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“Hey Dean, I found us a case.” Sam popped his head into the Men of Letters room that Dean had claimed and made his own, only to find his brother passed out face down on the bed, an empty bottle in one hand, and a half eaten piece of pizza in the other. A random western movie was playing low on the television, and both bedside lamps were buzzing, indicating they’d been on for a while.
Sam rolled his eyes, and walked into the room, careful not to slip on the numerous beer bottles, food packages, and dirty clothes that littered the floor. He brushed aside some of the garbage on the nightstand closest to his brother’s head, and put his laptop down, before tapping lightly on the back of Dean’s skull.
“Dean. Case.”
“Wha..?” Dean rolled onto his back, squinting up at Sam grumpily. He looked around at his room, getting his bearings, before groaning loudly and sitting up. He tossed the half eaten piece of pizza in the vague direction of his overflowing trash bin, and wiped his hand on the sweatpants before looking expectantly back at Sam.
“Ok…? Case. What are we thinking? Wolves? Vamps?”
Sam shoved his brother over a bit and sat down, holding the laptop so both of them could see. “People are dropping dead in a little Wisconsin town outside of Madison. They all work at the same place, so the police are thinking serial killer, but since there’s no sign of any attack or previous health issues…”
“We thinking a witch.” Dean finished his brother’s sentence. “Yeah ok. Meet you in the garage in twenty.”
It wasn’t a question, but Sam nodded his assent anyway. He got up and left the room, and packed his duffle, grabbing what he would need from his room, before coming out to the garage twenty minutes later to see Dean waiting behind Baby with the trunk popped.
“Come on slowpoke, we don’t have all day. We got a witch to gank!” Sam rolled his eyes but quickened his step, dropping his bag in the Impala’s trunk before rounding the car to the passenger side and getting in. Dean slid in a moment later, started the car with a satisfying rumble, and pulled out of the Bunker’s garage.
—~—~—~—
The brother’s worked smoothly together, just as they’d done for decades, and barely twenty hours after arriving in Monroe, Dean was kicking down the door of the abandoned warehouse that Sam had tracked the witch’s movements to, and the two moved quickly and cautiously into the building.
In no time, all rooms had been cleared but one, and Sam and Dean gave each other a firm nod before bursting in. They were met with a startled expression and an equally surprised look of terror, before the woman’s face hardened and she turned to run. Dean got a couple shots off before it became obvious she had a sort of shield around her, so he gave a short bark to Sam about ruining her work before bounding after her. Sam holstered his gun, leaving the safety off just in case the two returned, and began sifting through the various magic ingredients on the table, where the witch had left them, and put useful one’s in a sack to take back to the bunker before gathering the rest to burn. Just as he lit the match, Dean reentered the room, gun in his hand and sweat on his forehead.
“I didn’t see where she went. She dodged me.” He told his brother, breathing a little heavily. He moved to put his weapon away, but before he could do it, the gun clattered to the ground and Dean fell to his knees with a cry of pain. Behind him stood the witch, arms out in casting. Sam whipped his gun out in an instant, and trained on the woman’s heart, but he didn’t get a shot off before the woman shouted at him.
“You kill me, he dies!” Sam glared harder at her but made no move to shoot.
“Let. Him. Go.” Sam growled. The witch grinned darkly at him.
“Now why would I do that, hmm? He tried to kill me and you ruined my spell work! I don’t think that warrants a release. How about, instead, I keep you both as guinea pigs for my spells, and then I won’t kill you. I could always use a practice dummy. I’m thinking an attack dog spell on him, he seems so wonderfully violent, it would be so useful-”
She didn’t get another word in before Sam angled his gun down and shot her in the knee. She screeched in pain as she went down and Dean collapsed as whatever weird mojo she had placed on him was broken. Sam put two more rounds in her, making sure she was dead, before roughly shoving his gun into the waistband of his jeans and racing to his brother’s side.
“Dean? You okay?” He tried not to let the fear and desperation he was feeling show in his voice, but it bled through regardless. Dean’s form was crumpled on the dirty ground, legs folded underneath him uncomfortably, and he didn’t seem to be moving. Sam tried again to get his brother’s attention, raising his voice slightly. “Dean!”
Dean groaned, not unlike how he had done the afternoon before, but this time Sam was filled with relief instead of amusement. He let out a sigh, glad his older brother was unharmed by the witch’s spell, and stepped back, allowing Dean room to stand. He put out a hand to help his brother up, earning a muttered “thanks,” and braced himself for Dean’s weight as the older reached for it, but stumbled back as he tried to pull Dean from his feet.
Dean’s hand hadn’t gripped Sam’s. It had gone right through.
