Brothers or Not

1

Dean walked down the hallway of the hotel with a little more than just swagger in his step. He was swaying, just a tiny little bit. He had a feeling like he had forgotten something important, but he couldn't figure out what. When he reached their door he fumbled with the key before unlocking it, his bagged bottle of whiskey under one arm. It sloshed around, and he hoped he had tightened the cap well enough.

Finally the door gave way and he entered, rubbing his nose as he looked inside. Sam was sitting at the table, working on his computer. When Sam looked up at him he finally remembered what it was.

"Shit," he said, "I forgot dinner."

He pushed the door closed and went to his bed, setting the paper bag with his liquor on the night stand. He struggled to kick off his shoes, doing everything he could not to look at his brother. He knew what Sam was probably thinking, that he'd gone and indulged in the bottle too much tonight, but if only he knew why. Fuck… if God was alive, he'd hope to God Sam would never find out why.

Sam really wasn't surprised. It wasn't the first time Dean had stumbled in, having neglected something semi-important because he was drinking. He should have seen this coming, really. He thought of making a comment on Dean not having any luck with the women at the bar tonight, but decided against it. He felt a little guilty, thinking of him that way. As his immature brother who liked to get drunk and take girls home. Dean was a lot more than that, and if he was this drunk already, it was probably because he was having a bad day. Dean had a lot of those lately.

He watched Dean kick off his boots, waiting for him to turn around so he could make a face that would tell Dean it was okay, that he forgave him. Dean didn't like when Sam was wordy. He'd just call him a girl and broaden his shoulders like he learned to from John. But Dean didn't turn around, and he needed to break the silence and pretend everything was okay, because that's what a Winchester does. They pretend.

"It's fine, I'm not really hungry." he said, glancing at the paper bag shaped like a bottle. "You gonna bring that over here and share or what?"

Dean sighed. On one hand he felt a small amount of relief that Sam hadn't decided to start something, on the other he felt even worse that Sam just put up with his shit. If he had started an argument, at least Dean could have been mad at him for something.

He glanced at the bottle, remembering another problem. But he supposed Sam would find out anyway. Maybe it would provoke him. "Yeah, 'course," he mumbled. Dean stood, taking the bottle and pulling off the paper as he shuffled bare-footed over to the table. It clanked a little too hard when he set it down, the alcohol sloshing around inside. There it was, way, way too much missing for a drink he had just bought. Dean looked off at the framed picture on the wall, and then the ceiling, and everything but Sam's face.

Sam watched him, waited once again for Dean to look at him. It was a shorter wait this time as he realized Dean was in one of his self-loathing moods that he could only get out of eventually by drinking himself further into first. He looked around, expecting to see a shot glass within arm's reach, as was the norm for them. Not finding one, he picked up the bottle, unscrewed the crooked lid, and took a swig, making a sour face at the burn.

He looked back at Dean, not sure what to expect, only to see he was staring at a moth on the wall under a lamp. Dean looked rough, as he did more often than not these days, but more than just the usual I'm-tired-and-drunk-and-I-hate-myself rough. It was the I'm-trying-to-drink-my-problems-away rough. Which only happened when Dean was lingering on something.

Cas had flown off two weeks ago and they hadn't heard anything, and Dean always got a little grumpy when Cas did that, so Sam didn't think it was much of a stretch to assume that's what his brother was dwelling on. He wanted to ask, and had for a while. At the very least he wanted some closure. Something that would be a solid 'No' to the other big question he kept in the back of his mind. He'd dance around it first to preserve Dean's dignity. "Is something up? I know Cas hasn't been around for a couple weeks." he says, leaving it open for interpretation and looking at Dean to gauge his reaction.

Dean relaxed a little when Sam took a swig, and eased himself into the other chair. He had a feeling Sam was trying to make good, and it was always hard to stay angry when Sam was this way. He blamed the psychology crap Sam learned in college. If he ever found out Sam was taking tips from some psych book, he'd knock him into Tuesday.

He leaned back in the chair, taking the bottle when Sam was done and downing a swig. "Cas?" he replied, not sure how they'd come upon that topic. "What's Cas have to do with…" he paused, his gaze turning from the wood-paneled wall to his brother. "You know, my mental wellbeing is not directly tied to that… that coat-wearing… him." He stared at the ceiling. What a drunken thing to say. Shit. After a moment he looked back at Sam, curious. "But really, you always assume its Cas. I mean, sometimes it is, he can get under your skin sometimes with the disappearing acts, but you really think he's my default mood-killer?"

