The Cause Sanguine - Section Five

[glasslogic]

Chapter Thirteen

"The wolf is neither man's competitor nor his enemy.
He is a fellow creature with whom the earth must be shared."
~L. David Mech

Two Years Later...

The apartment wasn’t even a quarter of the size the cabin had been, but it came furnished with a twin bed, a half-stove and a shower, and that was all he needed. Dean did his usual precautions for when he planned to stay at a place more than a day or two -- salt, static charms, those types of things. After that, he took a stroll around the neighborhood, making himself familiar with the immediate area, good ambush points, facilities and sight lines. Unlike his last visit to the valley, this trip had a specific purpose, and he wasn’t going to accomplish it hanging out in a one-room hole.

It had been twenty four months since he had left Sunvalley. Two years of hard hunts and long, empty nights. He had tried to scour the wolf from his heart and mind -- with distance, bloodshed and the company of willing women, and not a few men. But there was no amount of space that could separate him from his own memories, and the bloodshed served no purpose but to remind him in hard fact of how unfair the world was. And no matter how hot the person, or how great his need, he found no satisfaction in their company. It only took a few apologetic, mumbled excuses of too much alcohol or exhaustion to make him shy from taking people back to his motel room. Every few months, he would try again, until it became obvious that whatever the problem was, it wasn’t going away. He dreamed of Sam constantly. Daydreams and real dreams, when he woke up in the night and his belly was sticky with semen, it was Sam’s name on his lips. Dean hated that he couldn’t escape this ghost, and he finally decided that the only way to lay it to rest was to return to the scene of the crime. Sort of. The idea of going back to stay at the cabin had made him actually nauseous, so he moved into the cheapest apartment he could find in town.

Dean wasn’t sure what he needed to do to make enough peace with his past that he could move on, and so he walked the streets of a town he’d rarely visited outside of one or two specific places even when he lived there, restless and angry, and found nothing that made him feel any closer to resolution.

“Got any more bright ideas, Bobby?”

Bobby snorted. “This was your bright idea. I suggested you find someone else to hang your heart on if the damn wolf was still troubling you, and instead, you slept with a dozen barflies, called me up drunk to whine about it, and then insisted that what you needed to get over the wolf was to go back to where he lived.”

“Well,” Dean was hardly mollified, “I didn’t see you stopping me.”

“Was there a point to this call?” Bobby demanded.

“Just looking for more advice.”

Dean could hear Bobby rolling his eyes from states away. “You know when I said you could call me anytime? I meant for hunting related things, Dean. Not the train-wreck of your love life.”

“He’s a werewolf.”

“Which you damn well knew when you leaped into this mess. And besides, were you going to try and kill him?” Bobby asked pointedly.

There was a long silence.

“Dean?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Dean.”

“I just want to move on! I don’t want this over me anymore when I’m sizing some chick up in a bar. I want... I don’t want to feel like this!”

Bobby sighed. “The heart’s not like an engine, kid. You can’t clean this and change that, give it a good kick and expect it to run like you want. He got in good under your skin; it’s going to take some time.”

“It’s been two years,” Dean hissed.

“And it might be two more! What do you want from me?”

Dean sighed with frustration.

Bobby gentled his tone. “Look, you’re there anyways. If you won’t stay at the cabin, then maybe you can find something local that reminds you of him. Get involved; see if you can work out some of your demons. There aren’t any quick fixes.”

“Frankly, Bobby, I’m not sure there are any fixes at all.”

“We’re always happy to have new members!”

Dean gave the too-friendly girl sitting behind the battered card table with a sticker on her shirt that said ‘Missy’ a reflexive smile. “I don’t know how long I’ll be in town.”

“Oh, that’s no problem,” she beamed. “You can stop by when you’re in the area. We do a couple of big events a year; guest lecturers, mostly. Every other weekend, we do a nature walk to help people get interested in what kind of plants and animals we have right here in the valley, then of course we have the twice-a-week meeting here, after classes finish up. Nothing really formal; usually someone will do a twenty-minute presentation on something and then we talk about it and have some kind of snack.”

“I like snacks. What about dues?”

“Twenty-five dollars a year. If you have it,” she added hastily, taking in his battered clothes. “And you can pay in installments. Five here, ten there. Plus, you need to bring the food once or twice. We have a schedule.” She rummaged through some papers.

“Do I have to talk?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” she assured him. “We meet Tuesdays and Thursdays at eight p.m., so you won’t get to meet the rest of the gang until next week. We also meet Saturdays during the summer but that won’t start up until June. Are you a student here?”

“Do I have to be?”

“Oh, no; not at all. We just don’t get a lot of people who aren’t students unless they are affiliated with one of our community outreach groups. Just curious.”

“I’m not a student.” Dean flipped through one of the black and white brochures. “Just an interested resident. You guys do a lot about wolves?”

