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Chapter 5

Dean couldn't meet his brother's eyes. Sam was awkwardly leaning on the trunk of the Impala, which Dean had moved to the back of the parking lot so he could treat Sam's shoulder more discreetly. Going back to the motel room wasn't even suggested. They hadn't said anything after leaving the diner, wary of each other in a way that was completely foreign to them. Dean hated it, hated the silence, but he couldn't bring himself to break it. Sam was hurt, and not just physically. And Dean had ignored it, instead demanding more, forcing Sam back into this world. The guilt was choking him. He couldn't understand, why had Sam said nothing after they found dad? The search for vengeance for Jess' death was reason enough to cause him to help Dean search for a father he was sure Sam must hate. But after finding dad, they found no new answers.

Dean had to cut off Sam's t-shirt to get to the wound, fearful of damaging it more by raising Sam's arm to take it off. Blood had soaked through the gauze pad, coating it entirely in red, but the stitches beneath still held. Dean cleaned the wound up and used the remains of the t-shirt to slow the bleeding, then taped a fresh bandage over it. The heat of his brother's skin beneath his fingertips branded him, and he spent longer than necessary smoothing the tape down. Dean wanted nothing more than to kiss the collarbone beneath his hand, to soothe away all of Sam's pain, but he held back. Their father had used Sam as a way to take out his pent up emotions, and really, wasn't Dean using Sam in the same way? They had done things together that brothers were not supposed to do, and Dean remembered his fathers warning, it was a reaction to a situation. And maybe Sam didn't really want this, maybe he was just going along with it for Dean's sake. Dean pulled away, feeling himself die a little inside. Stood back and watched Sam ease the stained hoody back around himself and stand up so he was facing Dean.

"Are you gonna leave?" The question threw Dean completely, and it took a second for him to process what Sam was asking him.

"You think I'm going to leave you?"

"I don't know. Are you?" Sam caught his eye, almost shyly questioning. Dean was incredulous. Sam actually thought he was going to abandon him? It hit Dean then, the reason Sam had never said anything. He thought Dean would choose their father over him.

"God, Sammy, no. I wouldn't leave you, I could never leave you. Dad did something wrong here, not you." Sam looked at him, searching his face. Dean held his gaze, mentally imploring Sam to believe him. Like sunlight filtering thought clouds, tentative hope appeared in his eyes, partially obscured by the shield of his hair. Dean's hand was out, reaching for Sam before he could stop it. It seemed Sam didn't mind much though, and Dean suddenly found himself holding onto armfuls of his baby brother, who was clinging to him so desperately Dean gave up any thought of pushing him away. He felt tears against his neck, and he knew. John Winchester wasn't right all the time. So when Sam kissed him like the world was ending, Dean kissed him right back, because maybe it was. And he wanted to see what came next.

Driving through the dusty heat, Dean looked down at Sam, sleeping with his head in Dean's lap. The sunlight and shadows painted his face in sharp lines and beautiful angles. They were both broken, and maybe they couldn't be fixed. But they could hold each other together, so it was ok.