Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sam walked away from the game and wondered if this was how Dean had felt every time he pulled off some ill-advised supernatural deal to save someone he loved — this soaring, sweeping assurance that Sam had beaten the house, the odds, that his family was safe but only because of him.

Sam stuck his hands deep in the pockets of his coat and turned the corner of the alley, onto the street. There wasn't much traffic and he had the sidewalk all to himself, late at night. Sam glanced up to see how high the moon'd risen yet, then set off towards the car. With Dean and Bobby in the van, he'd had the Impala to himself for the first time since — for the first time in a while. He put it in gear and turned Dean's tape du jour down low, not wanting the music to do more than keep him company.

There was a sandwich joint across from the motel and when he saw the lit-up sign, Sam decided to pull in. He was still too hopped-up on adrenaline to really want anything to eat, but he ordered some iced tea and a bag of chips anyway. He'd be glad to have eaten later, once he started to come down.

The tip mug next to the cash register was empty and Sam dropped the coins from his change in before pocketing the bills. He hated scamming little places like this. Even though he remembered working weekends at a coffee shop in California where it was common practice to empty the tip jar as soon as possible, so people would see it sitting empty and give themselves, Sam was feeling generous tonight. He'd done something impossible, again, but for once it was something good.

He sat in a booth by himself and was halfway through his chips when his phone buzzed. One new media message, it said, and Sam pressed the View button to find a grainy shot of Dean in the van's front seat, giving a pixellated shit-eating grin with his arm outstretched as he took a picture of himself. Bobby was barely visible in the background as a head of hair under a baseball cap.

Dean's hair was flat and unstyled, but, even in the poor lighting that almost certainly came from a stoplight, back to its normal shade. The skin around his eyes and the corners of his mouth was creased with his obnoxious smile, but the lines didn't cut nearly as deep as they had the last time Sam saw him. His skin looked firm again instead of delicate, and his cockiness wasn't enough to hide the relief in his eyes, which were clear and so green, even in the bad picture. Sam looked at the picture until his phone dimmed, then he slid it back into his pocket and kept on eating.

His phone went off again a few minutes later, and Sam fished it out to find a text this time: thx dude, it said, and nothing more. Sam's throat tried to tighten up when he read it.

The kid behind the counter was scraping the tips into a blue bank bag when Sam went to refill his tea, and he smiled all the way back to the car. It didn't occur to him until he glanced up and saw Bobby's van pulling into the parking lot that maybe Dean had never felt this exact thrill after all.

Dean saved people at a huge cost to himself: he gave Sam a childhood by giving up his own, he bought back Bobby's youth by aging himself, he brought Sam back to life only through signing himself over to hell. Dean never would have walked away triumphant, from the crossroads or the spot on the varsity baseball team or that back room game, in the same way as Sam had essentially strutted out, missing only the Bee Gees playing in the background.

Sam sat in the driver's seat with the keys in his lap and watched Dean try to help Bobby out of the van without seeming like he was helping. Sam had failed at getting Dean out of the deal, failed at pulling him home from hell, but he'd done this.

He'd done it in a way Dean had never been able to manage, nor their dad, nor their mom. He'd saved Dean at no cost to himself. Everyone was going home unscathed — or, Sam amended as he watched Bobby stare Dean down and then lower himself into his chair in one smooth movement, no more scathed than they'd been coming into things.

Dean slammed the door closed, then hopped over the curb to the sidewalk outside their rooms. He turned back to Bobby and said something with a huge grin, then laughed and danced out of the way when Bobby rolled quickly towards him.

His revitalization settled heavily on Sam, the responsibility an unexpected burden. Sam had done that, fixed that; after a lifetime of being cared for, Sam had taken his weight off Dean's shoulders and stepped forward to return the favor. He shivered slightly and started the car.

Dean turned and scanned the area, and when Sam flicked on the headlights, he locked in on the car, facing Sam exactly and smiling. Dean held out his arms and shimmied a little, and Sam shook his head.

Lookit, Sammy!, Sam could practically hear him say. He honked twice and put the car in gear, then drove her across the street. Bobby rolled on in with only a raised hand for Sam but Dean waited outside the room, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest while he watched Sam get closer. Sam had barely parked when Dean opened the door and pulled him into a hug, tight against his body.

"Thanks, dude," he said again, quietly.

Sam swallowed and smacked him on the back before pulling away. "Course," he said, and locked up before following Dean into the room.