Title: Let It End

Summary: Sam doesn't break easily but when he does – oh, he shatters. Hurt!Comfort. Brotherly!Feels. Spoilers up until 14x16 "Don't Go In The Woods".

Warnings: Bad language, mentions of violence, trigger warning for mentions of suicide and suicidal intentions. Spoilers.

Disclaimer: I don't own the boys or the show.

„Everything carries me to you. As if everything that exists, aromas, lights, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me." – Pablo Neruda

Sam has been uncharacteristically quiet lately and really, it doesn't come to a big surprise. The guy is hanging on by a thread and they all know it. Dean, more so than anybody else because he is not as easily appeased by Sam's never ending litany of 'I'm fine's as everyone else seems to be.

Problem is they don't know Sam as well as Dean does. They don't have the same experience at handling Sam when he goes quiet like this. They don't know that there is an entire check-list of impending Sammy-meltdown signs in Dean's head or that with every lie and every brush-off, Sam gets closer to the edge he has been teetering on for a while now.

Nobody knows just how broken up Sam was, back at that parking lot, or how his whole body just wouldn't stop shaking in Dean's arms after the whole fiasco with the Ma'lak box. Nobody knows how hard it was for the kid to have their dad back, only to lose him all over again. And nobody can tell just how much the death of the hunters that Michael killed still weigh on his brother's gigantic heart.

But Dean recognizes the way Sam buries his nose in research and develops an unquenched thirst for the job, for the need for redemption it really is. Guilt is not gnawing on Sam's heart as much as it is ripping him apart with its razor-sharp teeth and Dean is done watching his brother work himself into a stupor. He is done giving Sam space. He is done with the whole silent-treatment and with the way Sam is avoiding him.

So he comes up with a plan. It is pretty straight-forward as far as plans go.

Dean figures there is no need to get particular creative, if the way Sam's lack of sleep and the way he hasn't been eating is anything to go by. His reflexes have slowed, his hunter instincts have shrunk to a bare minimum and for the past week or so Dean hasn't allowed anyone to join Sam on hunts other than himself because he doesn't trust Jack or Cas or even their mom enough to watch out for the kid when his defenses are down like this.

Knocking on the door to Sam's room, Dean doesn't wait to get called inside before slipping in. Predictably, he finds Sam hunched over a book with his head perched up on his arm. For a second, Dean's heart leaps in his chest at the sight of the dark circles beneath his brother's eyes and haggard look on his face.

"You are giving the whole Duck-Dynasty thing another go, huh?" Dean nods toward Sam's stubble with a skeptical look on his face. It isn't so much the beard that bothers him as the way Sam's cheekbones seem to be more pronounced than ever, his flannel hanging off his shoulders in a way that scares Dean a little.

"What do you want?" Sam barely even tries to put heat into the words, which is as much of a sign that something is wrong, as any. And while Dean is all for wallowing in self-pity and using alcohol as a Winchester-patented coping mechanism, even he can admit that they have officially crossed the line of 'denial' and ventured into unhealthy territorial, by not addressing the obvious elephant in the room. There's no way around it. They need to have a 'talk'.

Schooling his face into a mask of nonchalance, Dean lifts his I-Pad. "Found a case in Wyoming. Vampire gone rogue. Couple of missing teenagers. I'm heading out in a bit."

The whole thing is a ruse, of course. Dean has absolutely no intention of driving 9 hours to Wyoming, especially when he knows there's nothing awaiting him there but good-ole' Yellowstone. But in order to make the whole thing seem real, Dean needs to play his part. Dean would have never taken Sam on a hunt in the condition he's currently in he is pretty sure Sam would get suspicious if he asked him to tag along without putting up a proper protest, first. After all, Sam knows him better than anyone, too.

At the notion of Dean going alone, Sam's head snaps up from the book he's been reading.

"See you in a few days," Dean says, suppressing a smile as he turns the corner only to get called back by his brother the next second.

"Dean, wait!" Sam's out of his chair and at the door in a second, looking alarmingly pale as he leans in the doorway. "You going all by yourself?"

Dean lifts a shoulder. "Well Cas is still MIA, Jack's still Rosemary's baby. And you look pretty dead on your feet, so…" he lets his words temper off.

