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Sam startled awake, eyes darting first to the green glow of the clock on the nightstand - 3:17 - before he rolled over to see what the noise that had woken him was. The dim light filtering through the curtains from the motel parking lot was just enough to make out Dean’s silhouette, his form wavering unsteadily as he pulled his jacket off and dropped it across one of the chairs by the table.
“Dean?” Sam mumbled quietly as he sat up, his hand coming up to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“Sorry Sammy, didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, ‘kay?” Dean’s voice was quiet too, but a little slurred. Sam’s immediate thought was a concussion. He glanced around the room, looking for Dad, but the bathroom light was still out, and there was no one else in the room.
“You okay? You hurt?” Sam started to pull the covers off and get out of bed, awake enough now to remember Dean and Dad leaving early that afternoon to find the grave of a vengeful spirit. It should have been a simple salt and burn. They should have been back hours ago. “Where’s Dad?”
“Shhh...Sammy everything’s okay. Go back to sleep.” Dean started toward the bathroom.
“Dean! Tell me!” Sam watched as his raised voice drew his brother to a stop in the middle of the room, the soundless sigh visible in the drop of his shoulders even in the dim light. Dean turned around, walked over to Sam’s bed and sat down.
“Really, kiddo, everything is okay. I’m not hurt. I’m just...I had a bit too much to drink. Didn’t even get tossed into any headstones this time. Okay?” Dean laid a hand between Sam’s shoulders, lightly rubbing as he spoke.
“Where’s Dad?”
“He...he um...took off for another hunt as soon as we finished. Be gone a few days.”
“So you went and got drunk by yourself?”
“Yep, kiddo...just needed to blow off some steam. I’m fine.”
“No you’re not,” Sam said, turning to look into his brother’s eyes. Fifteen years of living in each other’s back pockets meant that Sam knew something wasn’t right. Dean didn’t drink alone often, and Dad didn’t just take off like that without his standard Winchester “debriefing” after a hunt. And the look on Dean’s face was pained - not physical pain, not even exhaustion from digging up a grave. Something wasn’t right. “I can tell. Something went wrong. What happened?”
Dean let out another sigh and scrubbed his free hand down his face, pausing to scratch at the stubble on his chin.
“Jesus, Sammy you’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Dean pulled his lips up into a smile, but Sam could see how forced it was. It didn’t come anywhere near his brother’s eyes. Sam just stared at Dean, waiting, his face screwed up into what his brother would call his bitchface. Dean took a deep breath, then pushed it out slowly - sure sign of resignation, that he knew Sam wasn’t going to let him get away without spilling. “Okay. The old lady? The one that the ghost was tossing vases and plates at? We went back to check on her, tell her it was over. We were too late. Guess her dead husband got to her while we were digging up the remains.”
“Shit.” Sam’s eyes had grown wide, his body shifting to face Dean more fully.
“Yeah. We just...we weren’t fast enough, Sam.”
Sam could feel his jaw dropping slightly as he kept his eyes trained on Dean’s, saw them fill with tears. Sam could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen his brother even close to crying, and now Dean was sitting there, one tear sliding down his cheek and he wasn’t even trying to hide it. Sam didn’t even think, just moved until he had his arms wrapped around his brother and Dean’s face was buried in the curve between Sam’s neck and shoulder. Sam’s own eyes started to burn with wet tears when the first sob fell out against his neck, and he tightened his grip on his brother.
“It’s just so hard, Sammy. So fucking hard to do this.”
“I know, Dean. I know.”
“Just wasn’t fast enough.”
“It’s okay, Dean. Can’t save everyone, right? Dad says that. Uncle Bobby, even Pastor Jim. Can’t save everyone.”
Dean was silent for a few moments, his hands gripping and twisting the back of Sam’s t-shirt, then another sob broke the silence and all Sam could do was hold on tighter and let his big brother cry. Half an hour later the room was quiet again, both brothers leaning back against the headboard, asleep, still wrapped around each other.
***
The two inch space between the curtains was just wide enough to let a bright shaft of sunlight stream through, hitting Sam square in the face at 7am, pulling him from sleep. Dean had shifted down during the night, but his head was still tucked against Sam’s ribs. He looked peaceful in his sleep still, so Sam was careful not to jostle the bed as he got up. He was quiet as he made his way to the bathroom, brushed his teeth and washed his face. He’d set a glass of water and some Tylenol on the nightstand next to Dean, and was pulling on his jeans when his brother stirred.
“Gonna go get coffee, I’ll be right back,” Sam said quietly, gesturing to the water and pills as Dean watched him, bleary eyed. Dean nodded slowly, his eyes tracking Sam as he pulled on his hoodie and stepped out the door.
Twenty minutes later Sam pushed the motel room door open again to find Dean sitting up in bed, one hand idly rubbing the back of his head, fingers scratching through the short hair there. Sam crossed the room and handed over one of the cups of coffee, then pulled a styrofoam take-out container from the plastic bag dangling from his wrist. He settled himself on the other bed with his own coffee and box of eggs, bacon and toast.
“Breakfast, too?” Dean looked across the small space at Sam, expression slightly impressed.
“Didn’t figure you’d feel much like going out for a while.” Sam shrugged, then dipped his fork into the fluffy pile of eggs and brought it up to his mouth. It was a few seconds before Dean turned his gaze from Sam and started in on his own breakfast. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Dean turned to his brother again.
“Hey Sammy, I’m sorry...about last night...I just…”
“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said, cutting off whatever his brother was struggling to say. “I get it, okay? Obviously, I get it. Sometimes it just gets to you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it does.” Dean was still for a moment, not eating, not looking at Sam, just staring straight ahead. “Thanks, Sam.”
“No big deal.” Sam didn’t look over at his brother either, kept his eyes trained on his half-eaten breakfast. He glanced over briefly, though, when he heard Dean huff out a laugh. “What?”
“Just funny is all. I’m the one’s supposed to take care of you and all of a sudden you’re here taking care of me.”
“Well,” Sam said with a shrug. “It’s ‘bout time I returned the favor.”
“Shouldn’t have to.” Dean’s tone had grown glum.
“I don’t have to. I want to, Dean.” Sam turned to look at his brother then, green and hazel eyes locking for longer than was generally comfortable for either of them.
“Well,” Dean said, turning back to his breakfast. “Thanks, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
They finished their breakfast in silence, letting the tension of the moment drain away, leaving them both a little uneasy. The rest of the day they relaxed, watching television, their usual brotherly banter slowly seeping back in as the hours passed. It wasn’t until after dinner that Sam noticed he’d gotten to choose what they watched that day, and that Dean never bickered once about anything at all.