Nothing is simple anymore, not like it was when they were little. Dean’s always had his back, always been his shelter from the storm. The only constant in his life; his only real sense of comfort. Of course, he’s come a long way since then, no longer that awkard teenager with gangly limbs and defiance coursing through his veins. Well, ok, maybe he’s a bit defiant still but that’s not the point.
He’s hurting! Head full of visions that won’t let him sleep, and a heart that’s broken but continues to beat behind his ribs.
Jessica… Her face haunts his dreams, sees her body burning on the ceiling. Another beautiful life cut short by the yellow-eyed demon, his one shot at being normal gone and Sam is consumed in his guilt, in his despair. He’s hurting, and needing Dean, but that’s not something he knows how to ask for, not anymore. Not after all the years and the miles that Sam put between them.
There’s unspoken tension in the air, neither one brave enough to confront it yet so it just builds and builds behind his chest, growing everyday as it weighs heavy against his already fractured heart.
It’s dark, the silence almost deafeningly loud, in the small space between their beds and his fingers ache to reach out and close the distance, his legs trembling with the need to walk over and climb into his brother’s bed and bury his face against Deans warm chest; to be that little boy again.
The alarm on the bedside table reads 2:48 am and he sighs as he stares at a mildew stain on the ceiling.
“You know,” Dean starts, “If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”
“I know.” He says, voice barely a whisper as he wipes a tear from his tired eyes.
“I wouldn’t know what to say.” He admits, “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Dean rolls over, bed springs creaking as he tries to find a comfortable position and even in the dark, Sam can sense his eyes on him.
“Want me to hold you while you cry?” Dean asks, and it feels like something he would say just to get a rise out of him, a big brother jab to lighten the mood and maybe, just maybe, force a small smile on his face but oddly enough, he seems genuine.
“I’m sure that sounded different in your head,” Sam scoffs, “but please never say that again.”
“Oh, come on Sammy.” Dean says rising from his bed and making his way to stand beside Sam’s. “I’m not teasing you, not when I know how bad you’re hurting. I just-”
“What?” Sam asks, eyes trained on the blanket cause he can’t bring himself to look into Dean’s eyes, not yet.
“I just hate not being able to help you through this, knowing you’re in pain but not being able to do anything about it. It’s killing me man.”
“It’s not your burden to bear.” Sam sighs finally meeting those moss-green eyes where they stare down at him.
“But it is.” Dean whispers. “If you’re hurting, then I’m hurting.” And Sam rolls those words around in his head, tries to come up with something to say but there’s a knot that wedged itself inside his throat.
He feels the bed dip as his brother lays down behind him, arms tentatively coming around him and pulling him close. “Just let me hold you Sammy.” And Sam can’t hold back anymore. He turns and buries his face into Dean’s chest, tears streaking down his face and pooling in the hollow of Dean’s throat.
Warm hands rub gently at his back as Dean soothes him with words of, it’s okay Sammy, I got you, and I’m gonna make this better but what Sam doesn’t say is, you already are.
There in the confines of Dean’s embrace he cries until the tears no longer fall. His brother’s soft lips against his temple don’t go unnoticed, and he curls in closer and breathes in that familiar smell, lays a kiss of his own against Deans collarbone and smiles. He yawns, exhausted in a way that only crying your eyes out can make you and brings his head to rest against Dean’s heart allowing the steady thump, thump, thump to lull him to sleep. That night he doesn’t dream of Jessica, of fire, or yellow eyed demons. He dreams of Dean, of comfort, of home.