Chapter Text
He stood in the doorway, arms folded, gritting his teeth. “I want to know. What does she do that I don’t? You owe me that much!”. Sam had erected a barrier between them. And it went against all his instincts-- all those years of his father’s voice, then his own, saying “Protect Sam, protect him”-- but Dean wouldn’t cross it. Not now. He had no right, not with what he was asking of his baby brother.
Dean scrubbed at his face, blinking back tears furiously, turning away from the light. “Don’t Sam. This is one wound you don’t wanna stick your finger in. Dammit, you had Jess. You had a taste of what you really wanted. And all my life, I’ve been too afraid to want this. For once, I wanna be on the other side of normal, Sammy. You gotta let me do this”, he said wearily.
A harsh laugh erupted from Sam’s throat. He was a head taller than Dean, had been for ages, but for all Dean had called him Sasquatch, teased him about his size, he looked so fucking small now. Shaggy brown hair covering his eyes. Taut muscle pulled thin over his golden 6’4 frame. That sad, tired face Dean remembered from their childhood. Too much. Sam had seen and suffered too much in his life.
“You leave me twisting in the wind and you expect me to be happy for you? Do what you gotta do, man. You play happy families. And do me a favour. Don’t come looking for me when you can’t keep her happy and you’re tired of playing Daddy. When the walls start closing in on you, and you know they will Dean, don’t expect me to rescue you”, Sam warned, green eyes flashing angrily.
This was its own kind of Hell. Seeing his brother’s face contorted with anger and a hurt his own hands had caused. He couldn’t protect him from this, couldn’t comfort him this time. It would have been insulting to try. It was costing Dean so much to hear Sam lay out his deepest fears, such bitterness in his voice. He wanted to believe he was good enough for this white picket fence life, that he wasn’t irreparably damaged by their life as soldiers, as hunters.
Dean wanted desperately to close the gap between them and pull Sam to him, feeling the familiar weight of his brother’s head on his shoulder. They had been made to fit together and never in a million years did Dean think he’d be the one pulling them apart. Sam leaving him and Dad for Stanford, that was different. Sam had always deserved a normal life, and when he saw his chance to have it, he took it and it hurt Dean in ways he never said, but he understood it. This, what he was doing, was the worst kind of betrayal.
“Please, Sam”, he said haltingly, rising to his feet. And they both knew what he really meant. I love you. You’re my heart. You’re all I have. You’re the only home I’ve ever known.
Shame swirled in the pit of Dean’s stomach. He hated this feeling of quiet desperation starting to settle in his bones. He was hurtling towards thirty, not having known a single normal thing in his life. Been to Hell and back and out the other side. Afraid he couldn’t protect Sam for the rest of their lives. Afraid the end of their lives was just around the corner. He knew what old hunters, if you could call fifty old, were like. Remembering every person they couldn’t save, drinking too much, utterly ruined for love or happiness. Waiting for something they couldn’t catch to finally finish them off.
And there was Lisa. And Ben. And a real house in a nice neighbourhood. Not a roach motel where nine year olds pried whisky bottles from their fathers fingers, laying salt lines along windows and doors. Hunting monsters. He wanted it so badly, all the things he never had. This was not the work of a trickster or djinn. This was real and he was terrified of never getting a chance like this again.
Sam’s face was an unreadable mask as Dean strode over to him. One of the many things he picked up from his brother. Sam shrugged off the hand Dean rested on his shoulder. A corrosive anger burned in him and the last thing he wanted was his older brother’s attempt to take the sting out of the ultimate betrayal.
A look of contempt and pity snaked across Sam’s face. But when he saw the claddagh ring on his brother’s left hand, his breathing hitched. He looked so utterly disarmed. Dean cupped Sam’s face, his ferocious love penetrating Sam’s gaze.
“Look at me Sammy”, he urged. Sam’s green eyes sparkled with unshed tears as he stared at Dean. “Nothing can touch what we have. Nothing, Sammy. Christ, I don’t even know if I can do this. I walk around fucking aching for you. Wake up in the middle of the night and I reach for you, but you’re not there. I could screw this up six ways to Sunday and I know it, “he murmured.
“I never take this ring off. I don’t ever forget what we promised each other. But I gotta try and make this work, okay?” Dean pleaded, releasing Sam. The anguish etched on Sam’s face nearly had Dean coming undone. Sam nodded, tears catching in his lashes. He bit back a sob and wrapped his arms around Dean, breathing in that leather cotton sweat smell.
The sound of footsteps creeping down the stairs echoed in their ears and Dean pulled away. Lisa came downstairs, bleary eyed in a bath robe and bunny slippers. She squinted at the two of them.
“Hey Sam. Babe, everything okay? I woke up and you weren’t there,” she said, stifling a yawn.
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and flashed her a smile. “Everything’s fine, Lis. Go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute”. She waved goodbye to Sam and trudged upstairs.
