Title: The World Was Built for Two

Summary: Dean wasn't afraid of death. He wasn't even afraid of 'the empty'. The only thing he had ever really been afraid of was losing his brother. Tag to episode 11x17 "Red Meat". Hurt/Comfort. Brotherly Feels.

Warnings: Rated T for use of bad language, injuries, blood loss and mentions of suicidal tendencies/suicide attempts. Spoilers for episodes up to 11x17.

Disclaimer: I love these boys, but they are not mine.

Author's note: I'm still in emotional distress over the latest episode and I NEED some kind of resolution to what happened. Hope you enjoy, guys!

The ride back to the bunker was mostly silent, both of them trapped in their heads, trying to come to terms with what had happened.

The past few hours had been an emotional tornado- unnerving to the point of mental and physical exhaustion and Dean felt utterly drained in the wake of the massive train wreck of a hunt they left behind.

His eyes were heavy, his gaze stubbornly fixated on the road ahead of them as they left the forest that had nearly cost them both their lives behind in the rearview mirror and Dean knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn't be getting any sleep with the image of Sam's perfectly still body still etched into the back of his eyes and the feel of his cold, clammy skin- nopulsenopulsenopulse- still a phantom sensation against the tips of his shaking fingers.

Sam had been dead.

Yet again, Dean had been forced to watch his brother's lifeless body on the ground. Had brokenly called out Sam's name only to be met with devastating silence. Had pressed shaking fingers to Sam's throat and found that his brother's heartbeat had ceased to be… just like that.

And Dean hadn't even been there for Sam when it happened.

He hadn't been able to hold Sam up and cradle his face and tell him how proud he was of the man Sam had turned into. He hadn't been able to brush sweat-soaked bangs from Sam's eyes as the light in them faded.

The guilt had been all-consuming- utterly devastating in its destruction, even long before Dean heard about what really went down in that cabin.

The thought that he had left his critically injured brother behind while Sam had been struggling to take his dying breath, possibly calling out for Dean in a desperate plea for help or comfort, had already been hard enough to bear- had nearly driven Dean insane with guilt and self-loathing.

But to know that Dean had left Sam alone with his murderer? That he had trusted two strangers with his baby brother's life based on his own naivety- his will to believe in humanity, only to find out that Sam had been choked- murdered in cold blood by one of the people they had saved. That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

The image of Sam injured and weakened- trying to fight off his attacker while the air was slowly forced from his lungs-was something that would haunt Dean for the rest of his life.

Corbin.

That had been the bastard's name.

And Dean hadn't felt so much hatred- so much unabashed, bone-deep fury for anyone since the day he had been forced to watch Jake severe Sam's spine with an army knife in cold oak.

To think that Dean had helped the guy- had left Sam's supposedly dead body in some cabin to help his murderer get away, was a whole new category of guilt- one that wouldn't go away for a long time… possibly never.

That son of a bitch had grabbed Sam- Sam who would have spent his dying breath trying to save them- and smothered him.

Dean blinked, trying to breathe around the growing lump in his throat as the unbidden images flashed before his eyes.

Sam's long legs weakly kicking the air- boots scraping the dirty floorboards as he thrashed and tried to shake the other man off. His screams muffled against the guy's dirty palm, eyes wide and bulging with fear as his lungs fluttered in a panicked attempt to breathe.

Dean felt his own breathing pick up, saliva rapidly gathering in his mouth and palms growing sweaty against the steering wheel.

His vision was blurry- the street signs and cars around them nothing but a watery mess of colors and Sam had been dead- he had been dead. No pulse… he didn't have a pulse. Sam had been dead.

"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded a little tired at first- almost as if he had been sleeping. "You alright, man? What's going on?"

An edge of worry crept into Sam's tone but Dean was too busy dragging air into his lungs to pay attention to his brother's voice. His throat was burning and his eyes were watering and in a last ditch-effort of coherent thought, Dean realized he was having a panic attack.

"Dean, stop the car!" Yeah, that was definitely panic in his brother's voice and Dean couldn't breathe, chest heaving as he tried to calm his raging heart, but his brother had been dead- he had been dead… no heaven, no hell… just an eternity of nothingness. A maelstrom of black.

No bargains.

No returns.

