Chapter Text
CHAPTER 6: LOVE, DON’T LET ME GO
No matter how I think we grow
You always seem to let me know
It ain’t workin’
It ain’t workin’
Lauryn Hill – X-Factor
Summary: If you love something let it go.
PART I: BROKEN PUPPET
Dean pulled the curtain aside and looked out the window. The weather matched his mood perfectly, dark and gloomy. He slipped back into bed and watched his brother intently. He had barely slept through the night; troubled, and struggling with the emotions that were roiling within him. After they had driven back from the old barn, they had fallen into his bed and waited for sleep to come, never speaking a word about the macabre ritual they had performed together, away from prying eyes.
In the harsh light of day, he was seeing things differently. The noise that jumbled everything in his head, and had made him blind with rage, had finally quieted down since Ruby had expired. Up until that point, he had been driven by a burning hatred, and it felt like, now that his mind was somewhat at peace, he could see straight again.
He had spent hours thinking of the things they had done. No matter how far he had gone, Sam had never complained, never asked him to stop. At times, when he had been possessed by jealous rage, he had wanted to hurt Sam; make Sam suffer in his flesh as he had in his heart, to punish him for confiding in her, screwing her, and trusting her. Sam had agreed to it all, hoping to be forgiven, and Dean had been in complete control, leaving Sam no option but to shut up and do whatever was asked of him. As a consequence, everything that had come of that unholy arrangement had been a lie.
He had thought it was Ruby who had gotten between them; she was responsible for the mess they were in. It was only partly true. She was just a symptom of the problems they had had for a long time, only amplified. Many times, before she ever entered the picture, Sam had left him of his own accord. No matter how badly he wanted to forget it, Dean could no longer run from the truth.
He brushed a mussed lock of hair from Sam’s face and stroked the smooth skin above his brother’s right eyebrow, dragging his thumb over one of the beauty mark that dotted the handsome face. His shoulders sagged under the weight of defeat. Sam had given him everything he wanted, it was time for him to return the favor.
Sam stirred and moved closer to Dean, a frown creasing his forehead, as if he could sense something was wrong. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking sleep away.
“Dean?” he called, when he saw the sober expression on his brother’s face.
Dean answered with a stiff smile, “Hey, baby boy.”
“Hey.”
Sam touched the side of his brother’s face and moved closer to give him a kiss. He was aiming for the lips, but Dean turned his head and hid his face in the crook of his neck, wrapping his arms around him and holding a little too tight. Sam heaved a soft sigh and started playing with the short strands of his brother’s hair, trying to push away the worry that was creeping up on him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep.
Dean closed his eyes, engraving every detail of the moment into his memory so he would never forget it. Everything about the kid made him ache with a longing so intense he sometimes feared it would drive him insane.
“Yeah,” he lied. He could do this. No, he had to do this, there was no other choice. But he wasn’t doing it here, in the one place he wanted to stay curled up with Sam and suspended in time so he could keep the masquerade going longer than it should, pretending that the real world and their numerous issues didn’t exist. He pulled away from his brother’s arms and turned around so Sam wouldn’t see the tears gathering in his eyes. “Let’s go get some breakfast!” he suggested, and he bounced out of the bed.
Sam chewed on his lip and watched his brother head toward the bathroom. Don’t be paranoid, he reasoned with himself. He’s fine. Everything’s fine. We’re…we’re fine.
*
See I know what we got to do
You let go, and I let go too
‘Cause no one hurt me more than you
And no one ever will
Lauryn Hill – X-Factor
They had a quick breakfast filled with covert glances and awkward silences. Each was absorbed in his thoughts: Sam trying to deny the sense of dread that was growing in the pit of his stomach, and Dean using the respite offered by the morning meal to figure out how he was going to approach the topic.
They got back in the car and kept quiet until Dean parked the Impala in front of the motel and told Sam he would join him in a minute.
He waited for Sam to enter their room and started stuffing every bill he had in his pockets, except one, inside the hidden compartment at the passenger’s feet in the floor of the Impala. Then he opened the trunk, grabbed a spare handgun, a few salt rounds, a box of silver bullets and two wooden stakes that he stuffed into his duffel and slammed it shut, taking a moment to glide his hand over the lustrous black surface.
