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After God retires to one of the Bunker’s many beds, Sam and Dean are left alone in the war room. Seated at one of the long tables, Dean takes another shot of whiskey and rubs tiredly at his eyes. The look on his face means he wants to say something but isn’t sure how to begin. Sam doesn’t want to give him the chance. He folds his laptop closed and tucks it under his arm as he stands.
“Well, this has been…well. It’s been.” Sam remarks, faking a yawn, “I’m gonna hit the hay.”
He turns to go.
“Sammy.”
He freezes. He ducks his head, hair concealing his eyes as he turns just a fraction, just enough to let his brother know he’s listening. His heart feels flighty.
“Sit back down.” Dean’s quiet command.
Sam swallows and nods as he wordlessly complies. He sets his computer back down and chances a look at Dean. He looks as fragile and hopeless as he did when he was talking to Chuck. Dean’s hand is clutching something tightly; the amulet, Sam realizes. He sees the cord looped around his Dean’s fingers.
“Dean…” he starts. His voice sounds weak and pleading to his own ears.
“You,” Dean begins and then stops, taking a deep breath. It shudders out of his chest. He opens his hand and looks at the tiny pendant resting in his palm. “For six years, Sam?”
Sam’s heart is hammering. He nods because he doesn’t trust himself to speak.
Dean scrubs a hand down his face and looks away. When he turns his gaze back on Sam, his eyes are wet with unshed tears. His mouth has the soft, trembling look of a child. Sam wants nothing more than to hold him but he’s not sure what’s allowed.
“Why?” Dean’s voice is shattered-rough like broken glass under the heel of a boot.
Sam blinks, feeling his own eyes begin to sting. “When you threw it away, I…” he pauses, his chest clenching suddenly at the memory of the amulet dangling over the waste basket, hanging loose from Dean’s fingertips, “I knew it didn’t mean anything to you anymore but it was still important to me. I guess I had this vain hope that maybe… I thought maybe you might want it back some day. If I could be better, y’know? If I could make you trust me again.”
Sam lets out a hollow laugh as a hot tear escapes his eye. He swipes at it with the side of his hand. “But I kept letting you down. Over and over. I thought it would just stay in my pocket forever.”
He looks up at the soft, wounded sound that Dean makes. His chin is trembling, his bright eyes shockingly green when he cries. He’s holding the amulet against his chest as if he can push it inside to fill a gap there. Sam grimaces at the sight, hugging his arms in close because he can’t hug Dean.
“Sammy, it was never your fault,” Dean says, voice clogged with emotion, “It was never you, brother. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have thrown it away. I’ve regretted it ever since.”
He reaches out with his unoccupied hand and grips Sam’s knee, squeezing. “You’ve made mistakes, Sam, but you’ve never let me down. Not ever. And I’m not going to choose Amara; I’d do anything to make you understand that.”
Sam stares into his eyes until he can’t anymore. His gaze falls instead to the white-knuckled grip of Dean’s fist over the amulet. With trembling fingers, he reaches out and carefully unravels the necklace from Dean’s fist. Dean’s got an urgent look in his eyes like he thinks Sam will take it away. Instead, Sam lifts it up and open, offering. Dean lowers his head and Sam lets out a breath as he carefully slides the amulet around Dean’s neck.
It’s like everything has finally fallen back into place with the weight of the necklace against Dean’s chest. Like they can breathe deep at long last. Dean leans forward in his chair and throws his arms around Sam’s neck. Sam’s arms wind around him, clinging like he’s afraid to be washed away. His heart is punching frantic beats against his ribcage and he can feel Dean’s heart in answering rhythm. Dean’s hot tears cooling against Sam’s cheek, Sam’s nose buried in the familiar scent of Dean’s neck.
They’re finally home.
…
Chuck smiles at the words on the screen. With a satisfied sigh, he saves the document and snaps his fingers. In his hand appears a fresh manuscript of the latest addition to the Winchester Gospels. He’s really going to miss those boys.