"I'm coming with," Sam decides, just as Dean knew he would. The kid grabs his knife and gun, his shaving kit and a couple of clean shirts from his closet and stuffs them into his duffel bag before slinging it over his shoulder. His hair is tousled and if Dean's eyes aren't playing tricks on him, Sam is swaying. It goes to show how seriously gone Sam is to believe that Dean would take him on a hunt when he's barely keeping himself on his feet. The kid looks as though a breeze of wind could knock him over. He has done nothing but run himself into the ground for weeks now and the result isn't pretty.

"You sure, you're up for—"

"I'm sure," Sam snaps and shoulders past Dean, down the hallway.

Dean follows his brother into the garage, where Sam is already busy loading the Impala's trunk with both his and Dean's bags before slipping into the passenger side.

Dean allows himself to take one last drag of air before he rounds the car and settles behind the wheel, allowing the scent of leather and the feel of 'home' to settle into his bones as he twists the key and fires up the engine. They are barely out of the garage, barely out in the open when Dean hard-shoulders the car on some non-descript piece of road with no traffic and no houses or diners nearby, all alone and stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Sam, who probably planned on sulking the whole 9 hour-drive, huffs out that little angry snort of his, the one that sounds more self-sufficient than annoyed. His cheek muscle ticks with the kind of brooding anger that never ended well and he's not looking at Dean.

"There's no hunt in Wyoming, is there?"

"Nope," Dean says, all matter-of-factly as he idles the engine.

"What is this, then?" Sam eventually turns around to pin Dean with a fiery glare. "A fucking field trip?"

Sam is pissed, Dean gets it. But even pissed, Sam doesn't usually drop the f-bomb so casually. He has never been one for vulgar language. The signs that something is seriously off with his brother just keep piling up and Dean should have done this earlier. He is just so used to them brushing their issues under the proverbial rug that he sometimes forgets how Sam can't cope until he talks things out. And whether Sam's ready for it or not, the only way out of this car is by starting to talk.

"I've had it up to here with your attitude, man." Dean doesn't believe in small talk. He levels Sam with a cold look of disapproval, not because he's cold-hearted, but because he wants Sam to get worked up, wants him to finally open up about what's bothering him. "What's going on with you?"

Sam looks as though the words take him by surprise, but from the storm that starts clouding his hazel eyes, Dean can tell that he's been waiting for this. All the emotion he's been building up over the past weeks have been building up inside of him and he's desperate to get them off his chest.

Fine, Dean wants him to vent. He'll gladly take getting yelled at over having to watch his little brother waste to nothing as he carried all this shit around in his heart.

"What's going on with me?" Sam repeats incredulously. "What's going on with you? I've got more important things to do than to take the Impala for a joyride, Dean."

"Things like what?" Dean demands. "Starving yourself to death? Getting yourself killed on the job because you aren't sleeping enough?"

Sam looks indignant, his nostrils flaring. "Things like finding a way to keep Jack alive after he burnt half his soul off to kill Michael."

Dean shakes his head a little, sensing the excuse behind his brother's words. "This isn't about Jack, though, is it?"

"What else would it be about?

Dean holds Sam's gaze steadily, never one to back down from a fight. "My best guess? You still keep seeing them everywhere, keep hearing Maggie's screams on repeat."

Sam immediately recoils from the words. "Dean. Stop it."

"—and it hurts because you were a leader to them. A guardian, a protector. They were looking up to you and you failed them."

"Dean. I fucking mean it."

"You got them into the hunting life and now they're all dead because of you."

"STOP IT!" Sam's yelling now, his whole body shaking and Dean knows the damage his words have caused. It's like driving his fingers into a gunshot wound and twisting them. But Dean needs to get that damn bullet out. He needs to get through to Sam, even if it hurts, or else the wound festers.

"What, Sam?" Dean sneers, unable to stop now that he's started. "It's the truth, isn't it? We had a chance to end this. And we didn't because you talked me out of it!"

"Shut up, Dean. Just shut up, okay?" Sam hisses back.