He gave one last, long look to his prized possession and walked up to their room door. When he opened it, his eyes fell on Sam, sitting on the couch, right leg twitching nervously, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to delay his announcement any longer. Sam had picked up on his sullen mood, and when his baby brother looked up at him, the fear and the quiet hope in the breathtaking hazel eyes made Dean feel worse about what he was about to do.
He dropped his bag on the floor and stood there, not knowing where to start, then he moved a few steps back and leaned against the table near the window, gripping it to steady himself.
“Sam.” He decided to go straight to the point. “I get that you were trying to take out the bad guys, save our necks, and keep me safe. Hell, I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t showed up right before Alastair could tear me limb from limb. I believe your intentions were good, that you got lost along the way, and that at some point the bitch blood took over.”
There, that wasn’t so hard was it, he encouraged himself before releasing his grip on the wood plank. He looked into Sam’s eyes, needing his brother to believe him, and said, “I want you to know that I’m not angry anymore.”
Sam got up and walked toward Dean, hanging on his every word. Dean pressed himself against the piece of furniture, as if he could create enough distance to keep Sam from ever reaching him. His fingers tensed around the table’s edge once again, knuckles turning white.
“I’m sorry if I made you feel like you were on a tight leash sometimes. Man, you hated Dad for doing that to us. I wasn’t always listening, either. We both know how I get when you try to bring up stuff I don’t wanna hear,” he admitted with a sad smile. “Sam, I want you to know that I always saw you as my pain-in-the-ass little brother, even when you felt that I looked at you as if you were…” –Dean refused to use that one word that hurt Sam to his core, and made him see red like a wounded bull, ever again. “I’m sorry I called you that. I can see now, how some of the things I did made you want to run the opposite direction, and I get that you wanted to be your own man; you have every right to be.”
Sam watched his brother get paler and paler in front of his eyes, the way he did when he got sick, or when he tried to hide a hunting injury that was slowly draining him of his blood. “Dean, this sounds really good and all,” he said, “but why do I feel like I’m not going to like the rest?”
Dean looked down at the light brown carpet. “You’ll be fine. Maybe there will be a slight period of adjustment, but you’ll be fine,” he assured. “We’ll both be okay,” he added, trying to convince himself that he would somehow make it.
Sam shook his head no and moved closer. “Please stop talking.”
“I can’t. I need to say this and you need to hear it.” Dean looked back at his brother. Sam was proud, hardheaded like any Winchester worth his salt, and most of all, rebellious. He hated nothing more than feeling he was being controlled, yet, to mend fences with Dean, he had allowed his brother to go where no one had gone before, and would ever go again. Sam had given him a part of him no one else ever had, and no matter what happened, it would be Dean’s to keep. He wouldn’t ask for more, and he was through letting his brother whore himself out to satisfy his once burning need for retribution.
Sam was everything to him: everything that was beautiful and good; and the one thing on this God forsaken planet that was worth dying for a hundred times and more. Still, in a frenzy of rage, he had reduced him to nothing, a mindless pet; a docile, slavish fuck doll; and Sam had let him. “What you gave me, I’m aware of what it took out of you…”
“I know what you’re doing,” Sam interrupted. “You’re trying to figure out a way to make yourself the bad guy here. So, what it was s a little out there? When have we ever done things the normal way? I loved it, and so did you. It brought us closer than anything else could have. I don’t regret a minute of it, and neither should you!”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
It was bigger than this twisted little thing they had going. It was the realization that, sooner or later, Sam would run off again, alone or with someone else, to get as far away from Dean as he could. Dean was the same man he had always been, a hunter, an outlaw, a big brother who, for all the love he had in his heart, was still authoritative, controlling, possessive, overprotective, overbearing, sometimes insensitive, and very unskilled in the arts of sharing emotions in the way Sam needed.
He wasn’t sure how but sooner or later, he would drive Sam away again. Every time it happened, it broke a little more of him, and now after he had had all of Sam, he simply couldn’t wait around for the day his brother would tire of being around him again. He had to let Sam go, for Sam’s sake, and for his own sanity.
He dug in his pocket and handed Sam the key to their home on wheels. He had put enough in the secret compartment to know he wasn’t sending his brother off to live under a bridge. “Take the Impala,” he said, choosing the gentlest way to tell Sam he wanted him out.