Dean reached for his brother’s hand, but Sam pulled away. “Sorry. I’m sorry”, Dean told him. Sam smiled that half smile of his. The one Dean knew meant “I want you to think everything’s okay, but this hurts so bad and I’m just trying to keep my insides from being my outsides. This is breaking my heart”. He turned the corner and opened the front door. Dean shut it, pinning Sam against the door. He leaned in to kiss him, but Sam moved out of the way. They stood there, watching each other.
Dean came toward his brother once more. Sam shot him a plaintive look and raised both hands in surrender. “Don’t man. Just don’t”. He turned and opened the door again, glancing over his shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was brittle and shaky. “You want me to let you go. This is me letting you go”.
The door shut behind him. Dean willed himself not to open it and drag Sam back inside. Instead, he stood there, hand pressed against the door. He heard the screech of tires. Dean locked the door and tried to walk away.
His legs buckled and he slid to the floor. He sat there, clutching his sides. “Sam”, he whispered. The golf ball sized lump in his throat cracked and the tears came. Dean clamped a hand over his mouth, tried to stop sound from escaping. When it stopped, he climbed the stairs and got into bed. He breathed a sigh of relief to see Lisa was asleep already. It was the smallest of mercies. Right now, he couldn’t stand to be questioned or touched. His soul had just been ripped from his body.
*************
The last thing Sam wanted was to stop driving. But it was 3 AM and he knew if he didn’t stop now, he’d find himself sleeping in the truck, something his body protested painfully the next day. So he checked into a sketchy motel, a room with one bed, and he salted the doors and windows and tried to ignore the gut-wrenching pain of losing his home/lover/brother/reason for staying alive. And he failed.
Oh God, did he fail. His whole life he belonged in Dean’s arms. At his brother’s side. Lawrence wasn’t really home for him, only the scene of one of a million Winchester family tragedies. They moved around so much, by the time he was five, he knew home would never be a place. For Sam, home was a person. And home had left him now. Dean had left him. To share someone else’s bed, someone else calling out his name. To live the life he secretly wanted but never thought he deserved.
Damned if this wouldn’t hurt less if his brother had cracked his breastbone and cut out his fucking heart. Sam belonged to no one now. Had no one. Utterly alone with the squalor of his devastation, he lay down on the bed and started to howl.
*************
Lisa sighed. This had gone on long enough. She shook Dean gently, trying to rouse him. His skin was cold and clammy. “Dean, wake up honey. Wake up, it’s only a dream,” she murmured. The thrashing beside her stopped. Dean opened his eyes and sat up.”Shit”, he muttered. It was like this every night. He wanted it to stop. He’d rather be haunted by someone dead than someone living any day.
Lisa placed a cool hand on his fevered brow, the only hot place on his body. So full of loving concern that he felt like a dick putting her through this. “It happens every night Dean. The nightmares or whatever they are. It’s been a month. Please, just tell me what’s wrong”, she exclaimed.
He didn’t let himself think for a minute that he could tell her the truth. So he reached for a convenient half-truth, and he looked at his hands while he spoke. “Me and Sam-“, that name, so precious, caught in his throat and Dean had to start again.
“Me and Sam saved a lot of people. It’s all we were raised to do. But we didn’t save them all. And I can’t forget the ones we almost saved. Can we drop this now?”.
Lisa winced at the bitterness and regret in his voice. She wanted to believe him, she really did. But she had to ask.” So this has nothing to do with Sam? Because you call out his name sometimes. Did you two have a fight or something?”, she queried, watching him.
Fuck. He couldn’t do this. Dean pulled away from her and got out of bed. He slipped a Motorhead t-shirt over his head and turned to her.” I’m gonna sleep on the couch”, he growled. He headed downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a beer.
One month. One goddamn month and his easygoing normal guy facade was starting to crack. Being a mechanic and going to Ben’s soccer games and playing nice at barbeques. Pretending he wasn’t thinking about his brother when he fucked Lisa. Dean was sure he could last a month. He had to. There was nowhere left to go.
He locked away the most important parts of himself to stay in this house. Played the smartass grease monkey at work, cracking jokes and having beers with the guys after hours. Didn’t let himself show honest to god anger, no matter what. Never showed fear. Let Ben kick his ass playing Call of Duty. Fucked Lisa like she was the one he really loved.
But he knew he was drowning. Without a sense of purpose. He had that when he had Sam. When he was a hunter. He felt naked most days, stripped of his weapons, but Lisa refused to let him walk around with his gun and his knives.
She insisted nothing was wrong, nothing was coming after them. So he kept his guns and knives and rock salt and silver bullets in a safe in the basement and tried to convince himself the security he had here wasn’t worth trading for what he’d left. But he never believed it.
*************
Sam hunted with a vengeance. Chupacabras in New Mexico, poltergeists in Salem. He found evil. He killed it. He saved lives. And he pretended that was all his life needed to be. He drank more than Bobby thought was healthy and Missouri left concerned messages that he never returned.
His life became what it had been after Dean died at the Mystery Spot. Regimented, obsessive, hollow. But there was no reason to hope this time. Still, something inside him waited for Dean. He wanted Dean back. Needed him. Selfish bastard he was, he couldn’t live like this, knowing Dean didn’t want or need him. So he found himself a witch. Or rather, she found him. Sam was prepared to sacrifice certain things. And that was fine with her.
