Work Text:
Before Sam can stop himself, the words are out of his mouth. “What made you change your mind?” Dean just looks confused, prompting him to clarify, “I got your message.”
If anything, Dean looks even more confused. Sam remains silent and watches the realization dawn, and Dean’s expression gains just a hint of embarrassment.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Sorry? He’s sorry? “Didn’t mean to go all chick-flick on you, but—”
Sam laughs once, a short, sharp, bitter sound that seems to scrape its way out of his throat. “Pretty fuckin’ far from a chick-flick.”
Dean frowns, starting to look downright concerned, and Sam kind of gets why. After all, Sam so rarely swears. ”What are you talking about?”
Instead of answering, Sam fishes out his phone, hits the button for voicemail, and wordlessly handing it to Dean. As he listens, Dean’s face steadily drains of color, eyes narrowing and lips pressing together in a thin, bloodless line. He jabs a thumb into the end button before shoving it in Sam’s direction without looking at him. When he speaks, his voice is a low growl. “Zachariah.” He slams his fist into the steering wheel, hard. “Goddammit! If I ever see his smarmy face again…” He trails off, but Sam gets the gist.
Suddenly, Dean’s expression changes and he turns wide eyes on Sam. “Sam. You gotta know I don’t think any of that.” Sam doesn’t say anything, and Dean’s expression falls. “You do. You think I think you’re a monster.” He rubs his hand over his mouth like he does when he’s stressed or on the verge of getting emotional, and Sam wants more than anything to reach out and soothe him but he can’t. Hearing Dean say he doesn’t think any of that is reassuring, but Sam’s having trouble making himself believe it. After all, it’s how he feels about himself way too much of the time.
“Sammy…” Dean starts, and there’s desperation leaking all through his voice, and Sam hates it. Dean’s got that look on his face like he’s already figuring out how this is all his fault, and Sam can’t take it, not after everything else.
“I don’t think that, Dean.” Dean still looks wary and guilty and a whole bunch of other things Sam doesn’t like, so he adds, “Really. I don’t. If I’d been thinking straight and not hopped-up on demon blood, I’d have known it wasn’t you.” Dean’s expression relaxes slightly, and Sam finally gets his arm to move enough to reach out and squeeze Dean’s shoulder.
The words taste hollow in his mouth, but Dean seems to soak them up, tension in the set of his shoulders slowly draining back to normal. And okay, Sam can keep this going if Dean needs him to. Even if he’s still not sure he believes it himself.