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“I don’t want you to be like me.”
Sam paused while gathering the discarded sheets lying in the middle of the floor. In his hasty (and futile) search for the hex bag ailing his brother, the motel room wasn’t exactly left in the best shape. Cleaning up was probably pointless but he may as well make it a little bit easier on the maid who had to deal with the mess. Truth be told, they probably should book it before cops figured out whatever Ruby did with the bodies of the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants, but he still wasn’t breathing right from the demon-witch’s attack and Dean wasn’t faring much better. They would probably catch a cat nap before hitting the road, though they hadn’t actually discussed it yet. If they did, they’d be sharing--Dean’s bed was toast.
“What?” Sam asked.
“Our... conversation. Before I started doing my best Nicole Kidman.” Dean grinned at him but Sam didn’t return it as he dumped the tangle of bedsheets on the ruined mattress. The slow march to his brother’s death was bad. His nearly getting snatched away early was far worse. At Sam’s stony expression, Dean’s smile faded. “So, yeah. World’s already got one Dean Winchester. Don’t need a second.”
“Not for long,” Sam muttered darkly.
Dean sighed. “Sam, come on, man--”
“No, you come on!” Before Sam realized it he was in Dean’s face, jabbing an accusing finger into his chest. “You don’t know what this is like, Dean! You don’t have a goddamn clue! Ruby’s right. You get to check out on me--”
“Hey, she doesn’t know what the hell she’s--”
“--and I’m gonna be alone! And I can’t... I can’t...” Just as quickly as his anger flared up it deflated. “I’m not handling it, Dean,” Sam confessed. He couldn’t disguise the tremble in his voice or his hands. “I’m just not. And you’re the strongest person I know. Being like you? Being like my big brother? It’s the only thing I can think of to do. Otherwise... I’m just gonna fall apart. And then you’ll have died for nothing.”
Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a little shake. “You got it backwards, man,” he said. “You got this. You don’t need me to keep goin’. Definitely don’t need some demon bi... some demon neither.”
Sam laughed, sort of. The sound came out strangled and more than a bit unhinged. “What makes you so goddamn sure about that?”
Dean was silent for a long moment and Sam wondered if maybe he’d actually won his argument. Then, very carefully, Dean replied, “You have before.”
Unbelievable. Sam almost punched him.
“Asshole,” he spat. “I went to college. You weren’t dead!” Dean opened his mouth. “And before you say a word, I would have known if you were dead, okay? I would have known. So shut the hell up.”
Dean shook his head. “Sam, I don’t want to fight.” Sam’s stomach twisted as he recalled another conversation, practically a lifetime ago, with a different man who paved his road to hell with good intentions. Suddenly, the idea of even letting Dean out of his sight terrified him to his core. If Sam stormed off now, would he come back to a corpse like he did in that hospital room a year and a half ago? “All I want is for you to stay you, okay? Uptight morals and all. Got it?”
Mutely, Sam nodded. Shaken by his brother’s careless request, he wasn’t sure if the little gesture was a lie or not. Oblivious, Dean squeezed his arm, topping it off with a pat. “Atta boy.”
Before Dean could draw away, Sam clamped down on his wrist. “Dean...”
“Yeah, Sammy?”
What could he say? How could he put into words the mounting dread inside him, the abstract terror of an empty spot beside him? How could he explain the anxiety of a timebomb constantly ticking down in his head, and a figure in black tapping his wrist in the corner of his eye, telling him hurry up, hurry up, say your goodbyes, Sam Winchester? What could possibly describe the shadow of death--of failure--cast by mother, lover, father, and now brother, slowly swallowing him, suffocating him?
He couldn’t.
“You sounded so jealous,” Sam said in lieu of anything of substance, swallowing back what might have been, to his horror, the threat of tears.
“Excuse me?”
“With Ruby,” Sam continued. “You were so pissed when she said she’d watch out for me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that mad.”
Dean brushed him off with a scowl. “You’re talking crazy talk,” he grumbled. “She was being a little annoying, that’s all.”
“Dude, you almost shot her in the face,” Sam pointed out. “That’s a little more than just a little annoyed.”
“Yeah, well, I would have gotten away with it too if it wasn’t for a meddling kid.”
Sam allowed himself a small smile. “Good thing, too, or we’d both be dead.” More grumbling. “It really bother you that much? Her having my back?”
“Of course it bothers me,” Dean snapped, then scrubbed a hand over his face, as if the strength of his reaction embarrassed him. “This ain’t exactly a joyride for me either, you know. I don’t like thinking about who’s gonna be there...” He trailed off.
“After?” Sam offered.
“After,” Dean confirmed. “It just isn’t right. She doesn’t have the right.”
How many times did she have to save their lives before she got the right? Ruby, in her own abrasive way, had their six on more than one occasion. Yet, Sam didn’t think that was what his brother was talking about, not really. Taking a deep breath, Sam stepped back into Dean’s space and locked their eyes.
“You have the right, though?” Sam asked. He meant for the question to come out bold and unapologetic but it emerged a little more than a whisper.
Dean met his gaze without hesitation, unwavering. “Damn right, I do,” he replied.
Sam wasn’t sure who moved first but seconds later they were clawing at each other, battling with their mouths as they fought for control of their sudden, violent embrace. The origin of all of Dean’s controlling, possessive bullshit was made shockingly clear in an instant and Sam wondered how he could have possibly missed this. Of course Dean sold his soul for the promise of one more measly year together. He didn’t have a choice, did he?
Sam didn’t have a choice either.
Dean pushed his tongue into Sam’s mouth. Sam shoved a hand up Dean’s shirt. They panted and breathed and tasted each other’s air. They tripped over each other in their frantic, rampaging desire, but when Sam tried to drag Dean with him onto the bed, the intact one, Dean, strangely, started pulling away. “Dean,” Sam breathed. “Dean, come on--”
“Shit,” Dean said, untangling Sam’s hands from his jacket. “Shit. This isn’t what... we can’t start this. We can’t--”
“What are you talking about?” Sam demanded desperately, reaching for him. “Dean--”
“I need some air,” Dean said. “Just--I just need some air.”
And then Dean was gone.
It took Sam a long time to get up. He straightened his clothes and wandered numbly to the bathroom to stare blankly at his reflection. Splashing water in his face didn’t remove the stupid expression from it. He knew what his brother kissed like, now. Should he try to imitate that too, when Dean was gone? Would the girls appreciate it as much as he did?
He might be sick. Sam leaned over the basin, trembling, and tried to breathe normally, never quite managing it.
*~*
(Five minutes later, his brother stormed back inside, flipping Sam around and planting one on him before he can get in a word edgewise.
“What--why--”
“Shuddup. Doesn’t matter.”
Sam doesn’t question it. He doesn’t have the right.)