, devilish voice rang in his head again. “I’m sorry…”
“—or maybe it was the fact that my mother would still be alive if it wasn’t for you.”
Gripping on his hair tight, Sam slumped onto the table, his chest hurting like it was opening up by dozens of knives, “I’m so sorry…”
“That your very existence sucks the life, /out of my life/.”
“No!” Sam buried his face in his folded arms. He shook and trembled uncontrollably, knowing what the demonic version of Dean said was completely, and utterly true. If it was not for him, Dean could have a normal life, parents who love him, and a proper childhood—
“Sam..?” Sam gasped and jumped when he felt a warm palm came into contact with his shoulder. His entire body tilted back and the chair he was sitting on was about to go out of balance, and Dean reached out just in time to grab on the back of the chair. “Hey watch out!”
Sam flung out his arms instinctively and he gripped on Dean’s shirt in haste, just like how he always would, he held onto Dean for dear life.
“…You okay?” Dean asked with worry written all over his face. He has not seen Sam cry in years.
They were so close, closer than they have ever been in a long time and it made Sam’s heart skip a beat, or ten beats probably, because Dean’s eyes were so green, and they were so focused on him right now. He forgot to loosen his grip on Dean’s shirt and Dean forgot to ask Sam to let go. They just stared into each other’s eyes, like they were staring into each other’s soul for god knew how long.
Then Dean slowly regained his senses, and he broke the silence, “I think… you are good to keep your own balance now, Sam.” He stated softly, as if a louder voice would just break Sam into pieces. Or maybe it really would.
“W-What… Oh. Oh, right. I’m sorry.” Sam averted his eyes and took back his hands. He wiped his face clumsily and he sniffed a couple of times. Dean let go of Sam’s chair and pulled another one close to sit next to Sam. He searched in Sam’s eyes for some hints, which would not look at him straight now, “Are you okay, Sammy?”
Dean tried. He did not know how good they were now after all the crazy that happened, but still he could not help using the nickname to test the water. He wanted to confirm if Sam’s emotional breakdown just now was because of him, even though he was almost sure that it was.
Sam tensed up once Dean called him Sammy. He looked up and met Dean’s eyes. They are still green, Sam thought, yea, he is human again, he reassured himself. “I... I—Yea, I’m—I’m fine.” Sam wiped his face again.
Frowning deeply, Dean ran his fingers through his hair and he moved his chair closer, “Talk to me.”
“…No.” Sam casted his eyes down again. There was nothing to talk about. Those were the truth, and Sam knew once he talked to Dean about it, his brother would try to take everything back on his shoulders again just so Sam could live his life a little easier. But not this time. Sam took a deep breath and balled his fists. He needed to man up this time.
Dean’s eyebrows were creased till a point that they were nearly touching one another. “Excuse me?”
Sam looked like he just swallowed an eight ball. He felt so stuck. He wanted to lash it all out and yell and tell Dean everything because he has been playing strong for too long. Yet he also wanted to suck it up so Dean would not have to comfort him, then he could stand a chance to break this vicious cycle of Dean offering himself up to protect Sam and Sam feeling bad about it and Dean taking it away from him again. The train of thoughts in Sam’s mind was making his head pound like an AC/DC gig, but a bad one with awful audio equipment.
“Sammy.” Dean spoke again, and Sam finally tore his eyes away from the dull, wetted part of the kitchen table to look at Dean for another time. “You know you sitting there looking like a soaked, sad Labrador isn’t going to help with anything.” He placed his arm over the back of Sam’s chair like he always did when they were about to yank their hearts out and lay their cards on the table, “Are you gonna spill the beans for me or we are playing hide and seek again despite we are both past thirty?”
There was a prolonged silence, in which Sam pretended to focus on Dean’s scruffy jawline while Dean waited, and waited, for a respond.
“…You never played hide and seek with me.” Sam said in an as-a-matter-of-fact tone.
Dean frowned again, “You know why.”
“Yea, I could get lost.”
“Or get napped by some monsters and Dad would have killed me.”
“Why does it have to be about me all the time?” Sam blurted out, his tone a little harsher and more demanding than he intended it to be.
Dean pursed his lips into a thin line. So this was what it was about. He should have known. “You know why.”
“No I really don’t.” Sam could feel tears pooling at the corners of his eyes again. He blinked hard, and tried not to look away, “You don’t get a life with me sticking around.”
Words were never Dean’s strength and now he was met with a brick wall. He knew what he said to Sam back then, what he did not expect was Sam’s take away from it.
“Is that so?” He narrowed his eyes at Sam, who looked back at him with the same expression he had at the time Dean tried to explain to him why they did not have a mother. Sam was nine. Dean was thirteen.
Dean parted his lips but nothing came out for a while, then he began slowly, “We shared a bucket of Kentucky fried chicken every Thanksgiving. We slept at the backseat of the Impala for one and a half month with only one blanket because Dad ran out of cash and hacked credit cards. We were stuck in a freezing cabin with a bunch of wet firewood for three days when Dad went to hunt a freaking wendigo.”
“Dean… I don’t get it—Why are you—”
But Dean continued without pausing, “We also stole a packet of chips from the gas station for a couple of times just because we wanted to practice our skills. We took turns to lock each other in the motel’s bathroom and competed who could pick the lock faster.” Dean’s expression turned softer, “You let me take you on a test drive after Bobby taught me how to hold the wheels, and you lied to Dad about the scratches after so I still got to have dinner that night. You waited at the school gate until late evening for me to come by and take you back to the motel but in fact you could just walk that three blocks by yourself. You volunteered to be the bait for more times than I could remember, not because you were smaller and you could run faster, but because you would fucking lose your shit if you saw me rolling on the ground with a spirit just ten steps away.”
Dean’s vision was as blurred as Sam’s now, “Is that no life, Sammy?” His voice broke and Sam swore his heart break with it at the same time. “I know it wasn’t always smooth with sun shine and warm breeze, but it sure wasn’t complete without you.” He took a deep breath and slowly reached to entwine Sam’s fingers with his, going all hail Mary in his head that Sam would not back away, “Demon me was right. You took up a large part, if not all of my life. But he put it in the wrong way.” Dean looked into Sam’s eyes with a piercing, longing gaze, “We don’t have two separate lives, Sam. There never were. We shared the /same/ life. /One/ life. There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you.”
Sam thought air was the sole essence of sustaining life forms, but apparently he was wrong. The only thing, the only /one/ thing that kept breathing till this point, was Dean. Before his brain realized what was going on, his body already acted upon it. Sam pressed his lips against Dean’s clumsily, cupping one side of his scruffy cheeks as his other hand reached to grab the back of Dean’s neck. Dean leant into the kiss like it was his instinct. He responded to it like he was born to do it. His arm snaked to wrap around Sam’s waist, and God, he has gotten so skinny. Dean pulled Sam in his lap easily without breaking the contact of their lips. Sam moaned into Dean’s mouth and he whimpered when Dean pulled away just a little to breathe. Dean hovered his lips over Sam’s with heavy, lustful panting brushing on those soft, inviting surfaces, “One question, table or bed?”