*************
A month later, Dean got the call. It was Bobby and Dean knew it was bad. He pulled on jeans and a shirt with one hand, holding his cell in the other. “Just tell me where he is and how bad it is. I’m coming to him”.
What Bobby told him made no sense. Sam came back from a salt and burn and the next day, he was blind. Dean left a message at work, asking for a week off. He was throwing clothes into his duffel bag when Lisa walked into their room. She let out a weary sigh. “What’s going on, Dean?”
“I’m going to South Dakota. Sam’s sick”, he replied.
“How long?”
“Until he’s better”, Dean replied tersely. God, he sounded like a dick. “I’m coming back, Lis. I’m not leaving you guys. But this is Sam. I have to go”, he added.
Her arms were folded across her chest. Yeah, she was pissed. She cocked her head toward the door.” At least say good-bye to Ben before you leave”, she insisted.
It stung that she thought he needed to be told. "You think I’m a total fuck-up? You think I’d do that? Jesus Lisa...”, he groused, grabbing his bag and heading down the hallway to Ben’s room.
He opened the door and walked over to Ben’s bed, sitting on the edge. Ben sat up. In the half light, Dean could tell he was upset. “You’re leaving. You coming back?”, he asked, sounding angry and scared.
“Course, man. I gotta see you win the championships”, he vowed. Ben looked unconvinced. “Is this ‘cause of Mom? You don’t love her anymore or somethin’?”, he inquired.
Dean shook his head. “Ben, I love you guys. Sam’s sick, that’s all. I gotta go see him”. Ben turned away. “Whatever. Just go”, he mumbled.
“I’m coming back Ben. We’ll talk about it when I get home.”. Dean rose from the bed and shut the door. He grabbed his duffel and went downstairs.
Lisa was sitting on the living room couch, waiting for him. “We’re losing you, aren’t we? You don’t know how to live like this. And you don’t want to”, she acknowledged.
He was not in the mood for this. “Christ. Lisa, I don’t have time for this. You wanna talk, we’ll talk when I get back. But don’t lay this shit at my door step right now”, he retorted.
Dean stomped past her to the garage. He shoved his bag in the backseat of the Impala and peeled out onto the street. He didn’t look back, only ahead. He cranked Metallica and ignored the voice inside that told him he might not make it there in time.
****************
Sam sat in Bobby’s library while Bobby pored over scrolls, websites, and books trying to find a reason for what was happening. He was damn lucky it hadn’t happened on a hunt or he would have been dead and it would have been messy. Luckier still that Bobby had picked him up from the motel and promised to fix this. But he didn’t want Bobby. He wanted Dean.
Shit. There it was again. His heart beating too fast and it had nothing to do with his thoughts of Dean. Sam tried to suppress the coughing fit that followed, but couldn’t. Bobby poured him a shot of rotgut and placed it in his hand. He downed it and the coughing stopped.
Bobby chuckled with satisfaction, glad there was something he could do to help. Trouble stuck to Winchesters like molasses. Secretly, he was happy. Sam wouldn’t have seen him any other way. Kid was real torn up about something, and if he hadn’t gone blind, Sam would have kept right on going, refusing the help everyone who loved him knew he needed. Something was haunting that boy.
Sam could hear better now that he was blind, though blind or not, he’d have been hard pressed to ignore the loud creaking and thudding of someone or something bounding up Bobby’s steps. He heard the screen door open, then loud rapid knocking on the wooden door. Sam stood up, but Bobby shoved him back into his chair. “Easy there, Helen. I’ll get it”, he snickered, walking to the door.
Bobby unlocked the deadbolts and unchained the door. His visitor entered and followed him to the library. Sam’s heart collided with his ribcage. That smell. “Dean?”
“Yeah Sammy, it’s me. Can’t leave you alone for a minute, huh?”, he muttered, slapping his brother on the back. Sam erupted into another coughing fit. He could practically feel Dean’s concerned stare. Dean rubbed his back, but Sam moved out of reach. “Why are you here?”, he spat out.
Bobby snapped at Sam before Dean could answer. “Because I called him, idjit. Now, I dunno what happened between you two and I ain’t askin. But he’s your brother and you need help, so shut up and be grateful he came”. He left the room and climbed the stairs to the basement.
It was a hell of a lot harder for Sam to ignore the Dean-sized hole in his life with his brother so close by. And he should have been happy. But when all this was over, Dean was leaving him again. And maybe that was worse than if he hadn’t come at all.
The anger Sam had been feeding since Dean left surged within him. He didn’t want bits and pieces of Dean’s life. He didn’t want Lisa’s fucking leftovers. And anger was always easier for Winchester men than fear or hurt or shame, so Sam stuck with family tradition.
“You didn’t have to come here. Bobby and I can handle this, so why don’t you run back to your normal life?”, Sam seethed.
He miscalculated his brother’s response. Dean pulled him out of the chair by his shirt collar. “You run your mouth all you want, Sam. You’re ever hurt, you ever need me, I’ll come running. Or maybe you forgot that”, he roared, shaking Sam.