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Sometimes, he thought that people should remind him more often that the world would be a better place without him. That’s something Sam kept on forgetting. Of course, Dean, that mind-reader, seemed to know exactly what to say to make Sam hear the bells of penitence ring out. Penitence turned into penance and the only meaning Sam has ever known for penance was that it equaled to him giving himself up in some way, shape or form.
Now, they were on a hunt; stupid shapeshifter had decided it was important enough to cause chaos in Missouri. Not that he had complained, he had been the one to propose the hunt to Dean in the first place; it seemed easy enough and a good way to get out for a while.
The brothers arrived at the repair shop — which they had successfully predicted was next on the monster’s list, based on its behavioral patterns — right as the shapeshifter took the form of a mechanic, bulky and muscular, tall but not quite tall enough to tower over Sam. The guy put up a good fight, fast despite his build, throwing hefty fists and kicks and empty beer bottles at Sam and his brother as often as he could but, after Sam played decoy, Dean managed to finally catch him by surprise with a silver blade through his back after all their bullets went to waste.
Sam had no idea what Dean was thinking when he glanced at the actual mechanic, now conscious, and commanded him to close his eyes right as he took the blade out of the shapeshifter’s heart and let him fall to the ground.
His body suddenly remembered the adrenaline and the hopelessness and the hope and the terror all too well to ignore them and Sam, for a minute, wondered why he froze and why his heart was beating so fast and why it was getting harder and harder to breathe as he helped the mechanic up and made him swear secrecy.
By his fourth audible gulp, Dean looked at him with a crooked eyebrow before suggesting that they get rid of the corpse (corpse sounded too much like it’s referring to a human; was it still considered a corpse if it was the dead body of a monster committing atrocities while trying his hardest to appear human?) and get moving before someone nearby calls the cops.
After dealing with the dead monster, they got in the Impala and started driving back to Kansas. Sam’s heart was still in overworking mode and Dean hadn’t spoken a word since his earlier suggestion. For the first few minutes of the drive, Sam tried his damned hardest to calm himself down and figure out what the hell could have caused his body to have had such an adverse reaction to the stabbing of a shapeshifter — especially when this was the most ‘normal’ thing they’ve done these past few days, by their definition of normal.
Then, going over the final moments of the fight for the nth time, turning them around in his brain and examining every detail, his mind suddenly remembered the adrenaline and the hopelessness and the hope and the terror all too well to ignore them. Sam froze up, the realization punching him in the gut.
His throat closed up, he could hear his heartbeat in his ears even though he could feel his heart drop to his stomach — and maybe even six feet under — and suddenly there were walls all around his eyes that made them incapable of looking anywhere else other than the road.
Close your eyes , his brother had said, killing a monster feigning humanity.
Close your eyes , his brother had said, about to kill a freak feigning righteousness.
And God, it was so obvious. Sam didn’t know why it took him so long to realize why he reacted the way he had. His panic was pushed aside, almost forgotten for the one second during which Sam wanted to laugh at how his body remembered more than his mind, but then he thought about how Dean was in the driver’s seat next to him and what his reaction would be, and so the anxiety settled back in.
If Dean were to look at Sam right now, his gaze would feel as sharp as the scythe at Sam’s throat.
A brick falls down from the walls around Sam’s eyes and he risks a glance to Dean’s right forearm before quickly looking back at the road, as if the Mark that wasn’t there and hasn’t been there for a while now would know that Sam had committed the unspeakable act of looking at Dean and not closing his eyes.
Getting the confirmation he needed, Sam continued on trying to get himself to breathe, to get his heart back in his chest and to be able to move without overthinking every move.
“What’s up?”, A voice said. Sam gulped and he hoped it was Dean talking, but who else could it be, if not Dean? Once again, nothing added up in his mind anymore. The panic was almost visceral, swimming in his cursed, cursed blood.
More shakily than he would’ve liked but still a great feat for the state Sam was in, he responded, flat, “Nothing. Why.”
The walls around Sam’s eyes hadn’t quite let down yet, so he could only hear Dean say something about stiff limbs and Sam hyperventilating
“What- what about it?” Sam forced out, nails creating crescents in his palms.
“...Dude, want me to pull over? Were you not listening to me?”
Sam wanted to get to the bunker as fast as possible but he couldn’t bring himself to argue with Dean just yet. “Sorry. Uh– if you want to.”
A sigh and a few seconds were all it took until Dean pulled over. Slapping his hand on the wheel, Sam could see from the corner of his eye that Dean was now looking at and fully focusing on him. Sam decided that if he wanted to get home (and didn’t that word come so easily now?) as fast as possible, he’d have to actually face Dean.
Looking at his older brother's face pulled into a confused frown, Sam once again had to glance at that right forearm just so he could gather the courage to speak, seeing as Dean wouldn’t push along the conversation any more.
Sam gulped once more, swallowing his words. “Uh, sorry. I’m fine, just— tired.”
