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[ Answer the goddamn phone. ]

[Sam clumsily answers. Of course he does.

... And is quiet, words stuck in his throat. The hand holding the phone to his ear trembles. For a moment he's eleven or twelve, standing on some empty highway with the payphone to his ear, regretful about the duffel he'd packed and the running away he'd done. He remembers Dean answering the hotel phone then, remembers the words getting stuck in his throat then, too.]

Edited (man repetition today) 2021-04-10 23:27 (UTC)

[ Thank fucking God. Dean's hands are shaking so violently he nearly drops the fluid, fumbling as he clutches it so tightly it may crack. ]

Sammy. Where are you?

[ This is a conversation they've had before, isn't it. Similar, anyway. ]

I'm sorry.

[His voice nearly gives out on two simple words.]

I'm sorry, I messed up.

[I'm always messing up.]

It's okay, Sam. It isn't your fault.

[ It's mine. ]

Where are you?

[Sam breathes out, shakily.]

I'm coming to you. I'll be there, I just — I'm a little slow.

But I'm coming.

[It's really late. He realizes, very belatedly. It's dark outside, and there are less people out, which — which is good. They can't see who it is, or the state he's in. He's cleaned himself up, wiped the blood away.

Dumbly, he says (slurs?):]

... Sorry. You weren't sleeping, were you?

[ Extremely late. Dean is on a hair trigger, insanity pulling at him from every direction. He's not sure this is real, to be honest. It could be a fever dream. ]

God, no. [ Sleep. What is sleep. ]

ETA?

[He licks his lips.]

... Um. Ten minutes.

Didn't want to surprise you.

[He sounds out of breath. There's the distant, quiet sound of his feet dragging across gravel.]

Don't... freak out when you see me. Okay?

Okay.

[ he'll have whiskey poured and a few pears out. Thanks, Ariadne. ]

...What the hell is that supposed to mean?

[Whiskey and pears. His favorite.]

Walked into a doorframe.

[He's really not gonna elaborate much, buddy.]

Be there soon.

[He hangs up before Dean can properly get huffy with him, and focuses his breathing. His ribs hurt real bad, but he figures if he can wake up after killing the devil, he can make it across town on a beating and a death flu.

Soon, there'll be a knock-knock, Dean.

Just.

Don't.

Freak out.]

[ Oh, he calls so much bullshit.

The Winchesters have no phone etiquette whatsoever, so being hung up on isn't all that new. He rolls his eyes and tosses the fluid on the kitchen table, and literally goes to wait by the door like a puppy for his brother.

He yanks the door open, barely looks Sam over before pulling him into a desperate hug. ]

[Good thing the place isn't very well illuminated. It leaves for questions later, and even though it hurts pretty bad to be hugged so intensely, Sam finds that this is exactly what he's wanted since the moment he opened his eyes. He hooks his battered chin around Dean's shoulder and clings back, closing his eye tightly, relieved in the way Dean's breathing is deep and full and alive.

He'd known Cas would fix him up. He knew he'd — he'd have to have fixed him up.

Sam wouldn't have been able to stomach any other scenario.

His eye grows wet, and for a moment, despite everything, his body finally relaxes.]

Hey, Dean.

[ It's a hell of a bear hug, his arms tight around his little brother, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. It had taken so long for Sam to come back, Dean hadn't been sure he would. The whole system here is weird and terrifying, and Dean didn't trust it - not until he could see it with his own eyes, hug his brother with his own two hands.

He's back. He's back, and he looks like hell but he's back and Dean grips him tight, squeezes his eyes closed and drags in a shuddering breath, thanking whatever lucky stars he's got left that Sam is alive. ]

Hey, Sammy.

[He huffs a breath, teetering on a laugh.

It's easy enough to slip into their carefully maintained status quo from years back:]

... It's Sam.

[It reminds him too much of the first time he'd died. That moment when he'd crumpled into Dean's arms after Jake had stabbed him in the back — and then... then that moment he'd rushed into the room after he woke up, crushing him into an embrace as his back throbbed painfully. Life and death? No, it's death and life. The correct order, for a Winchester.

His body stiffens as his ribs twinge suddenly, biting his lip to cut off the sound of wince.]

[ The laugh is strained, choked out into Sam's shoulder as Dean grips his brother far too tightly for someone with aching ribs.

But he can't let go - it's not dissimilar to when Dean first showed up here and couldn't keep a hand off his brother's shoulder; he wasn't sure any of it was real.

That's kind of like now. Dean knows, logically (or illogically, because the system here simply makes no sense), that Sam is back, that he is right here in front of Dean's face. Sam is warm and solid, risen from the grave (again, he thinks), and he's faced with the same predicament - the terrifying uncertainty if any of this is real.

It sure feels real, though. Sam's too skinny body that stiffens under Dean's crushing embrace feels pretty damn real, and he loosens his hold in favor of resting his hands on his brother's shoulder's and pulling back to get a better look at him. ]

Sorry, sorry - I'm just glad to see you up and around. [ It's about now that he gets a good look at Sam's face, and his expression turns from relief to confusion to anger. ] The hell happened to you?

[Sam shakes his head — which kind of makes him stumble, because he’s actually not all that good on his feet right now. But he’s got Dean as a crutch, and he figures that one hand on either of Dean’s arms right now will give him a little leeway.]

... Nothing I didn’t have coming, Dean.

