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Sometimes, Dean wished his brother were a terrible person.
It was an odd thought to have, especially after having endured six months of living with the Terminator. A Sam Winchester who didn’t make sad puppy eyes at every vic or run into burning buildings just wasn’t his brother, okay? It just wasn’t him. Even at Sam’s worst, everything he did was for the right reasons even if things didn’t exactly shake out great. Guy saved the world for Pete’s sake, and he’d do it again without a second thought if he had to.
But goddamn if Dean didn’t wish Sam could be a selfish asshole just once in his life.
“And so I don’t care if it’s dangerous. I have to set things right, ‘cause I got a frigging soul now, and-and it won’t let me just walk away,” Sam said; no, preached, like he was at a goddamn pulpit. “I’m staying here... and I need you to back me up.”
They locked eyes and Dean’s willpower crumbled... just like the wall in Sam’s head if this went sideways. Forget that Sarah Mc-whatever chick with her droning sad songs—slap Sam’s face on the TV and they’d never have to do another donation drive for orphaned kittens or starving children or whatever the hell those commercials were trying to get him to spend money on again.
Goddamn him.
Dean folded like paper. “All right. Why not?” he agreed and Sam finally released him from his stupid guilt-powered hypnotic stare. “Well, let’s Memento this thing, shall we?”
They got to work, pinning up pictures and reports from the borrowed case files all over the walls; classic detective work. It was almost nostalgic—without a soul, Sam was more hammer than scalpel, barreling through anyone and anything that got in his way to find the answer. Dean would never describe himself as patient but grinding through the research was how you avoided making more bodies than you had to, and that soulless dick’s impatience helped him appreciate the methodical. Sam insisting on reviewing and re-reviewing every piece of evidence was a breath of fresh air. He wasn’t too thrilled with the expression on Sam’s face as they poured over the files, though, distant and foggy like he’d downed a bottle of cough medicine.
“You good?” Dean asked, surveying his brother out of the corner of his eye as he stuck another pin on the city map. Sam was fixated on the missing posters, swaying ever-so-slightly back and forth, as if in a trance. The word vision skated across Dean’s brain and he shoved it aside. One nightmare at a time. He didn’t need to bring up old shit when the new stuff stank well enough on its own.
“Yeah,” Sam mumbled. “I’m...” He trailed off, seemingly completely unaware he did so. Not exactly reassuring.
Dean twisted a length of twine around his newly placed pin, leading it to the corresponding report. “Take a break.”
That seemed to wake Sam up, at least. “What?” he demanded. “No way.”
Dean sighed, turning to face his brother. Predictably, Sam was scowling, fists clenched as he glared. This time, though, Dean wouldn’t be cowed. “Calm down, I’m not throwing you out of the game. Just a ten-minute refresh. Look, I’m taking one too. See?”
He deliberately placed the box of pins and spool of twine on the side table with the lamp with exaggerated care, then dropped on to the nearby mattress with a loud whump. “Need it, too. Was going cross eyed.”
Sam was not amused. “Those women—”
“Are probably dead already,” Dean interrupted bluntly. “And you giving yourself an aneurysm sure as hell ain’t gonna help ‘em. Ten minutes, man. Indulge me.”
He patted the bedside. Sam hesitated, looking between the case box and the impromptu evidence wall, but Dean could see him waver. Sam wasn’t the only one in this family that could be persuasive, after all. Dean decidedly didn’t crow with victory as Sam plopped down beside him.
“Just ten minutes,” Sam warned.
Dean laid a hand over his heart. “I swear,” he lied. If he could get away with longer, he would. Sam snorted but accepted his vow, leaning against the wall and letting his eyes slide shut. “How you holdin’ up?” Dean asked softly.
“Honestly? Pretty shitty,” Sam replied. Dean’s blood pressure jumped about a thousand points but before the heart attack could begin Sam waved his hand. “Not like Hell-memories shitty. Just... I’ve got a bad feeling about whatever I did here.”
“You didn’t do anything,” Dean reminded him. Sam cracked an eye open, frowning. “You weren’t in the passenger seat, okay, whatever went down.”
Sam eyed him for a long moment before looking away. “Sure.”
Dean didn’t call him on his obvious bullshit not wanting to start a fight, let alone say anything that might get the memory train rolling. “Wasn’t all bad,” he offered. “I mean, sucks what happened to ‘em but you sure were doing something right with the ladies. ‘Athletic’ I believe was the description.”
He grinned but to his dismay, Sam’s frown only deepened. “What?”
“All the women... it’s just kinda skeezy, you know? Not knowing exactly where my body’s... been.”
Dean winced. Good point. Considering Sam’s dalliances the previous year included such memorable hits as the Weird Hippy Chick during the fairy incident, Sam’s tastes didn’t exactly seem discerning when he went cruising sans-soul.
“And there’s the whole thing with Debbie...”
“What about her?”
Sam squirmed, eyes darting away. “I mean... she’s married, man.”
Dean couldn’t help it—he burst into laughter. “That’s what’s got your panties in a twist? The fact that you dangerous liasoned with a married chick?”
Sam scowled. “It’s not funny, Dean!”
“It’s a little funny.”