—~—~—~—
Dean stared at his hand. He pushed himself to his feet, eyes not moving from the phantom limb, mouth gaping. When he glanced up, he saw his brother wearing a similar expression. Dean hesitantly brought his hand to his chest, placing it carefully in the center. It rested solidly on his body. He rapidly pressed it all along his arms and torso, but meeting solid flesh everywhere he tested it. He looked back at Sam, green eyes filled with confusion.
Sam slowly reached a hand towards Dean’s shoulder, moving so hesitantly that Dean held his breath, the sheer amount of confusion, concern, and fear coming from his brother affecting him too. Instead of resting on Dean’s shoulder like it always had, Sam’s hand passed right through, and Sam yanked it from his brother’s chest, watching it exit but feeling absolutely nothing.
“What the hell?” Dean asked, sounding lost. He made a move to grab at his brother but stumbled through him instead, then through the table behind him. Sam spun around, only to be met with the sight of Dean, standing inside of table.
Dean paled. “I can’t… Sam I can’t touch anything,” he stalked out of the table and went to sit harshly on a chair, only to crash to the floor. “What’d she do to me!?”
Sam could only stare in shock.
—~—~—~—
They decided to figure out what happened to Dean back at the motel, neither wanting to stay in the warehouse. Besides, several gunshots in an abandoned rarely went unnoticed, and Sam and Dean couldn’t be there when the police arrived. Dean expression was dark as he stalked out to Baby, Sam following him closely. They rounded the car to enter their usual sides, but once Sam had sat in the passenger seat for several seconds without hearing anything, he realized Dean probably couldn’t open the door.
Sam got out of the car, and was faced with a very angry Dean Winchester swiping at the door of the Impala over and over, to no avail.
“Can’t even open the damn door. Can’t even open the door Sam! How the hell am I supposed to drive if I can’t get in the car!?” He shouted, face turning red. Sam frowned at his brother, before rubbing his hand over his eyes and circling the car, opening the door for Dean.
“Shove over man, I’ll drive.”
“No way in hell Sam! My car, I drive!”
“Dean, you probably can’t even hold the wheel. You can’t drive like this man.” He gave Dean a face that told the older that there was no negotiating. Dean glared but slid over into the passenger seat, grumbling to himself.
“Oh so I can sit in the seat but not drive the car. Craptastic magicking miss witch.” Sam glanced over at his brother sympathetically, as Dean attempted to dig through his cassette tapes, only to pass through the box completely.
“Which one Dean? I’ll put it in.”
“Nevermind.”
They drove back to the motel in silence, neither feeling comfortable in the wrong side of the car.
—~—~—~—
As soon as Sam unloaded all the bags from the Impala, because Dean was unable to help, he made a call to Rowena, who told him apolitically that she’d never heard of a spell making someone incorporeal, but that she’d look into it, and let them know as soon as she found a solution. Dean sat on the bed across from Sam’s, a discovery which had made him grin, and was now staring at the weather channel on tv, unable to change it. Sam walked over to his brother and tried to clap him on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort, only to make the both of them frown as his hand passed through.
“It’s so weird man. I can’t feel it at all. It’s like you’re not even there.” Dean sighed. We better figure this out soon. I doubt I can eat or drink like this.” He groaned. “Oh god, how am I gonna get through this without alcohol.”
Sam huffed a soft laugh and moved towards the bathroom. “Try and get some sleep Dean. We’ll head back to the Bunker tomorrow and figure this out.”
Dean gave a jerky nod. “Just like we always do.”
—~—~—~—
Dean tried to let the sound of the water from Sam’s shower lull him to sleep, but had no luck, still restless hours after Sam himself had fallen asleep. He laid on top of the blankets, unable to move them, still wearing his hunting clothes, unable to change, and listened to the soft sounds of his brother’s breathing. The atmosphere of the cool motel room was very calm, and if Dean really tried, he could almost imagine that it was just him and his brother, road-tripping together. It was a thought he indulged in a lot recently, picturing what life would be like if there were no monsters, no hunting.
Realistically, he knew that if the Winchesters never hunted, then he and Sam probably wouldn’t road-trip across the country together. His mind was brought to that djinn dream he got stuck in years ago, scrunching up his face at the memory of Sam being indifferent- being a stranger- to him. It was a painful thought, so he shook his head slightly to push it away.
But when he was alone, in quiet moments known only to himself and to god, Dean pictured himself and Sam, in a ratty motel, crossing the country, just to see the sights. There would be no trauma, since neither of them ever went to Hell, or were angelic vessels, or watched their friends die, or killed things. Maybe they’d stop by Bobby’s house for a drink, greeting the scrapper -that’s all he would be- and his wife with a a warm hug. Or maybe they would drop by Jody’s for the night, spending it there instead of a motel, and play boardgames with the girls long into the night. Maybe they’d stop by to visit Garth’s family, and not have to worry about anybody being in danger at all.