Ok so maybe Sam was wrong? Or maybe Dean's just being defensive. Either way, he presses, because Dean's drunk and if he's ever going to get him to talk about something like his feelings, this is his chance. He's already opened up the gate. "Okay, well if it's not him, what is it? Because you can't just bottle everything up and then try to drink it away." He pauses, noticing the clench of Dean's jaw. He takes another swallow of whiskey. "Whatever it is, you can keep it to yourself if you want, but I'm... I don't want you to feel like you have to keep things from me. That's all." Which is true, but also makes him a total hypocrite. His eyes linger on Dean for a second before turning back to his laptop and pretending to focus on the screen.

Dean laughed. "I don't have to keep things… ha… haha..!" He laughed again at the sheer absurdity of not keeping this from Sam. He stopped when Sam stared at him. "Sorry." He opened his mouth to speak, but wasn't sure what he wanted to say. Sam finding out? Now that would be… well, they had recovered from a hell of a lot in the past, including Hell itself, and somehow even that would pale in comparison to just how badly this would destroy their relationship.

He stayed quiet for a moment before deciding what to say, which wasn't nearly as safe a topic as he intended. "Remember when we were stuck on that movie set about our lives? You said… you said, 'We don't mean the same thing here. We aren't even brothers here'. I think about that a lot. I think about Cas and how much he means to us, and he's just an honorary Winchester. Hell, we've got a blood brother stuck in the cage, and we like Cas better than him. No offense to him. But… but anyway, I think about what you said, and I think you're wrong. If you and I ever ended up in the same place, brothers or not, it'd be us against the world." Dean trailed his gaze over the table and up to meet Sam's before looking away again.

Sam wasn't really sure how to take the things Dean was saying. He huffed out a laugh and shook his head, torn between disbelief and confusion. "What are you even saying Dean? That you wish we weren't brothers?" he paused, possibly in hopeful realization of what that could mean, but shook it off quickly. No, Dean was just drunk. Drunk and talking nonsense and if they finished this bottle he probably wouldn't even remember it in the morning. "I don't know what you're talking about, because if we weren't brothers then I would hope you'd be on the other side of the fucking world, Dean. Because here, I all do is let you down." Sam recapped it all in his head, reminding himself of why Dean would be better off without him all together. Getting Dean sent to hell, Ruby, demon blood, Lucifer, but worst of all, were the things Dean didn't know. The things Sam would never tell him. The one burden he could keep to himself, and off of his brother's shoulders.

Dean had been taking a drink when Sam pulled the 'let you down' thing on him, and Dean pulled the bottle away from his mouth so quickly that he spilled some on himself. He wiped his face with a sleeve and pointed a finger at Sam. "You don't let me down, Sam, you never have. It's not like anyone else has to deal with the crap we deal with. I'd be suspicious if we didn't hit some bumps in the road. If you're feeling bad, it's because you feel like you let yourself down… or something. But not me."

Dean nodded, confirming to himself that he was right and that the argument was over. He tilted his head to the side as he thought about what Sam had said, and continued. "You… would you really want me to be on the other side of the world?"

Sam sighed. Of course. Dean was allowed to hate himself but Sam was always perfect. Sam always had an excuse, a reason. Even though he was ten times the fuck up Dean is. He shook his head. "No. I didn't mean that I just... I'm tired of feeling like you're just putting up with me. I want to be more than what I am but I've just made so many damn mistakes, Dean. I just want you to be happy, and if I had to leave for that to happen, I would, in a heartbeat." He took the whiskey out of Dean's hand, taking two swigs in a row. "I just wish things were different sometimes, you know?"

Dean was feeling the drink now, feeling it tingling in his fingertips, feeling the heat in his chest and the dull numbness in his lips. His head felt heavy and his body felt heavy too and it all felt better than being sober and cold and logical.

He crossed his arms and slumped against the table a bit, staring ahead of him. "Just… just imagine me driving in the Impala on my own." He thought for a moment, imagining it too. "I'd… I'd be calling about leads that were no good, bothering Bobby for no reason, just making phone calls because I'd want to talk. Yeah, that'd be you gone, and just the start. There's a lot of things I wish were different, but you're not one of them."

He looked at Sam, and didn't look away. Sam looked nice tonight. Sam looked like the cogs were really turning in there. Dean turned away quickly and stood up, staggering just a little as he went to the bed. He pulled his bag out from under the bed and took out a clean shirt, fumbling to take off the old one. "Damn it," he growled, trying to get his elbow out of the sleeve. "…so fucking drunk…" He pulled the shirt off roughly and shoved it into the bag before replacing it, his heart beginning to hammer with Sam's silence. Sam needed to hurry up and change the subject.