Dean was hyperventilating and Sam was moving closer from the side, screaming things that didn't have a meaning to him- that didn't even register in his brain. He couldn't breathe- his mind a pool of hurt and grief and shock and shit, fuck… he had almost lost Sam forever.

The car swerved and Sam cursed and wrestled the steering wheel out of Dean's grasp- his large body blocking Dean's vision as he took control of the car and steered it onto the side lane before they could land in a fucking ditch. "Dean, what the fucking hell?!"

Sam was angry- angry enough to swear.

And Dean's blood was rushing to his ears- his heart in his throat as he gasped for air like a stranded fish struggling to get back into the sea.

"Shit, Dean. Try to calm down, what—"

Dean's stomach contracted violently and he was left with just enough time to grab the door's handle and push it open before chunks of chili were propelled from his mouth and splattered onto the cracked tarmac in front of him.

He heaved again- arms shaking as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the dirty road in front of him.

"Hey, woah… Jesus Dean," Sam was right there- long arm snaking around to wrap loosely around Dean's chest in an effort to hold him up while the palm of his other hand flattened out against Dean's quivering back- rubbing soothing circles against the heated skin.

Dean felt weak- his whole body shaking and his throat sore from the stomach acid that was now layering his mouth and lips. Gross.

The stench was filling the air and the car and Dean continued to retch until nothing but yellow bile was coming up, tears of pain and shock and grief streaming down his pallid cheeks- the image of Sam's corpse, so fucking still and ghostly pale and fucking dead, battling with the feeling of Sam's arm- strong and alive- around him.

"Easy, easy… god, Dean… try to breathe with me, alright? I'm right here… I've got you."

He could feel his brother's frantic heart beat against his spine- could feel Sam's panted breaths of air against his damp neck and the steady presence of his freakishly long fingers splayed out against his back in a gesture of comfort. "It's alright, man… just… take a deep breath, c'mon."

Dean blinked back more tears and tried to make his breathing rhythm match Sam's… tried to calm his heart until it was able to beat in perfect sync with his brothers.

To think that he had nearly lost this… again.

Dean reached up to swipe at his eyes with shaking fingers before he spat a glob of saliva to the ground and weakly disentangled himself from his brother.

"Dean—"

"'m good," Dean grabbed a bottle of water from the backseat and rinsed his mouth a few times before pulling the door on the driver's side back closed.

"Good?" Sam's voice went up a notch, words laced with incredulity. "Dean, you just had a freaking panic attack in the middle of the road. You damn near crashed the car and killed us both. Cut the crap, okay? For once in your life just be honest with me!"

Dean swallowed, the rancid aftertaste of vomit still heavy on his tongue. He felt dazed and queasy… strangely detached from the world around him as he tried to get his mind back under control.

"I- I'm okay, I just…"

"Yeah, you're not going to brush this shit off. Not this time," Sam's voice was stern and then he was getting out of the car and rounding the hood. Dean flinched a little when the driver seat was ripped open by his giant of a brother and how was Sam even still standing after having gotten shot in the stomach and gone on an angry killing spree?

"W-what are you—" Dean's mind was sluggish, his breathing still uneven and his lungs were burning.

"Scoot. I'm driving."

Yeah, right. Because Sam wasn't dosed up on a ton of painkillers and about ready to keel over any second.

Whatever sliver of rationality Dean still had left inside of him, roared in protest at the thought of his injured and exhausted little brother driving, but he didn't have any fight left inside of him, so he only hesitated for a second before sliding over to the passenger seat.

Sam slammed the door shut with more force than necessary and started the engine, only to kill it again the next second and turn around in his seat, facing Dean with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Look man, I know you were lying to me earlier and I know it couldn't have been easy, thinking I was—" he broke himself off, looking out the windshield and swallowing a few times. "Thinking I was dead. But if there's anything you aren't telling me... I need to know it if you made some kind of deal or—"

"I didn't," Dean didn't meet his brother's gaze and strictly speaking, it was the truth.

No bargains. No returns.

Billie had been very clear about that.

"Okay," Sam pressed his lips together, fingers shaky as he wrapped them around the steering wheel. He took a shuddering breath before starting the engine again. "Okay…"

Once they were back at the bunker, Dean took off towards the library and promptly opened a bottle of whiskey, carelessly discarding the cap and not even bothering for a glass before taking a heartfelt swig.