“Don’t do this,” Sam pleaded. “Haven’t I proven that I’ll do anything for you? What does that get me?”
“Enough respect for me to put a stop to this insanity, before we destroy whatever’s left of us! Enough honesty to admit that I’m taking advantage of your guilt to make you do things you don’t want to do. My apologies for everything I’ve ever done wrong, and your chance to finally be free!
“I did these things because I love you and I trust you!”
“I know.” Dean pressed the key inside Sam’s palm, insisting, “It’s for the best.”
“Whatever happened to not giving up on us?”
“I’m not. I just want to give us a chance to be brothers again, cause this sure ain’t the way. I’m not saying we’ll never see each other again.”
“You mean a few days?”
Dean looked away.
“Longer?”
“Sam, I don’t know.”
“No. This is an order I won’t obey, unless you want to give me my collar back?” Sam asked, defiance burning in his eyes.
“You’re never wearing that thing again. And no, it’s is not an order.”
Closing the distance between them, Sam grasped his brother’s head and pressed his lips to his. Dean couldn’t stop himself from responding to the kiss.
“Dean, don’t push me away again, please” Sam asked, as Dean pulled away. “I love you.”
“And you think I don’t love you?” Dean asked, shaking Sam by his shoulders.
“Then why? What else do you want me to do!?”
“Nothing.”
It was so definitive. How did one argue with nothing?
Sam tried. “No.”
“Okay. I can leave then, you stay,” Dean offered. “I just wanted you to be free to go wherever you wanted, but you can stay here if you prefer.”
“I don’t care about here or somewhere else! I just want to be where you are!”
Dean gently rubbed his brother’s wrists and pushed Sam’s hands from his face. “I’ll go,” he decided. He walked away and started picking up his things.
A sick feeling came over Sam when he saw his brother roll up his clothes and shove them inside his duffle bag. There was something terrifying about watching the one person he thought would always be there getting ready to walk out on him. He wouldn’t do it.
“I’ll go,” Sam decided, thinking that this way at least, he would know where Dean was and where to find him.
He gathered his meager belongings in a daze then stood next to his bed. He looked at his brother, who had placed himself at the opposite end of the room, and prayed Dean would come to his senses, see how wrong this was, or tell him he was just toying with him, that this was just another variation of the game they had been playing, a little pain before the pleasure… but the master looked down, denying him his reward.
Sam grabbed his bag, suddenly furious. He wanted to scream and fight his brother until he had knocked some sense into him. Then, as quickly as his anger had flared, it was gone, and he was left empty, hopeless, and utterly lost. He turned to look at his brother one last time, then he left the room and slammed the door behind him.
Dean stood frozen for a while. When he managed to get moving again, almost fifteen minutes had passed. He locked the door, denying himself a last glance through the window to see if the Impala had moved.
The noise jolted Sam, who was still outside, out of his shock. What if this was a test? he thought. To see how easily he would walk away when faced with the first difficulty. He turned around and started banging on the door.
“Dean!” he yelled. “I’ll stir up the whole fucking neighborhood if you don’t open this door!”
Dean slid to the floor and let his tears fall freely. “Please Sammy, it’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, knowing Sam couldn’t hear, but hoping his brother would somehow feel his words of comfort. “You’ll be better off, you’ll see. I promise you. I promise you.”
Sam would get over it. He would get the chance to make his way on his own, and when they would meet again, they would have put the ugliness and confusion behind them, and have another shot at being brothers again.
Dean heard his name being called, between cries and knocks on the other side, and felt the taste of his own blood fill his mouth when he bit into his fist to keep his sobs down. He had thought it was better that they did this now, rather than in the future, where it would surely kill him. Well, it was killing him already, and hearing Sam’s cries only added to the already unbearable pain.
He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wood, battling the part of him that wanted to crawl on his knees to beg Sam to forget everything he had just said and come back to him. “It’s going to be okay, baby,” he whispered again.
He hoped his brother had somehow sensed it, when the knocking stopped, and the sudden silence was followed by the sound of the Impala pulling out of the motel parking. Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He wondered, for a second, if it would stop completely, but it kept going, reminding him with every beat that he had finally lost everything.
Part II – A Master On His Knees