Doesn’t matter. It’s done.

[He just needs to clean up, accept the cuts and bruises like he does any of their particularly bad hunts, and move on. He’s had plenty of injuries over the years; this doesn’t have to be any different.]

Careful.

[ He's got you, he's got you. Dean grips his elbow, carefully guiding him into his little rustic cabin, towards the little rickety table and chairs in his kitchen. ]

C'mon, sit. Got you a drink and a few pears, some chick named Ariadne grows them. You can tell me who smashed your face in.

Dean....

[The sound of discontent, there. But he allows Dean to help him get to a chair, because he’s honestly dead tired and hot to the touch, and he would sleep forever and a day right about now. The idea of eating is... not nice. Even more so than usual.

More important things to address:]

I’ve learned to it go, Dean.

You should this time, too.

[ He sets a pear in front of Sam. His brother doesn't have to drink the whiskey, but he should probably eat a little something. A pear seems pretty nonoffensive and it's probably the most palatable thing Sam would eat that Dean has in his house. ]

Would you say the same, if I showed up at your place lookin' like that?

[ Because if yes, rude, but he feels like Sam would probably be pretty mad if someone smashed Dean's face in over something he couldn't really control. ]

[Sam very maturely plays with his food instead, rolling it around slowly with his hand. The idea of eating right now is kind of scary, so he opts to hold off as long as Dean lets him.

His gaze turns downward, eyes shadowed.]

This wasn’t a bar fight after a pool game, Dean. I killed people. Good people who had trusted me.

[His fingers twitch, as memories hit him — one, two, three, like punches to his gut. He closes his eye tight, a familiar old panic making his chest tight.]

Think one was a kid. She wasn’t even out of school yet.

She was just trying to protect someone else, and I...

No. Wrong, do not pass go, don't collect 200 bucks.

[ Dean settles across from Sam, picking up the glass he'd poured for himself, gesturing at Sam with it as he fixes him with a sharp gaze before taking a long, deep swig.

It burns all the way down, settling in his stomach like fire. ]

Lucifer. Lucifer killed people. Not you.

I said yes. Everything else, it doesn’t matter; I said yes, and I broke the seal, and I lied and lied and turned into what I did, and this is what happened.

[He slumps on his elbows, runs his hands over his stringy hair. The slur in his voice seems more pronounced. Probably because he’d just recently gotten his head punched in.

It’s hard to — to control his thoughts.

Everything just... spills out.]

Stop acting like this isn’t my fault. It’s his fault, but it’s my fault, and now people have died; he made sure I saw every second so I wouldn’t forget it, and he made sure it wasn’t quick; I begged him not to, but that’s never worked, and then you showed up and — I just couldn’t do it again, Dean.

I had to do it. I’m sorry, I...

[Looking at his hands, he chokes out:]

God, I’m going crazy all over again.

You said yes because I left you no choice. I threw you to the damn wolves, let hunter after hunter find you, until you didn't think you had any other alternative. If anyone's to blame here, it's me. We know that. This is on me. I told us to pick a hemisphere, I left you, I didn't let you back in.

[ He exhales, shaky, because the words spilling out haven't really been voiced. Not to anyone corporeal. He's screamed at God, the angels, but no one ever listened. Not then, not now. ]

We should've worked this out together. You never should have faced any of that shit alone. I should've been there.

[ He has no idea if this is shit his brother needs to hear, but there it is. Laid bare, on the table, all his cards. ]

I am so sorry. I dunno what I can do to fix what I did, but I swear, I'm gonna keep tryin'.

[Sam huffs a breath.]

You wouldn’t have had to ditch me if I weren’t the world’s worst brother... and the world’s worst shot at stopping an apocalypse. Kind of matters in context.

[He rubs a knuckle under his eye, sits quietly while the air around them relaxes. It’s good to just say it all; it’s easier to breathe when he has Dean to talk to and not a motel room wall, or the devil.]

You thought you were doing the right thing. You couldn’t have known. I didn’t want you to know some of what went down. Didn’t want you to feel some kind of obligation —

[He stops, swallows hard.]

Or maybe I was scared I screwed up so much, you wouldn’t feel much of anything at all. I don’t know.

Edited 2021-04-16 01:26 (UTC)

[ It's all the things they've wanted to say for the last five years, but didn't - and then couldn't. It's cathartic to get them off his chest now. ]

Shut up, Sam. [ It's said with affection, but also - he means it. No more of that. ] You aren't the world's worst brother. You made mistakes. Like really...really big demon fucking mistakes, but I mean...hell, so have I. [ less demon fucking, more breaking the first seal AMONG MANY OTHERS, but. you know. Now isn't the time to name them off individually. ]

We both have.

[ God, they've just ruined the damn world, haven't they. He reaches for the bottle, pours himself a refill, and he points at the pear. Eat it. It's full of liquidy good things. Just don't barf it on his table. ]

It is my obligation, but that ain't a bad thing, Sammy. I've been looking out for you my whole life and the second it got hard, I...what, walked off? Bailed? Nah. That was wrong. I was wrong. We're family, and that means something to me.

[ He'd been, so wrong. And even if Dean wishes he'd said yes to Michael, he...wishes he'd called Sam back, more. They could've fought back. The other Sam is evidence of that. ]

I want to put this crap behind us.

Edited 2021-04-16 01:52 (UTC)

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