History Speaks Louder Than Words
K Hanna Korossy

If the situation was reversed and I was dying, you'd do the same thing.

No, Dean. I wouldn't.

Sam's words hung in the air like a poisonous cloud, choking him. Dean stood it as long as he could, then got up and fled the kitchen, looking for air.

Same circumstances…I wouldn't.

No, not poison. That was too easy. This was a dagger being shoved into his chest with every breath he took.

He ended up in the shooting gallery. Dean cast an urgent gaze over the weaponry they had down there, but even shooting something wouldn't release him from the pressure that was about to split him open. He needed something more…violent.

The punching bag.

He moved on to the gym, stripping his flannel shirt grimly as he stepped up to the bag. That was more like it: something he could hit, pummel, lash out against. He started in on it without mercy or warm-up, pounding with all his strength. This was something he could picture Zack—Gadreel's—face on. Or Crowley's. Or Abaddon's. Or…

His fist glanced off the edge of the bag as he stumbled. No. Not Sam. Even now…not Sam.

He was family, Dean's only family, and whatever Sam thought, that meant everything to Dean. What Sam had said about family being the cause of everything that had gone wrong between them was BS. It had been family that had closed the Hell gate. And killed Azazel. And stopped the Apocalypse—and Eve, and the Leviathan. Family was the motivation for Dean getting out of Purgatory. Maybe it had led to some bad choices, but it was also the source of everything good between them, every success.

The skin over one of his left knuckles split, leaving smears of blood on the bag with each blow. Dean didn't care, didn't slow. He added a few side kicks, relishing the burn.

Same circumstances…I wouldn't.

Was this the same kid who'd crashed and burned when Dean died? Who wouldn't let Dean surrender to Michael? Who'd chosen Dean over everything, even boarding up Hell, in that secluded church? Whose love for his brother had managed to overpower the very Prince of Hell and save the world?

Dean had once told Sam he couldn't just forgive and forget, that he didn't think they'd ever again be what they were. And that had lasted, what, a couple of weeks, a few months? They were brothers, had saved each other, died for each other, lived for each other, more times than Dean could count. That always won. Like that time…

His punches slowed, then stopped. Dean blinked sweat out of his eyes, panting for breath, his mind two decades away.

I was fine without you. An eleven-year-old Sam, equally cutting words. I don't need you.

Dean had been gone two months, at Sonny's Home for Boys, while Sam was at Bobby's. Sammy had been so glad to get his brother back, had said he'd missed him, shared a new toy with him, clung to him. And then, by week's end, turned cold and surly.

I wish you'd leave again so I could go back to Uncle Bobby's!

Devastating words for a sixteen-year-old Dean who'd given up his last shot at normal to return to his little brother. Not even John's awkward reassurances had eased the pain.

Until, less than a week later, Dean had ended up in a river during a hunt and was battered and half-drowned before they found him. And Sam wouldn't let him go, in tears.

I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, Dean.

Dean's loose fists rested against the punching bag. With a ragged breath, he laid his forehead against it. Remembered other times over the years.

Love you, 'ean.

You're my brother, and I'd die for you.

You've saved my life over and over. I mean, you sacrifice everything for me. Don't you think I'd do the same for you?

You're my big brother. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. And I don't care what it takes, I'm gonna get you out of this.

I tried everything. I tried opening the Devil's Gate. Hell, I tried to bargain, Dean, but no demon would deal. I'm sorry.

You're my brother, and I still love you.

You're still my big brother.

He knew Sam, better than the guy knew himself. He'd had thirty-plus years to become a Sam-expert. And no matter what his kid brother said now, Dean knew the truth. Had seen it in action over and over all their lives.

"Okay," Dean murmured to the silent gym. "Okay, Sammy." He would give his brother what Sam asked for. The kid was hurting; he was lashing out; he was protecting himself. And he was fooling himself. Dean had crossed lines and Sam needed time to forgive—hey, even Dean wasn't gonna forgive himself anytime soon—but they were brothers. That would win out again.

Dean pushed away from the bag with a deep sigh and headed wearily upstairs to the showers and bed.

He just kinda hoped it wouldn't take his nearly dying again to get them back to good.

The End