“The local wolf population is one of the most interesting things we have here in the valley. As far as people have been able to survey, they form unique pack arrangements and have unusual behavioral patterns.”

“And spawn a lot of unusual rumors.”

Missy grinned. “People like to tell stories, and who doesn’t like to tell stories about wolves? The truth is that most of our information about the local packs is anecdotal or accidental. They seem to have an uncanny ability to avoid even the most professional attempts to tag or track them. From the voices you can hear most nights, the population is unusually dense for the area, even if they are ranging over the mountains and into the surrounding forests and valley. But there doesn’t seem to be the corresponding decrease in the local prey animals you would expect if...” She caught Dean’s raised eyebrow and flushed. “Sorry, I’m kind of a wolf buff. I can just go on and on. Are you interested in them?”

Dean set the brochure back down on the table. “No. Not anymore.”

Dean took the opportunity of his empty hours to visit with Alan and some of the other friends he had made during the year and a half he had lived in the valley. They were pleased enough to see him, but a two-year absence was a long time to touch base with people he had barely known to begin with, and he could hardly explain to them where he had gone, or why. But they were good for the distraction of some drinks and a few friendly games of pool in the evenings. He had learned to spend as little of the evenings alone as possible. It was the first place Dean had lived where he was actually grateful for the racket of his neighbors on four sides. Two of them didn’t seem to sleep, and that suited Dean fine. He didn’t want to be alone with his misery, and even anonymous strangers were better than the silence of four walls.

He also spent a lot of time making the re-acquaintance of his favorite library in the world. Dean had an entire file in the Impala’s trunk on things to look into when he had time, and whatever the collection was lacking in material, it made up for with the speed of its Internet connection and unlimited coffee and cookies.

The wildlife group wasn’t as much of a boring waste of time as Dean had anticipated. If nothing else, it was full of giggling co-eds who were very earnest both about their desire to save the world and their appreciation of Dean. At least a few indicated they would be happy to appreciate Dean on a more personal level, but he knew that was going nowhere so he turned them down with nothing more than a little harmless flirtation.

The first meeting was awkward because he felt out of place, but the people were friendly and the discussion was about tracking, something he found professionally interesting and drew him in despite himself.

The second meeting was a less interesting topic, but he felt more comfortable with the people and found himself actually anticipating the next Tuesday when the group would meet again. It was a break from the monotony of his research and wandering routine.

The parking lot was unusually full when he got to the community college that night. He shouldered his way through some of the crowd until he found a familiar face.

“Missy -- what are all of these people doing here?”

“Hey, Dean! Tonight is one of our guest lecturer nights. Dr. Kimmel comes out once a year to talk about stewardship and conservation efforts in Canada and how things have changed with some of their park programs. He’s really very funny. I think half the town shows up for this.”

“Yeah, looks like. How often is it this packed?”

“We do three of four like this a year; Dr. Kimmel’s is the most popular, though.” She grinned and looped an arm through his, steering him towards the lecture hall across from the small classroom they usually met in.

“Oh, hey, Dave!” She let go of Dean and waved across the hall, bouncing on her toes trying to get someone, presumably the mentioned ‘Dave’s’ attention. No one looked towards her and she gave Dean a hopeful look. “Save me a seat?”

“Sure,” he replied, bemused, watching her thread her way into the crowd and disappear.

Truthfully, Dean wasn’t certain about staying. He liked the group because it was casual and laid back; more of a conversation than any kind of lecture. A more formal sit-down with theater seating and some blowhard wasn’t nearly as appealing. But a quick survey of the crowd told him it would be more hassle than it was probably worth to elbow his way back out, and there must be some reason the entire town seemed excited about the guy. Besides, it wasn’t like he had anything else planned.

The lecture hall itself was only about half full, which explained all of the people in the lobby and hallway standing around chatting. He checked his watch and figured they must have moved the start time back a bit, since this was a bigger event. There were still some good seats up front and he was making his way there when his attention was caught by a couple of people in one of the short rows to the side. He figured they were students, from the casual dress and the backpacks crammed in around their feet, but something about them kept nagging at him as he walked closer on his way to seats he’d been eyeing, and he slowed down to take a closer look.

Nothing was immediately out of place; he could only see the back and side of them from his angle. Four girls and three guys, t-shirts, sundresses, sweater jackets, obviously taking advantage of the unseasonal warmth and thaw. They would regret that when they left after the program, but that wasn’t what was bothering him. The girl on the end had her blonde hair piled high in a clip and he appreciated the curve of her neck and the low cut of her dress abstractedly as he moved to where he could see their faces, but she wasn’t who he was suddenly interested in. Sitting one seat in to her left was a man who seemed... oddly familiar. His brown hair was cut just under his ears, and Dean could see the ragged threads of the hemp necklace he wore resting just above the worn edge of his shirt. He stepped around the end of the aisle and stopped dead.

