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Something wasn’t adding up in Sam’s head, and he looked at it in terms of an if-and-then-because statement.
It went like this:
If Dean didn’t want to work for Crowley and he didn’t trust Sam and/or believe that he was his brother anymore, then it was only reasonable that he should stick the middle finger to the demon and leave because that would be the reasonable, the logical thing to do.
And of course he recognized that Dean was definitely not a logical being, but he had memories that sometimes seemed as though they were borrowed from that other Sam that told him Dean had left before in similar situations.
It was a problem, and Sam didn’t like problems, didn’t like things that didn’t make sense. So he spent the time after Buffalo mulling it over, and finally decided that the best way to figure it out was to ask the subject.
“Dean,” he said, and Dean’s mouth thinned the way it always seemed to when Sam said something. He had noticed, even if Dean seemed to think that he didn’t. It just wasn’t significant enough to linger over.
“What, Sam.”
“I'm curious,” he said, careful because he’d misjudged before and he didn’t really want to be punched in the face again. “You’re…upset about this whole thing with Crowley.”
“No shit, cause working with demons has always been my favorite thing to do.”
Sam refrained from pointing out that they had worked with Crowley before, because he recognized that the statement was intended to sting. It didn’t. He forged onward. “You don’t have to. I’ve been trying to work it out and it doesn’t really make sense that you’re going along with it if you’re as opposed as you seem to be.”
The look Dean gave him was one Sam recognized, mostly from Other-Sam’s memories, as his ‘you’re a freak and I don’t know what you’re saying’ look. Sam met it evenly, waiting. He wanted an answer on this.
“Sam,” said Dean, voice perfectly flat. “I don’t even know what to think about you. What kind of a question is that? Crowley’s threatening to-“
Sam jerked his head, feeling slightly impatient. “Put me back in the cage, yes, I know. Nonetheless, you yourself said that you didn’t think that I was-“
Dean yanked the wheel sideways and pulled the Impala over. Sam let his eyebrows rise and didn’t shift his gaze, even if Dean looked like he was struggling to breathe regularly. “Are you all right?” He asked, because it was the expected response of concern, even though he knew that Dean was fine.
“Don’t – do that,” Dean said, shooting him a glare. His hands worked on the wheel as Sam watched him. “You’re not my brother because a demon is holding your freaking soul for ransom. That’s not – exactly your fault.”
Sam frowned. That made marginally more sense, and he adjusted some of his calculations, but still… “That doesn’t,” he started to say, and Dean wheeled, and growled at him.
“You know,” he said fiercely, “It’s amazing that you without a soul can still sound a lot like you with a soul. Now shut up. I can’t deal with you right now.”
Sam sighed, but let it go. He had enough of an answer that the problem wouldn’t nag at him. He sat back as Dean put his foot on the gas and pulled back onto the road, staring straight ahead and obligingly silent.
Several moments later, Dean said, “And that, that? Is why we need to get your soul back as soon as possible. My brother would get it.”
Sam examined the memories that belonged to Other-Sam and frowned slightly in unspoken disagreement, not at all convinced that even the Sam that Dean considered his real brother would ‘get it.’ But he let the thought go.
It didn’t seem significant, and definitely not worth arguing over. He dismissed the thoughts that in another life would have been doubts and settled his gaze on the distant horizon.
And the road slid by.