Sam closed his laptop a little harder than he had meant to and picked up the bottle again, finishing it off. Whatever was bothering Dean tonight must really be something, because it wasn't like him be so ambiguous. It was starting to frustrate Sam a little how he was the one dancing around the subject now. Maybe it really was Cas and Dean was trying to throw him off. "So that's it? Are you just gonna leave me with some vague answer as to why you've got a bug up your ass?" Okay, maybe Sam was letting the alcohol take over just a little now. He took a calming breath before speaking again. "Could we at least, just one time, actually have a conversation that doesn't end in us fighting?"

He turned more in Dean's direction, looking and meeting his eye, "And what is it that's so funny about not keeping things from me? Sure I've hidden some stuff- big stuff- but only because I was trying to help, Dean. Only because I thought I was doing good. We agreed after that, no more secrets." He faltered a bit at that. But then reminded himself that whatever he felt for Dean was an exception. There's no reason for that to ever have to be out in the open. No one needs that hanging around. "So, please, tell me, what's so fucking secret, Dean, if this isn't about Cas?"

Dean's eyes widened, angry but not toward Sam. "Whoa, back the hell up. When did this become a fight? We weren't fighting, according to me!" Dean stood up, staggering half way back to Sam before holding onto the chair back for support. His mouth twitched, a dam built up over all he wanted to say, and pieces were starting to break off from the pressure. "What if everything… us… what if everything we have left is built up on secrets? What if that's the truth? Huh?" Dean began to shout full force. "How's that news for you? I am lying to you every day! Lying with my damn mouth closed! And it ain't about Cas, I'll tell you that!"

This wasn't like Dean. Something was definitely wrong, and Sam could feel that he was almost there. Whatever it was had built up in Dean like he always let things do, and tonight he had reached his breaking point. Sam's heart stuttered, the words Dean was shouting at him hitting a little too close to home. Way too close. Maybe Dean felt the same way. No, he couldn't. It was too fucked up and wrong and Dean had never been like that. Dean had always been the good one, the right one. The righteous man.

Sam just sat for a moment, a bit stunned and once again unable to catch his brother's eye. He had to approach it carefully and ambiguously to give Dean some room. Or else he'd shut down and Sam might not ever know what the hell he was talking about. He spoke gently this time, trying to calm both himself and his brother. "Okay, so... It's not Cas. Okay. I'm sorry. But you wanna tell me what it is, then? If it's so big that 'it's everything we have left', don't you think I should be in on it?" Sam winced, he hoped he wasn't prodding Dean too hard.

"No, you should definitely not be in on it." Dean said, and then growled in frustration. "I…" He turned away, taking careful steps across the room and raising his hands to hook behind his neck as he thought. Even his thoughts swayed a little now. "I don't know when this happened. It was one of those slow things that you don't notice until it's already a part of you."

Dean let his arms fall and he moved to the dresser, leaning back against it. His hands fumbled at his sides as he tried to hold on, head swimming. "I even asked Cas to fix me. I asked him to get it out of me. And you know what he said? He said I'd already asked him before and that if I was asking again then it obviously hadn't worked." The walls were cracking; he could already feel it like a wall of water collapsing forward, unstoppable. "I think about us, about you and… I wonder if it would have been different if we weren't brothers."

Well damn. If that wasn't a slap to the face. Sam felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Dean 'thinks about them'? If they weren't- then- oh God. Sam could feel his gut twist and sink, but at the same time his heart sped up, nervous but hopeful. Dean wouldn't have asked for Cas' help if he was having platonic thoughts, and that implication was the concrete and undeniable proof that Sam needed. He searched for something to say, anything to tell Dean that it was okay, that he knew exactly what he was feeling. But even if they did feel the same way, that didn't mean it was right. It would never be right. But then again, nothing in their lives had ever been normal or right or okay, he supposed.

Every word he reached for slipped away. He couldn't decide on the right thing to say before it was coming out of his mouth. "I know. I mean, Dean... Christ. Me too. I think about it, too. I mean, if we weren't brothers." Although he knew that it didn't matter that they were blood, not to him. He didn't care now, but he didn't want to scare Dean away, either. He stood awkwardly, wanting to go to his brother but not trusting himself, keeping one hand on the chair. There was a chance he'd made a mistake. He looked at Dean's face, waiting for something. Eye contact, a look, a sigh, anything that would give him that final answer.

To Be Continued.