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Dean dropped Sam off four hours ago, and Sam is still okay.
He chose to leave his stuffed dog at home, even when Dean pushed the soft material into his hands, talking about “anxiety reduction” and all the other things he’d read about online. With shaking hands, Sam had given the toy back, squeezing it one last time as Dean set it slowly on the seat between them. They’ll look at me oddly, Sam had said. I don’t want them to look at me at all.
Dean had tried to keep his face neutral, but Sam saw the disappointment in the droop of his artificial grin and the bland glassiness of his eyes. He knew how Dean felt about him, and he couldn’t blame him.
He shakes his head roughly, clearing the cobwebs. Dean loves me, he thinks. Dean isn’t perfect but that’s okay. Dean loves me.
Kneeling on the floor of one of the empty pet rooms, Sam scrubs at an old stain and is careful not to get his volunteer shirt dirty. His movements are small and precise– every few scrubs, he tugs his gloves on tighter and dips the sponge into the bucket again, trailing suds on the ground before scrubbing them away. He concentrates on his task, wanting to see it through with no issues, unlike the litter debacle he’d made yesterday. He’d prove to them he is useful. Then they’d have to see how normal he is.
He is so absorbed in his work that the quiet squeak of the door behind him is lost to him. He jolts when a pair of sneakers appear in his field of vision, marring his process, and he jerks his neck up to meet the eyes of Anne, one of the other volunteers. Anne has a cage in one hand that is making tons of noise. Her other hand brushes her gray hair behind her ear. Her face creases as she smiles down at him. “Hello, Sam. Your brother is here.”
He opens his mouth to reply but his focus is shifted to the cage when a chorus of squeaks rises up again. The noises are so tiny that he can’t help his pique of curiosity. He puts the sponge in the bucket and stands, shucking off his gloves and tucking them into his pockets. Anne is short, so all he has to do is look down to get a perfect view of what’s inside the cage. When he sees, his heart does a little rapid tug-tug, and he can’t help the lopsided grin that grows on his face.
“Cute little bastards, aren’t they?” Anne hums in agreement, putting the cage down. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll bring your brother in here to come get you. In the meantime, why don’t you help these little critters get situated in their new home?” She gestures to the larger cages lining the wall, already filled with blankets and bowls and litter boxes. Sam nods his head immediately, his hair falling into his face with the severity of his enthusiasm.
Anne laughs again. She leaves, promising big brothers as the door quietly clicks behind her, and Sam finds himself alone with six kittens half the size of his hand. He bends down until he is at eye level with them, and they immediately take interest, stumbling over to the cage door and standing up against it, curling their pint-size paws around the bars and opening their mouths wide to mew at him, their voices overlapping. Sam carefully opens the cage, the door swinging open, and he realizes how difficult his task is when they immediately crawl over each other in their haste to explore, spreading out across the floor.
“N-no!” he calls, reaching over to swipe one off of the floor. His cupped hands could probably fit one or two more kittens in them. The kitten, fuzzy and dark grey, makes itself at home in his hands, flopping over and curling up in his palms. He stares down at it for a second, grinning, before gently taking it over to the wall and opening that cage. He deposits it inside, putting his hand on the blanket and letting it crawl out so he doesn’t drop or toss the animal. He repeats the process for the rest of them, moving like a lethargic old man in his care, focusing everything he has on the innocent little kittens.
He thinks about where he has gone. He thinks about how long he was down there, what was done to him. He remembers Dean wishing for his innocence when they were searching for Dad, how simple things had been. He is not innocent anymore. He is the furthest thing from innocent. He imagines his soul in his head: it is black and small and cynical, and it constricts angrily around his heart. Smothers it. The kittens meow, and he frowns at them with blurry eyes. They are the exact opposite of him.
He takes in a shuddery breath and wants to be disappointed in himself. A part of him knows he is overreacting. He’s being childish. He presses his head into the cage to stare down at the kittens. He wants them to be alright. He wants them to get adopted by families with two kids who will cuddle them. They will sleep in little balls and they will feel safe and never get scared. They won’t come to him with a pickaxe and tie him up and scream at him about how demons killed their parents because of the apocalypse he started. They won’t try to slice his throat open because he is Lucifer’s vessel.
“You okay?” a voice asks, and then there’s a hand on his shoulder, warm and firm and grounding. He nods his head meekly and turns to face his brother, offering up a slight smile. Dean doesn’t bother to give him one in return. Instead, he keeps frowning. “How’s your head?”
“Fine,” Sam whispers, turning back to observe the kittens. “I got to take care of them.” Dean shuffles in beside him and scoffs.
“They’re cute, I guess, but I’m still allergic,” he rumbles, his voice loud and warm and crackling like a nice fire. His shoulder brushes Sam and Sam feels the constriction around his heart lessen.
Wordlessly, he reaches inside to pet one of them, a white one smaller than the rest that has trouble keeping its eyes open. His entire arm trembles as he sticks out his forefinger to brush at its head. He’s too forceful, and its head pushes down. It cries its complaint. He pulls back, curling his hand into a fist before trying again. He uses his palm this time, smoothing out the ruffled fur on the kitten’s back. He is as light as he can possibly be, his hand completely covering the creature. He bites his lip, squinting as he finally gets the kitten to purr.
“Dude,” Dean says at his side. “You’re shaking. Sammy, are you sure you’re alright?”
“I have to help them, he tells Dean, and his throat feels like it’s clogged with something sharp. “I have to keep them innocent, it’s the- it’s the least I can do. I don’t want to hurt them.”
Something flickers across Dean’s face but it’s gone before Sam can decipher it. He gives Sam a soft look, the crow’s feet gathered around his eyes crinkling up. “You won’t hurt them,” he assures. “You’re good with animals.”
“Are you sure?” Sam asks him, looking in on the kittens. He frowns as he closes the cage. He watches them play.
Dean’s arm curls around his waist and drags him closer. He lean’s against Dean’s warmth and strength. “You’re not the brute you think you are,” Dean says. “you’re not going to kill them. You’re not going to hurt them.”
Sam takes a breath. “But all those people-”
Dean is on the same page as him at once, cutting him off. “all those people who are alive because of you, you mean? Because of the fall you took? That you didn’t have to? How many times am I gonna have to tell you this, Sammy? You’re not– you’re a good man.”
Sam smiles at Dean, and he blinks away the wetness in his eyes. “Sorry,” he says. “I- I believe you. I just get a little lost sometimes.”
Dean grins back, using his free hand to push Sam’s hair behind his ear. “I know. S’what I’m here for. To bring you back.”
Sam leans into his hand, and Dean moves it to hold Sam carefully near his jaw. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“You shouldn’t have to, either. Get lost, I mean.”
“I’m not now, though,” Sam points out, and clears his throat. Dean pulls back and they look at each other. Dean finds whatever he’s looking for and nods, moving over to the door. “Pizza and beer?”
Dean chuckles. “Yeah, okay. But we’re not watching the Godzilla remake again, you cretin.”
Sam swipes at him. “Jackass.”
“Whatever, at least I have taste,” Dean calls, slipping out the door.
Sam follows after him, and with each step he takes, he feels himself settling further back into his own skin, the crawling sensation gone. His heart is safe. He still has Dean.
He is okay.