"You think that's a smart idea?" Sam had a worried frown on his face, eyes narrowed and arms crossed in front of his chest and Dean would get miffed at the patronizing tone in his voice if he hadn't come so fucking close to never hearing it again.

"Best type of medicine out there," Dean was planning to drown the whole damn thing before morning, already feeling the pleasant effects of the liquor as it burned down his throat, soothing the residual shakiness from his limbs.

The alcohol was effectively numbing all the different emotions coursing through him- the bone-deep fear over having lost his brother- the mind-consuming rage over Corbin throttling Sam in cold blood, the helplessness of not having been able to prevent it all from happening… the dull resignation of having known- from the second he had seen Sam's lifeless body on the ground- that he was going to end his own life and join his brother on the other side, one way or another.

"Dean…" Sam shifted where he stood across the table, looking pale and exhausted, dark circles beneath his eyes from physical exhaustion and pain and weariness and all Dean wanted to do was wrap that stupid kid up in his arms and never let go.

He just wanted to give that floppy hair a good ruffle, nudge Sam's shoulder, share a good laugh, throw a few mindless joked forth and back in a vivid reminder that Sam was right here with him… not dead, not dead, not dead.

Sam was alive.

He was still here, bitching and being his usual pain-in-the-ass-little-brother self.

Sam swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing once. "You know you can tell me anything, right? Even if you- if you did something stupid, we would find a way to deal with it. Together."

Dean blinked, stubbornly refusing to let his pain show, even as his mood plunged darker, everything inside of him tightening.

He took another swig of the bottle before setting the bottle down on the table.

Sam wasn't going to like it, but Dean was too exhausted to keep this whole pretense game up for much longer. He was tired, so fucking tired of lying to his brother. And if anything, Sam deserved to know…

Sitting down heavily in one of the chairs, Dean dragged his heavy-lidded gaze up to meet Sam's and took a deep breath.

"I was gathering wood for the litter," he started, his voice hoarse and weak at the memory. It was like he had known it- even back then when his jacket had gotten caught up in branches, that their situation was helpless- that it would end badly.

"Then I came back and you were…" he broke himself off just in time to hide the catch in his throat and Sam edged closer, expression open and understanding as he braced his hand against the table top to hold himself up.

"You thought I was dead, didn't you?"

Dean swallowed, blinking rapidly. "I checked your pulse and it wasn't…" he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing the images from his mind as they threatened to drown him. "They said you had just—"

Dean remembered the way his heart had come to a forceful halt at the sight of Sam's pale face- strangely angled to the side, his eyes closed in a mockery of peaceful oblivion. He remembered the flood of instant pain- of instant denial gripping him tight. His own heart ceasing to beat along with his brother's.

"I had no clue … fuck, Sammy, I wouldn't have left you alone with that son of a bitch if I had known he was going to—"

"I know," Sam said quietly, his voice almost subdued. He took a cleansing breath and covered the back of Dean's hand with his own- their own sappy little form of reassurance.

Comfort was given and received in unspoken understanding.

I'm still here… I'm still fighting.

Still alive.

"I would have killed that son of a bitch."

Sam pressed his lips together as he swallowed. "I know."

Because they might have had many issues with each other, but having one another's backs- protecting each other at all costs had never been one of them. Sam must have known- without the sliver of a doubt that Dean would have beaten Corbin into a bloody pulp had he known what the guy was trying to do to his brother.

"We heard a car pull up outside and I wasn't going to leave you alone but they begged me to get them out of there- to help them get away, so I…"

"You did what you had to do, Dean," Sam squeezed Dean's hand in reassurance, not wanting his brother to blame himself for doing what they were raised to do- saving people, hunting things… the family business.

It wasn't just Corbin who Dean fought to save… it was Michelle, too. She wouldn't have made it if Dean had refused to leave Sam's side.

But Dean snorted derisively, disgusted by his own actions. "You were helpless and I left you there with a wild werewolf pack on the loose."

"Dean…" Sam sighed, doing that little thing with his head- just the tiniest of movements, expression filled with so much empathy it hurt to look at him. "You did what you thought was right at the moment, trying to save two people from certain death. You didn't know I was still alive—"

"Yeah, well I should have known," Dean snapped, voice picking up volume. Because Sam wasn't a random casualty. He was his brother. His only family. Sam was everything to Dean- how could he not have made absolutely sure he was really dead before he left his side?