Shitty excuse, and Dean seemed to know it as well. “Tired. Right, yeah. Now the truth.”
“Look, Dean, I’m not lying,” Sam said, voice finally somewhat steady but still trying so hard to keep on swallowing the cries of help stuck in his throat, clawing at the chance to escape, “sorry I made you pull over. You can– we should go home now.”
Dean was nothing if not stubborn, though, and his hands tightened around the wheel. “Sam, you’re sweating like I pulled a torch up your ass. Spill.”
Sam’s eyes darted around, avoiding Dean’s sharp, sharp sharpsharp eyes, inhaling as much air as he could — which still wasn’t that much, was this how smokers feel? — before he thought of how to approach this discussion that they both had dodged so many times, it felt like it would never happen. Sam looked Dean in the eyes.
Naivety was, apparently, one of Sam’s traits.
“It’s just– what you said. Then, to the mechanic. I’m overreacting, though, I know. It’s fine, let’s just move.” Deflecting again, Sam, you brave freak of a man. Heartbeat in his ears, heart down to his stomach, heartbeat in his ears.
“Hol’ up, wait, stop. What did I say to the mechanic?”
“The, uh, you told him to close his eyes,” sighing, Sam hurriedly continued, “sorry. Told you I was overreacting.” Folding his arms in a defensive manner, he wondered what the hell could he be solving by apologizing so much.
“Close his–” Sam watched as his brother went over his words in his head, analyzing them and his memories just as Sam had earlier, confusion manifesting on every line on his face and in the tilt of his head. When recognition hit him, Sam thought that sharp intake of breath was reminiscent of a punch.
Shaking his head, Dean closed his eyes for a moment before opening them with resolve in his eyes. “That’s what’s got you all panicky? You know that was the—”
“It was the Mark. Yeah, Dean, I know. I told you—”
“Wait for me to finish.” And Sam shut up, suppressing a flinch. Dean sighed. “Yeah, it was the Mark that came up with it. We can even blame good-old Death, if you want. But
I
was the one to say it, not the curse.”
Dean ran a hand through his hair, his right hand, devoid of doom, before continuing. “That… I know that would fuck me up. And it did. But I wasn’t the one that had to hear my brother ask me to let him kill me. I’m… Shit, Sammy, Cain warned me about how that shitshow was gonna end, and I just sat on my ass and kept denying it.” And suddenly Dean was the one who couldn’t look at Sam, not the other way around.
“You know I’d never kill you. You know I would never kill you as long as I’m me . I wasn’t sane , and you still pulled me out of it. We’re both here and alive ‘cause of you, and damn it all if anything’s stupid enough to try to make me hurt you again.”
The fire within Dean’s eyes was undeniable and Sam could only hope he’ll be able to feel it in his own eyes sometime. Sam nodded at Dean’s words, pursed his lips, nodded again with more conviction and remained content with his older brother’s words.
Dean stared at Sam and decided to continue talking and Sam was almost surprised by his brother’s will to be so open about this, but maybe Dean has been swallowing his words for a while as well. “And I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry. There’s one job in this world that I have, and that’s to keep you safe. I’m sorry I wasn’t safe.” And Sam’s eyes welled up with tears, but he still wouldn’t let them out. At least the walls were now gently melting instead of breaking down.
Gathering himself and clearing his throat, Sam finally let some of the words out, “I was scared. Of you, for you, for us , whatever. I thought I could save you but suddenly you were about to kill us and–” Sam took a deep breath, shoulders rising and tensing up. His thoughts were all over the place. “After Charlie, man, I was ready to give up anything to make it right to her, to save you… It just so happened that you asked for my life.” He confessed, drained. Penance , he didn’t mention. Regardless, its echo haunted not only the confined space of Sam’s mind, but also the Impala.
“Fuck,” Dean said, under his breath, hand now running down his face and Sam thought that maybe he just didn’t know what to do with them when they’re not holding a blade. Suddenly, Sam was engulfed in Dean’s arms, one comforting hand on the back of his head and the other on his back, gripping his shirt. Sam inhaled shakily and let his muscles relax before hugging his brother back.
“Don’t you dare. Not you. You’re not giving up your life for anything anymore. Self preservation or whatever.”
Sam, despite himself, let out an amused huff. “Okay.”
“And I’m sorry. I need you to know I’m sorry, Sammy. It won’t happen again. I won’t let it.” Dean wasn’t seeking forgiveness and Sam reminded himself that even if the world would be better, cleaner, safer without him in it, Dean needed him alive. The scythe at Sam’s throat retracted, if only a little.
“I know.” Sam, though, didn’t forgive.
Dean wasn’t asking for forgiveness, he was asking for acknowledgement, Sam knew. His older brother wanted Sam to know how much he regrets his words, actions, all of it — influenced by an ancient curse as they were — and to let him know that he’ll keep him safe. Sam would find some other time to inform Dean that he’d also keep on protecting him, but for now, not quite yet forgiving nor forgetting, he let himself relax into his brother’s arms, as safe as ever.