"I told you to let me go, but you wouldn't listen and now look at what happened!" Dean is yelling now and suddenly there's an emotion there, in his chest, clogging up his throat and making his voice shake with how angry he is, with how much frustration he feels. He isn't entirely sure where it comes from, but it's there all the same, surging through him as the memories of all the dead hunters floated back to the forefront of his mind. This is just as much his fault as it is Sam's and Dean sees them too, drags their dead weight around in his brittle heart for every second of every day. It's not about them, though. Not really. "You think I wanted to go out like that? Trapped in a coffin, at the bottom of the ocean with an archangel to keep me company? You seriously think it was an easy decision for me to make?"

His brother is shaking all over and before Dean knows it, Sam is fumbling with the handle, yanking the passenger door open and stumbling out onto the street.

Dean is out of the car and snatches a handful of Sam's flannel. He whirls him around, grabbing him by the shoulders with enough force to leave bruises and shaking him. "Answer the damn question. You think it was easy for me, huh?" he demands, voice ragged and harsh in the absence of sound all around them. Safe for the oddly peaceful landscape around them and the quiet chirping of crickets, it was just the two of them, in all their broken, messed-up glory. "You think I wanted to die?"

"Didn't you?" Sam yells and lunges forward in an attack. Dean sees the outburst coming a mile away, he tightens his grasp on Sam and they wrestle for dominance until Sam trips and they both go down in a tooth-jarring tangle of limbs. It must look funny to anyone watching, two grown-ass men having a full-fledged sparring session on a patch of dirt next to the highway. But it's not. It's not funny, because Sam hasn't been eating and he hasn't been sleeping and it's ridiculously easy to overpower him. In less than a minute, Dean is on top of Sam, holding both his brother's hands atop his head as Sam squirms and sneers and tries every trick in the book to free himself. Dean doesn't budge and when the fight finally leaves Sam's body, there's nothing but the cold, ugly truth left in the wake of his anger. "Didn't you?"

And what the hell is Dean supposed to say to that?

He can't deny it. Not in the face of his brother's pain. But he can't agree to it, either. Not in the way Sam thinks. Is he ready to spend the rest of eternity buried alive in a coffin with Michael? Hell, no. But is he tired? Is he exhausted? Is he willing to go out in a blaze of glory and find some peace? God, yeah. More than ready.

"You weren't even gonna tell me," Sam chokes out. And maybe that's the worst part of it all because he keeps repeating it. "You were gonna leave me, just like that."

"Well, I was ready," Dean whispers, the words carrying a weight they never had before. He eases back a little, rolls off of his brother to give him room to breathe and then he just kind of slumps down on that patch of dried-out grass next to Sam.

They are both quiet for a long moment, then Sam lets out a measured breath. "I wasn't."

Dean shakes his head, a sad smile taking hold of his lips. "Story of our lives, huh?"

"Fuck you, Dean!" Sam suddenly spits out, landing a hard shove to Dean's shoulder that nearly knocks him over. His eyes are glinting dangerously at Dean from behind a fringe of tousled hair and he looks so worn-out, so absolutely done with it all. "It's one thing to give up on yourself, but what you did back there? It was selfish and screwed-up! How would you feel—" Sam gets back to his feet, towering over Dean in all his six-foot-four glory. "How the fuck would you feel if I grabbed the Impala and wrapped myself around a tree, Dean? Cause I've been thinking about it. I've been thinking about it a lot."

Dean rolls to his feet and grabs a fistful of Sam's shirt before yanking him close. His pulse is racing, his heart hammering so fast against his chest he's convinced Sam can feel it. "Don't you dare—"

"Why?" Sam sneers through clenched teeth. "Why are you so ready to throw your life away, but when it's my life on the line, you refuse to let me go? Why are you allowed to check out early, when I'm not? I was ready, too, Dean. Back when I did the trials. I was ready to die, but you wouldn't let me!"

"That was differen—"

"No it wasn't," Sam snaps, yanking himself free from Dean's grasp. They are mere feet away now, the sound of their quickened breath the only noise to disturb the peaceful quiet around them. Sam drives a badly-shaking hand through his hair and when a tear leaks from the corner of his eyes, Dean takes an automatic step forward. He can't stand to see Sam cry. The urge to make it right again just takes over. "Sammy—"

"Why do you still think—" Sam breaks himself off, looks away as though he can't possibly get the words out if he has to look at Dean. "That I don't care enough? That I can just go on with my life after you're gone?"

