Chapter Text
They were quiet, the only sound that filled the silence of the air was Baby’s engine. The boys had just finished up a hunt— both bruised and bleeding. Egos and feelings damaged and hurt.
Both too prideful and strain to apologize to one another.
Words were said, words that couldn’t be taken back because they cut too deep. Cut into their biggest insecurities or fears. Everyone knows siblings fight, especially brothers. But this one was different, simmering emotions that had been brewing since their time apart and a young age came out in full force.
Dean's knuckles were white, green eyes unmoving from the dark road in front of them. Sam by his side in the passenger seat discreetly tracing their initials they carved into the door. His own set of eyes on the map resting on his lap. Jaw clenched.
He could feel the apology that was trying to claw its way up his throat, the tightness in chest that didn't want to loosen still present.
Guilt.
He hated it.
He hated this.
The silence, when there's silence there's a storm coming, but the storm had already come, still looming over that place that they just left. At least that's what Sam thought…
Maybe it’s following them, hot on Baby’s fast wheels. Maybe that’s why the inside feels suffocating. The moist atmosphere was sucking up the heat of their anger till it’s unbearable.
Even after the thunderstorm of clashing words, there were still some unsaid ones… still issues…
Sam closed his eyes from a moment, sucking in a sharp breath. Digging his finger into the crevices of their initials. This… was gonna be a long night… probably week… knowing his brother who could hold a grudge till the end of time.
Most likely for eternity.
Once again, Sam fucking hated this.
Sam lays down the moment Dean is done stitching him up in silence and wiping his face off like he was four years old again. Instead of it being from the snickers or twix it was from dried up blood. Moving his face in his palm with a watchful eye, making sure he didn’t miss a speck. If the two weren’t upset at one another, Sam would’ve called Dean out for mothering him like he has before. Carrying that half smirk that showed his dimples, leading Dean to pinch his cheek like a grandma who doesn’t know her own strength.
Sam cheek stings from the imaginary pinch.
He always hated this. When Dean and him argued, sure brothers fight. The two have gone as far as wrestling each other before.
But still.
The younger Winchester hated it, they were all they had. Even when John was alive. That's all they had growing up. Each other.
Yeah sure Sam went to Stanford, leaving the hunting life behind. As well as his brother who suffered the consequences of Sam’s choice. But it wasn’t just Sam who got him there, his brother gave him the green light. Dean let him go. He let him go because he claimed this was something that Sam wanted, and all that mattered was Sam being happy.
Yes, Sam did want to go to Stanford, he wanted to pursue law. He wanted that normal life. Craved it the moment he hit twelve, drowning in textbooks of mythology and occasional comic books when Dean tried his best to help him feel normal.
But he had a plan.
Sam had a plan.
The normal life wouldn’t have just been for him, it would've been for Dean too… he would've made sure of that the moment he graduated…
Sam jumps when a large hand lands on his forehead, eyes flying open for a moment. Soon landing on Dean who was standing over him, hair still damp from the quick shower he took, wearing a grey t-shirt.
His thumb brushing over the stitches right above Sam’s brow. Pressing down as Sam winces at the quick pain that blossomed. The stitch was tight enough. Dean moves away when he seems satisfied enough. And sure Sam’s stitches won’t come undone over night and will bleed out with a concussion.
Sam watches he big brother, watches how he staggers to his bed.
A lump forms in his throat, words wishing to spew through. But they don’t. Sam forces them to stay in. He wants to look Dean over himself, cause his idiot brother doesn’t take his own injuries as seriously as he does with Sam’s. As long as Sam was fine, Dean didn’t give a crap.
And that was something Sam despised, he blames their dad for that.
Sam, Sam, Sam.
It’s always about Sam.
Never Dean.
Their argument had something to do with that. Not all of it but most of it.
Sam sighs to himself, facing his head away when his brother lays down. Staring up at the ceiling instead. He just wishes Dean cared more about himself. Didn’t jump the gun so much when it came to Sam.
He wishes.
Wishes so much.
That Dean could allow Sam to protect him the way he does.
He wishes their dad protected Dean more. Showed he was valuable too. That he wasn’t just Sam’s personal guard.
Guardian Angel.
Knight.
“Sleep Sammy…” Dean's voice cuts through Sam’s thoughts.
“You’re breathing too fast, sleep. You’ll be okay the next morning” Dean continued.
The reassurance, and the calm of his voice sooth Sam’s racing heart and slows the rise of his chest and slows his breathing.
He hates how good Dean always was at calming Sam down.
He hates how he seems to sink so easily into sleep when he reassures him.
He knew he was safe.
And his brother voice held promise.
His brother is here. Like always.
So is Sam.
I’m right here.
I’m right here Dean.
Let me keep you safe too you jerk.
Thunder crashes in the background, making the thin ceiling shake. While Sam sinks into darkness allowing sleep to take him.