He rolled over, staring at Sam’s sleeping form. His little brother had been through so much, and even though it was Dean’s job to protect him, he’d done a pretty crappy job of it. Sammy didn’t smile as much as he used to, didn’t get that sparkle in his eye whenever he talked about a topic he was interested in. He didn’t laugh till he cried anymore, and he didn’t crack jokes or play pranks much anymore either. Dean yearned to fix it, but there was nothing to be done. He and Sammy were who they were. That was that.
Dean was suddenly filled with the desire to hold his baby brother, like he use to when they were little. When there was no apocalypse, no heaven or hell. He and Sam didn’t really hug much anymore, not unless it was the end of the world (The end of their worlds. The end of each other) but Dean smiled lightly at memories of little Sammy running to him and burying his face in Dean’s stomach, assured that his big brother would take care of him.
He pushed himself off the bed, walking with soft steps towards the other bed, and moved his hand to brush Sam’s hair out of his face.
Only to phase right through his forehead.
Right. Incorporeal.
Dean’s mouth pulled into a tight line, frustrated. He went back to his bed, and hugged himself tightly, something he only did at night. Tears shone in his eyes.
He didn’t sleep well that night.
—~—~—~—
Sam woke slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and turned his head to his brother, only to meet sad green eyes. Dean was sitting cross legged on his bed, facing Sam, shoulders hunched and hands in his lap. He looked exhausted.
“Morning Sammy.” The gruffness in his voice was evident, the kind of rough that it got after he hadn’t slept, instead sitting in silence all night. Sam didn’t like to think about what that meant.
“Morning. Did you make any coffee by chance?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he winced. Dean’s expression hardened for a moment, but it was gone soon after.
“Would if I could man. Sorry.” Sam shook his head.
“My fault. How are you feeling? Is hunger gonna be an issue?” Dean considered it for a moment, then uncrossed his legs and stretched his arms.
“No, I don’t feel anything. Like at all. It’s actually pretty weird. Like I know this should hurt,” he pulled up his sleeve to reveal a deep gash that Sam definitely hadn’t seen before, “but I’ve got nothing-”
Sam cut him off, eyes wide. “Oh my god Dean! Why didn’t you show me that before? That needs to be bandaged before it gets infected!” Dean gave him a look that said “seriously?”
“Bandage it how Sam. I can’t touch the bandages and you can’t touch me. There’s literally no way to do it.”
The brothers looked hard at each other for a solid minute, before Sam broke the staring contest, getting up to make coffee. “Whatever Dean.” He sighed. The curse might be hard on Dean, sure, but Sam wasn’t really in the clear either. He’d had his older brother for backup his whole life, but if Dean couldn’t pick up a gun or a book, then that meant Sam was the only one left to do it. It brought back painful memories of the four months Dean was in hell, or the year he was in purgatory, when Sam was alone.
At least Dean was actually here this time.
—~—~—~—
Sam called Rowena everyday for updates, and while she always assured him that “yes dearie, of course I’m close. I am the most powerful witch in the world after all. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” but weeks passed and he was getting more and more agitated.
If Sam Winchester was asked how often he and his brother touched, he wouldn’t be able to give an exact answer, but he wouldn’t say that it was a lot. However, now they physically couldn’t, he couldn’t help but notice the lack of it. Whether it was a slap on the shoulder, or a poke, or a shove, or a hair ruffle, Dean had always had a habit of reminding Sam that he was there, just physically. Sam wasn’t about to admit it, but he missed the gestures. A lot.
He thought it was affecting Dean too. Maybe more than him. His older brother hadn’t come out of his room in almost two weeks, and since he didn’t need to eat or drink, there was no reason to leave. When they’d gotten home, weeks ago, Sam swore his brother was near tears when he asked Sam to close the door to his room, because he couldn’t. When Sam asked how he’d get in, he gave a half hearted demonstration of his new ability to walk through walls.
Sam had known for years that his brother was a little on the touch starved side. He’d never gotten physical affection from their father as kids, other than John Winchester’s famous “tough love,” and when Sam left for college, he was almost completely sure that Dean hadn’t had any positive contact for nearly all of those four years.
He never thought he’d ever actively witness the consequences of it though.
Dean was trying to be strong. He could tell. He was putting on a grin around Sam, cracking ghost jokes, and popping through the walls near Sam just to scare him, but Sam could see right through it. Dean was in pain. A lot of it.
But there was nothing Sam could do. Not until this curse was fixed. He pulled out his phone and rang Rowena again, this time asking if he could do any research help.