"You were in shock, Dean. Coupled with the concussion and the pressure of having to get the two vics out of there, you just went with the lesser out of two evils. I would have done the same thing, man… I don't blame you for any of this."

But Dean did. Dean blamed himself for the both of them- blamed himself for having failed his little brother so badly. Again. For not having been able to save Sam- not from the bullet to his stomach and not from the maniac who had throttled him.

He blamed himself for having once again failed so badly at his most important job- watching out for Sammy.

"I was going to come back," his voice caught on the last word and he remembered standing in that doorway- his vision blurred by tears as he looked down at Sam's bloody, sprawled-out body in that cabin. "I was going to come back for you, I swear."

"I know that, Dean," Sam's voice was so soft and compassionate- so full of love and understanding- not the merest flicker of doubt or blame in his eyes.

"I didn't know what I was going to do, but I was going to figure something out… anything to bring you back," he snorted, shaking his head a little at himself, because this right there- this absolute unwillingness to learn from experience- to develop beyond the point of being stupidly sacrificial and do anything to get his brother back, was something that would never ever change.

Dean knew it deep down in his heart- knew it with every fiber of his being, because a life without Sam, was a life not worth living. And they could talk about it all they wanted- could talk about the greater good and about how nothing good ever came out of making deals, but Dean would still do it… every single damn time.

He would do anything to bring Sam back.

Either save him or die trying.

"Dean..." Sam looked like he was about to protest, his eyes filled with tears as he struggled for words that Dean wasn't ready to hear.

"At the clinic, Michelle walked up to me and said that death wasn't the end…"

Sam's face drained of all color, as he let the words sink in. "What did you do?"

"But it would have meant forever, Sam," Dean's voice was low and shaky. His eyes imploring as he lifted them to meet Sam's steady gaze over the table top. "No heaven, no hell, no nothing. I wasn't going to let that happen to you."

"Dean," Sam's nostrils flared, his eyes flashing with near desperation. "What did you do?"

"I took an overdose."

Sam's eyes widened as he dragged in a lungful of air. He blinked, eyes flickering around sightlessly for a moment before they resettled on Dean. "Y-you what?"

Dean swallowed, eyes downcast. "It's not like… I wasn't trying to—"

"To what, Dean? To kill yourself?" Sam stumbled back a little, driving shaky hands through his hair as his breathing picked up. "What the hell were you thinking? What would I have done if I arrived at that goddamn clinic to find you dead?"

Nothing, that's what.

No bargains, no returns.

You would have gone and found yourself a pretty girl. Gotten that white picket fence life you always dreamed of, with 2.5 kids and a dog named Riot and a son called Dean after your worthless grunt of a brother. Because you were finally free, knowing without a doubt that there was no way to bring me back.

"I was doing it to summon Billie. I thought she might be able to bring you back."

"Back from where? I wasn't dead, Dean!" Sam was livid- his whole six-feet-four frame shaking with barely contained emotion and Dean knew he had messed up… in more ways than one, but he just couldn't bring himself to regret his decision- not when it had been Sam's life on the line.

"Yeah, that's what she told me, too."

"And then what?" Sam demanded angrily, one hand still fisting a handful of his hair while the other was wrapped around his stomach- over the shot wound- in an unconscious protective gesture. "She just let you go- is that it? Or did you have to promise her something in return? Your soul, maybe? An eternity spent in the 'empty' to take my place?"

Dean let out a heavy breath, his heart heavy with guilt as he looked away. "Sam…"

"No, Dean, I'm sick and tired of this! Why do you insist on sacrificing yourself every goddamn time something happens to me?"

"Because I can't live with you dead!" Dean burst out, loud enough to rattle the confines of the bunker. "I told you ten years ago and I'm telling you now- I can't do this without you, okay? You're the only thing I've got left in this world and if you check out on me, then that's it for me, game over."

"So you're just going to roll over and give up?" Sam demanded, throwing his arms out to the side.

"Damn right, I am," Dean spat out in an angry growl, getting up from his chair and right into his brother's face. "And you wanna know why Sam? Cause the next time, either of us is gonna kick the bucket, that means we will never ever get to see each other again- we'll be lost in some kind of eternal wormhole with no way out- do not pass go, do not collect $200 and that will be it. End of fucking story."

