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“And if we die, we’ll do that together, too.”
There’s really nothing more to be said, is there?
Wrong.
Dean thinks that’s the end of the discussion – pretty conclusive, in his opinion, not really a lot you can say to that anyway – and that they’re not gonna talk about this again. Won’t have to, Sam’s made himself pretty clear and so has Dean. So that’s pretty much it.
Until Sam turns over in bed and asks, voice so soft that for a moment Dean thinks he’s imagining it, “Do you really not care if you live or die?”
Dean takes a moment to verify that Sam has, indeed, spoken, and then sighs. “Sammy.”
“Don’t ‘Sammy’ me!” retorts his brother, looking adorably disgruntled, and Dean has to take a moment to remind himself this is a serious discussion and telling Sam he looks cute will not help.
Dean tries very unsuccessfully to hide his smirk, and Sam just huffs. “Forget it,” he says, and makes to turn over again so that his back will be to Dean.
“Wait,” Dean says, and reaches out to grab Sam’s wrist. “Sam, listen.”
Reluctantly, Sam turns back to him.
Dean sighs again. “Okay, look. It’s not that I want to die, okay? That’s not what I meant. But if it comes down to you versus me? You, Sammy, hands down, every damn time. There is no universe in which I’m not going to choose your life over mine. It’s not even a choice, it’s instinct, okay?”
“How do you think that makes me feel?” Sam argues, eyes clouding over with anger. He sighs in frustration. “Dean—you keep doing that, over and over again, and I get it, okay? I’d do the same for you. Without even hesitating. It’s the same for me. But why does it have to be that way? Why does it have to be one of us? Why not both?”
For that, Dean has no answer, except to say, his voice going soft and raw around the edges, “Because the last time this happened, you were in the Cage for thousands of years, Sam. And it was only a year and a half for me but it was fucking awful, okay? And it is nothing compared to what you went through. No,” he says when Sam opens his mouth to interrupt. “Sammy, I’ve seen the look on your face when Lucifer is nearby. You think I can’t see what it did to you? What it’s still doing to you? The nightmares and the fear? Sammy, I’m not blind, okay? And I can’t see you go through all that again, I’m not fucking kidding, Sammy, I’d rather die. I’m not letting him ever touch you again, and I don’t care what I have to do.”
There are tears in Sam’s eyes. Dean reaches out to wipe at one of them before it can fall, and Sam leans into his touch. “He doesn’t get to hurt you ever again, okay,” Dean says, whispering now. “I won’t let him. I don’t care what he does to me. I won’t let him hurt you.”
Sam reaches out to wrap his fingers around Dean’s wrist. A couple of tears fall when he closes his eyes, sliding down his face into his pillow. “Dean,” is all he says. There’s a plea in his voice. “Dean, please, I just – I can’t let anything happen to you either, okay? I’ve got your back, too. We’re supposed to be in this together, Dean, so please, let me help you. Let me be there to look out for you. I can’t – I can’t just sit here and worry and freak out, okay, I need to be there, I need to be with you and fight. I need to protect you too, okay?”
Dean gently extricates Sam’s fingers from his wrist and brushes Sam’s hair off his face, tucking it behind his ear. “I know,” is all he says. “I know, Sammy. I know.”
“You have to let me,” Sam insists, grabbing Dean’s sleeve instead. “I’m not a kid, okay? You have to trust me.”
“I trust you, Sam,” Dean says. “More than anyone. You know that.”
Sam nods. “Then trust me with this.”
“I don’t—” He doesn’t like it. At all. Just the idea of Sam anywhere near Lucifer is horrifying, especially now that he knows what Sam went through, what’s been done to him, the constant torture and violation and pain and suffering inflicted on him. There is no way he’ll let it happen again.
And yet. And yet here is Sam, looking up at him with those earnest eyes, waiting on his answer, fingers curled in the fabric of Dean’s shirt, skin warm under Dean’s hands. Dean can’t – it’s not like, not like Sam’s a kid, yeah, that part’s true. Sam hasn’t been a kid for a long time now. Not since he was eight years old, at least, and found out about the thing in his closet. He can hold his own in a fight, and he took on the Devil and won, despite the cost, and he kicked an addiction to demon blood despite what it did to him, and there is nothing that can stop him once he’s got his mind set on something. He is a formidable hunter, and there is no one else that Dean trusts more with his life.
And yet. He is also Dean’s little brother, the kid he raised from infancy, the kid he grew to love more than anything else in the whole world, and fuck what everyone thought of it. He’s sweet smiles and dimples, and gentle hands and soft words, and warmth and safety. He’s what Dean wants to see first thing in the morning and last thing at night, everyday. And if there’s a way to hide Sam somewhere, protect him from the whole world, from anything that would seek to harm him, then Dean will find a way to do it, consequences be damned.
“Dean,” Sam implores.
Dean closes his eyes, exhales. “Fine,” he says in the end. “I hear you, Sammy. But,” he adds, a touch of warning to his tone, “no stupid ideas, okay? No sacrificing yourself, or letting yourself get hurt to save me. None of that, you hear?”
“I won’t promise that until you do,” Sam says, stubborn as always, and Dean almost smiles despite his exasperation.
“All right,” he says. He’s sure he’ll break the promise at some point, but if that’s what it takes to get Sam to agree, then he’s willing to sing like a bird.
Sam smiles at him, a tender and dimpled thing, and Dean thaws. “You’re too much,” he murmurs, carding his hand through Sam’s hair, before leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “You’re too fucking much.”
Sam grins at that, lazily enjoying the affection. “Yeah,” is all he says, closing his eyes. “I know.”
And that’s it. This is – this is it, Dean supposes. They’re going to wait for Gabriel’s grace, and then they’re going to go get their mother and Jack back. Probably kill Michael and Lucifer too, while they’re at it, because why the fuck not? Dean in particular has a lot of bones to pick with the Devil, starting and ending at my name is Dean Winchester, you hurt my brother, prepare to die.
And they’re going to do it together.
But, Dean resolves, private and hidden deep inside his heart, if it comes down to it? Sam, always Sam, nothing before him, not even himself, not even – he shouldn’t be thinking it, hates himself a little for it even though it’s true – maybe not even Mary. It’s not even a choice. Gut instinct, raw and unadulterated. Sam will just have to deal with it, because Dean refuses to live in a world where Sam is hurt or – his heart clenches painfully in his chest – dead.
Sam’s breathing evens out. Dean’s does not. He remains awake, watches Sam sleep, the only time when his brother looks at least a little peaceful. Sam’s breath is warm on Dean’s skin, his fingers still curled loosely into Dean’s shirt.
What is the world, compared to this?
What is Dean’s life, compared to this?
Oh, Sammy, thinks Dean, watching his brother sleep. It’s never even a question. You, always you, always you first.