—~—~—~—
Dean felt so incredibly useless. It was eating him up inside. He was supposed to be the one Sam could count on, the one he could lean on. Now he couldn’t even turn a page in a damn book. He figured at this point the best thing he could do to help Sam was to stay out of his way. So that’s what he did. He stayed in his room, staring at the ceiling, thinking. It was something he rarely had the time to do anymore. He was starting hate it.
He wished to god that he could do something. Anything. Just to help his brother, who was clearly becoming more upset at the situation everyday. Dean could hardly bear to watch his brother’s frantic, desperate attempts to find a solution. He had to do something.
“Hey Sam?” Dean called into the library, slightly hesitant. This was going to be a hard conversation to have. Sam’s always been so stubborn, especially about his brother, but Dean couldn’t take this anymore.
“What’s up Dean? You okay?” Sam had dark circles rivaling bruises under his eyes, and his hair was dirty, like he hadn’t showered in a bit. Dean grimaced at his brother’s condition.
“Yeah…umm…. We need to have a conversation.” Sam closed his laptop and turned toward Dean, tentative expression on his face.
“Dean…”
“Sam, you can’t keep doing this. Look, it’s not like I’m dead, okay, I’m perfectly fine. We can leave things like this. I’m not a fan of you being a solo hunter, but you can find another partner, or give it up altogether, apple pie life and all that. I can just go off somewhere and do whatever. We have to be able to accept that there might not be a cure for-”
Sam’s eyes hardened, and he slammed his hand on the table.
“Shut up Dean! We’re not doing this. I’m going to fix this! I will! Rowena, me, we’re gonna figure something out! Okay! I just- I -” Sam’s yelling broke off, tears filling his eyes. “Dean don’t leave me. Please.” Dean’s heart broke for his little brother, who clearly had reached his breaking point. He moved to hug his brother, falling through him. His brother began to sob at that. And Dean settled for kneeling before Sam, bringing his face close to the other’s.
“Hey, Sammy, okay. Okay. We’ll find a way to fix it. We won’t stop. Just please, take a nap, eat a meal. Please kiddo, you’re hurting yourself.”
Sam’s pained hazel eyes met Dean’s compassionate green ones, and he nodded slightly, wiping tears from his face with his sleeve, sniffing.
“Kay Dean. Just don’t go.”
“I won’t.”
—~—~—~—
Sam’s phone rang at 11 o’clock on a Thursday, three weeks after Dean had been cursed. Rowena excited told them that she’d created a cure using a combination of old Gaelic magic and a newer style of African magic. She was confident it would work. Sam thanked her deeply, and told her if she ever needed anything, he owed her that much. He couldn’t even begin to regret it.
Sam mixed the ingredients, all of which they’d had in the bunker, and did the spell over Dean. The older man’s eyes fluttered throughout the spell, and he collapsed to the floor by the time Sam had completed the incantation. When he opened his eyes about half a minute later, Sam stood hesitantly behind the table, looking at him.
“Did it… did it work?” The younger asked quietly, as if he didn’t dare to hope. Dean reached up to the table where the bowl of burnt ingredients still lay, and carefully put his hand on it.
It was solid.
Dean picked up the bowl, grinning brightly. “Yeah Sammy. It worked.”
Sam dropped his spell book to the ground and practically jumped over the table in an effort to reach his brother. Although Sam was taller, Dean caught him easily, pulling him down so that he could put his arms around Sam’s neck, hugging him tight to his chest. “I missed you.” Sam whispered into his brother’s neck. Dean brought his hand to Sam’s head, cradling it gently.
“I missed you too.”
Sam squeezed Dean so tightly that the older couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t even care. He could feel, and there was no better feeling than having Sam safely held against him.
—~—~—~—
Dean was sleeping soundly that night, exhausted from weeks of almost no sleep, and relieved that the pillow actually felt solid under his head, but he was still a hunter, so when his bedroom door creaked, his eyes were opened in an instant, only to meet his brother’s sad eyes in the dark.
“Sam? You okay? What’s going on?” He asked blearily, still half asleep.
“I.. uhh…” Sam didn’t say more than that, but Dean already knew what he wanted. He lifted the blankets up from his bed and shifted to make room in front of him.
“Yeah yeah, no chick-flick moments Sam-witch. Now get over here, it’s cold.” Sam stood hesitantly in the doorway for a few moments, before eventually padding softly to the bed and climbing in next to Dean. He reached hesitantly for Dean’s arm, and the older groaned a bit and threw his arm and leg over Sam’s body, pulling him close. That’s how they fell asleep, Sam’s cheek on Dean’s chest, and Dean’s face in Sam’s hair, holding each other tight, not wanting to let go anytime soon.
—~—Fin—~—