Sam shook his head, lips pressed together into a narrow line and eyes filled with unspoken emotion as he processed Dean's words. "I need to— I'm gonna go and clear my head."

"Sammy," Dean sighed. He took a step forward- ready to hold the kid back but Sam ducked away from Dean's touch, long legs already dragging him off towards the bunker's exit.

Dean forced himself to stand still as he watched his brother's retreating form. When Sam was gone, Dean turned back around to his bottle of whiskey and plopped back down onto his chair- steeling himself for a long night.

When Sam hadn't returned an hour after he had taken off, Dean grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and bolted up the staircase, ready to hunt his brother down.

He was willing to give the kid some space, but Sammy had been shot not too long ago and it didn't sit well with Dean to let his brother out of his sight for such a long time when he was still physically and emotionally worn out from everything that had happened in the past 24 hours.

He didn't have to go far to find Sam.

Dean jogged up the stairs that led up to the passageway to the bunker and then stopped when he spotted his brother's large form curled up on the Impala's hood- eyes staring off bleakly into the distance and shoulders drawn up protectively around his shoulders.

Dean let out a soft sigh, relief flooding him at the sight of Sam- whole and safe.

He let the sound of his footsteps echo through the night, gravel crunching loudly beneath his boots in order not to startle his brother- who seemed to be lost deeply in thought.

Still warm from the alcohol coursing through his veins, Dean shrugged out of his jacket and wordlessly draped it over Sam's shivering form.

There were some habits he would never grow out of.

"You're due for a round of meds soon," Dean quietly stated, before sitting down on the spot next to Sam, their shoulders gently brushing.

Sam tucked Dean's jacket tighter around his back, eyes still fixated on a point somewhere ahead of him. Dean could tell that his eyes were suspiciously blotchy, but he didn't say anything… just suffered quietly, heart bleeding a little at the thought that he had caused his brother to cry.

"Look, Sammy…"

"I don't want an apology," Sam said, jaw shifting a little as if the next words were harder to get out. "I know we've both made our fair share of questionable decisions when it comes to saving each other and I also know that... if it had been me out there, thinking you were dead, I would have probably done the same thing. But this has to stop, Dean."

Dean swallowed.

He had known Sam was going to say something like this, but he wasn't ready to make any promises.

"If Billie is right and this is really it for us, no point of return, no more second chances- then I'm okay with that… I'm okay with not being able to come back. What's dead should stay dead, you said so yourself."

Dean's heart clenched painfully in his chest. He swallowed around the huge lump in his throat, bracing himself for wherever Sam was headed with this.

Sam looked up then, his eyes filled as he met Dean's gaze. "So if we can't let go of each other, we'll just have to make sure that when our time comes… we go out together."

And Dean held his breath there for a second, the intensity of Sam's gaze- the way Sam's eyes bore into his own, tearing through every layer of self-protection and aligning all the pieces inside of him that had been rattled and torn apart today.

He knew it then, knew the exact moment the both caught onto the unspoken promise that rested within the moment- no more painful goodbyes, no more broken pleading, no more making deals or burying each other- they had come into this world as a package deal and they would leave it as such.

"Yeah, okay."

Sam licked his lips and nodded, blinking rapidly as a single tear broke free from beneath his lashes.

He looked away, then, trying to rein it all back in and Dean swallowed, taking a deep breath before draping a heavy arm around Sam's shoulders and pulling him in against his side."Not for a while, though, okay? Think we've done enough dying to last us both a lifetime."

Sam snorted at that- a small smile breaking through the sadness and Dean used the moment of distraction to yank him close, turning him all the way until he could snake his other arm around him into a tight hug. "C'mere..."

Sam went stiff in Dean's arms, but then he practically melted into the embrace and latched on with just as much force- burying his face in the side of his older brother's neck as his shoulders quivered.

Dean just tightened his arms around his little brother and took a deep breath, his eyes squeezed shut as he let the feel and sight and sound of Sam all around him fill his heart and mind.

"It's okay… we're okay."

And for the moment, they were.

The End.

That's it, guys. Hope you enjoyed! I just needed them to hug it out, okay? xD Reviews make my day :)