“I’m serious!” Sam exclaimed. “Clearly I knew she was married, I met her husband, but I slept with her anyway. I mean, who does that? If I was having such an easy time picking up women, why did I go for someone so obviously unavailable? What the hell is wrong with me?”
Dean stared. That was... quite the reaction. “Dude, it’s okay. Last time I checked, it takes two to tango. She’s the one stepping out, not you. What gives?”
Sam exhaled slowly, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. “Jess. She had a thing... about cheaters,” he said evenly. “I guess it made an impression.”
Oh, yikes. In trying to avoid a bomb he ended up landing in a minefield. “That’s, um,” Dean fumbled. “Still, it’s not like...”
Yeah, he had nothing. A harsh laugh scratched his way out of Sam’s throat. “I was so worried, you know, during our first case. Woman in White,” Sam said. “What it said about me, that she attacked me back then. So worried I’d—”
Sam abruptly cut himself off. Dean’s brain flew down the speculation track. Woman in White. Attacked unfaithful men. Sam had been worried? About being unfaithful to Jessica? No way. Not Sam. He wouldn’t, not in a million years (not when he was in his right mind, anyway). He loved that girl. Even if he hadn’t been head-over-heels, it just wasn’t in him. Not to mention vengeful spirits weren’t exactly Sam’s type. What the hell did he have to be worried about?
“Guess she was right after all,” Sam concluded bitterly.
“Oh, come on!” Dean complained. “She was the cheater, not you! Questionable choice? Sure. Morally dubious? Definitely. But you weren’t breaking any vows, pal. That’s on her. You didn’t twist her arm. I saw the look on her face. She climbed Everest because it was there, if you know what I mean.”
That teased a laugh out of his brother and Dean preened like a peacock. “Right? So you didn’t turn her away. So what? I know you, man. Eight days a week, running on soul power? You wouldn’t even be tempted.”
Sam’s smile twisted. “No?”
“Course not.”
Sam looked at Dean then face shadowed and drawn, and Dean’s mind stuttered to a halt. Because the look in Sam’s eyes was entirely unfamiliar to him: regretful and ashamed and wistful and greedy and exasperated and... and hungry, and a hundred other things, and Dean had no idea what to do with it because it was directed at him.
The Woman in White had him worried, his mind whispered. Worried about who? Certainly not her. That left...
“We both know I’m no saint, Dean,” Sam said softly. “Everybody has their temptations.”
Temptations. Dean didn’t know much about temptations, to be honest. If the year before his deal came due taught him anything, it was that there was no point in not giving in to life’s pleasures when they came along. Sure, he didn’t go wild, but he didn’t sweat the small stuff. Make merry for tomorrow you may die and all that. In his case, tomorrow came more often than most. But this...
Sam’s mouth curled into a rueful smile. “Yeah,” he said faintly, confirming absolutely nothing. “Look, we really should—” He began to rise, returning to the case that still needed unraveling.
Dean clamped down on Sam’s wrist.
They looked down at Dean’s hand in surprise. Dean didn’t even realize he’d moved—but now that he had he didn’t regret it. Sam without a soul had no inhibitions and Sam with one had too many. If anyone was going to cross any lines, it would have to be him.
Still, anxiety clawed at him. It took a long time for Dean to speak. “I’m not. I mean. I’ve cheated before.”
Sam blinked. “Okay.”
“It was high school but, you know. S’not like I didn’t know better.”
“Dean, I don’t know what you’re—”
“I didn’t when I was with Cassie or Lisa but, you know. I looked. Flirted. Watched porn and stuff.”
“Dude, TMI, come on...” Sam tried pulling his arm away. Dean held firm.
“Point is, I’ve been tempted too,” Dean continued desperately. “Still am sometimes.”
Sam stilled.
Dean nervously licked his lips. “When you got me from Lisa’s... shit, I didn’t hesitate. I thought I would but I didn’t. I wanted to go.”
Sam swallowed hard and Dean watched, enraptured, at the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. “Dean,” Sam whispered, “what are you saying?”
“I’m saying... right now, it ain’t cheating, Sammy.”
Dean let go. Sam stood, rubbing his wrist, but his eyes never left Dean’s. His lips parted and pinched together several times but apparently, he couldn’t find the words. His eyes, however, were hopeful.
Ten minutes had passed. Dean cleared his throat. “Think about it,” he said stiffly. “If you, ya know, want to.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed faintly. He turned away, toward the mess of pins, string, and clues. “Yeah. Um. The... the case. I was looking at the guy who disappeared before Sheriff Dobbs. I couldn’t find the missing person’s report?”
Dean didn’t miss the uncertain hitch to his brother’s voice. He coughed, slapped his knees, and rose, sauntering over to the box. “Think I go it over here. Yeah, here we go.”
He passed Sam the report. Their fingers brushed. Sam inhaled sharply and gave Dean a speedy once-over. Dean steadily endured the examination. He didn’t even blink.
Sam offered a hesitant smile. “Thanks,” he murmured, then returned his attention to the map, grabbing a straight pin.
“Sure thing.” Dean wouldn’t push. They were on a case, after all, and he’d promised Sam ten minutes. But damn if he wasn’t tempted to cheat.