Dean wants to say 'because you've done it before' but he doesn't want to start up the old blame-game. He doesn't want to hurt Sam any more than necessary. Most of all, though, he honestly- truthfully, does not feel any residual resentment for what happened between them. It took some time to work their way around their issues, but Dean has forgiven Sam a long time ago and he hopes Sam has forgiven him as well. He would have never left without a word of goodbye if he hadn't been a hundred percent certain that there was nothing unsaid left between them that they didn't already know.

"Well, I don't regret a goddamn thing, you hear me?" Sam hisses. "I don't regret talking you out of your suicide mission because so help me god, it wouldn't have been just you in that box."

Dean's brain screeches to a halt. His blood runs cold at the implication, but before he can ask what the hell Sam is talking about, a sad, resigned little smile settles on his brother's lips. "What? Did you really think I was just gonna watch you kill yourself? That I didn't have a backup plan in case you wouldn't budge?" He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. "That thing could have easily held both of us, Dean."

"Sam—" There's a warning edge to Dean's tone, but Sam ignores him.

"You are right, you know? About how I killed all these hunters. How I killed Maggie?" There's a tremor in Sam's voice every time he says her name, but judging from the look of resolution on his face, he's having some sort of therapeutical break-through by admitting it out-loud, by accepting what happened and taking responsibility for it. "Their deaths are on me. And I know that."

"Sam—"

"But it's not so much their deaths that get to me," Sam says. "As the fact that I wouldn't change a damn thing if given the chance. I'd still save you, Dean, even knowing that Michael would break free. Even knowing that he would..."

He can't finish the sentence.

He doesn't have to.

The admission is what finally breaks Sam's composure.

The words are all it takes to break the levee. Suddenly Sam's chest is hitching and his face is all scrunched up in pain and Dean feels helpless watching him fall apart.

He grabs his brother around the back of his neck and hauls his tall frame down against his chest until they are slotted together and Sam just… buries himself in Dean's frame like he used to when they were both younger. His whole body is shaking as he holds on for dear life and Dean's own eyes are filled to the brim as he stares off into the vastness of fields and acres around them. He clutches Sam tight and squeezes his own eyes shut against the bite of tears.

"It's okay," he says, and he's surprised to find that he really means it. "It's okay, brother."

Maybe Dean is ready to die. But he's pretty damn sure he isn't ready to go anywhere Sam couldn't follow. He doesn't think he'll ever be ready for that.

Everyone else around them, every friend, foe, hunter, any family member they are able to continue fighting without. But not without each other. Never without each other.

So if Sam needs for Dean to hold on just a little while longer, who is Dean to deny him? He has never been able to say 'no' to anything the kid wanted in all his life.

"Alright," Dean eventually says and gives Sam's shoulder a gentle squeeze. He clears his voice, looking anywhere but at his brother as he withdraws. "Let's get going."

Sam doesn't say anything, just nods in the same subdued manner he did back at the parking lot all these weeks ago. But he looks relieved. Exhausted and tired, but also relieved that they are still in this together. That Dean isn't checking out on him early. That they are still fighting for the same cause, still on the same page, still having each other's backs. For as long as this world will have them.

Dean pulls the keys from his jacket pocket and runs his appraising eyes over Sam one last time. His brother's hair is even more of a mess than usually, a few blades of grass sticking from the brown mop. With the blotchy eyes and the dirt stains on his jeans, he looked like a kid who'd gotten caught making out with a girl in a grain field. Dean can't help but smile a little. He comes up with at least fifteen ways to tease his little brother and keeps them all to himself. At least for now.

"You wanna drive?" Dean offers instead and they both recognize it for the apology it is.

Sam hesitates for a moment. "Do I get to pick the music?"

Dean laughs a little at the cocky reply, ruffling Sam's messy hair. "Don't push your luck, bitch."

"Jerk."

Yeah. They are going to be just fine.

Eventually.

The End.

A/N: I knew the day would come for the show to end, but now that it's official, 15 seasons seem way too soon. I know I will miss these boys with all my heart. I hope that the writers remind themselves of what makes this show so special and make a conjoined effort to shed light on the brothers' epic bond on last time. Hope you guys liked this story! If you did, please leave me a note and share your thoughts! (and just so you know, I will stick around in this fandom for as long as you'll have me ;) Let's keep these brothers and their epic bond alive, even long after the show is over... Sending you lots of love in these dark times, my friends.