The only thought that came to Dean’s mind was he looks good. As he watched Sam smile and point at something on the stage and then lean in close to the blonde’s ear to whisper something that made her snicker, there was a white, staticky noise in his ears. The guy on Sam’s other side smacked his arm to get his attention, then passed him a notepad. Sam wrote something on it then handed it to the blonde; she added her own something to it and the whole thing was passed back down the line with much laughter. Just a group of college kids, having fun together while waiting for the program to start. They probably sat that way in their classes, and out on the town. Friends. Or, Dean thought distantly, as the blonde leaned into Sam, twisting herself so that she could press her chest into his arm, something more.

People jostled him as they brushed by him on both sides, and the students talked among themselves, still oblivious to his presence.

“Hey.”

Dean turned his head, still feeling a great falsity of calmness, to find Missy back at his side.

“Did you want to sit up front? We should go grab the seats if you do.”

Dean just turned back to look at Sam again. Missy followed his gaze. “That’s some of the people from Mike Harkin’s zoology class. The lab meets ridiculously late, so they don’t get to come to regular meetings. Unless they skip,” she grinned. “But Mike knows to check the meeting when they don’t show up, so that doesn’t happen too often. Do you know them?”

“Him,” Dean mumbled.

“Him? Which him?” She craned her neck. “You mean Sam? The cutie closest to the end?”

“You know him?”

“Sure. Everyone knows Sam. Hey -- are you guys related? I meant to ask you last week; it’s just that your last name is kind of unusual and it stood out a bit.”

“Last name?” Dean felt like an idiot, but his brain honestly didn’t seem to be working.

“Winchester. Sam Winchester.” She eyed him. “You don’t sound good; are you okay?”

Before Dean could even try to answer that, Sam suddenly frowned and broke off from whatever he had been saying. He tilted his head back like he was sniffing the air and looked around. It was such a Sam thing that Dean, who thought he was past feeling anything but anger and betrayal, felt a surge of loss that sliced through him worse than any knife wound he’d ever taken. Those hazel eyes turned to him unerringly and Dean met them head on, able to see when all of the color drained from Sam’s face and he shot to his feet.

“Dean!” The shout seemed to echo off the hall walls. It certainly echoed in Dean’s head. The conversation fell silent around them and Sam struggled to get past the knees and backpacks in his way.

The possibility of having to get through a meeting with Sam in the middle of a crowd of people, or at all, was too much. Dean turned on his foot and fled, shouldering his way through the mingling crowd with muttered apologies and not slowing his pace until he was safely in the Impala and able to vanish into the dark, anonymous streets.

Back at his crappy apartment, he cursed to himself and stuffed things into his duffle bag. A lifetime as a nomad ensured it wasn’t that big of a chore but he didn’t usually have to manage when his hands were shaking and his heart pounding in... what? Anger, misery, guilt? Rage? It was a tumult of all sorts of emotions, and fortunately for his sanity, he had no need to sort them out.

This was all Sam’s fault; Dean had never had these kinds of problems before the wolf entered his life. Coming back had been a mistake. Sam was... well, he didn’t know what was going on with the shifter. But it wasn’t the full moon, so among other things, he could apparently shift any damn time he wanted. All those months they had spent as lovers, the time they could have had together as people, the loneliness Dean had felt, was all for nothing. Sam had lied to him from day one. Fuck him.

Dean shouldered the bag and stormed out. The apartment was month-to-month, and the month had been paid for. There was two weeks left; he would just mail them the damn key.

The parking lot was dark. There were two lights, but one was fritzing on and off, and the other was by the manager’s office. Neither of them anywhere near where Dean had been forced to leave the Impala, but it wasn’t so dark that Dean could miss the tall figure leaning against his car. He almost turned and went back inside, but then he would be boxed in with the knowledge that Sam was just outside the door, waiting, while Dean cowered away. He swore under his breath and forced himself to pick up the pace. All he had to do was ignore him and get in the car. Then he could get the hell out of the freaking valley and never come back. Sam could screw himself.

“Dean.”

Dean grunted and pulled his keys from his pocket; he couldn’t help the brief glance but refused to give the wolf more than that. Sam looked good, though; long limbs clad in worn jeans and a t-shirt that clung to his muscles in all the right places. Dean had known he would look this good, but it had been such a wrestling match just to get Sam to wear clothes period, and never anything Dean hadn’t worn for a few hours first. The idea of getting him into jeans had given Dean such a headache just thinking it, he had never seriously considered trying it. And now here was Sam, as comfortable in his clothes as any other person would be. It was too dark to clearly see his face, but the set of his shoulders and jaw and the tension in his crossed arms told Dean he was also unhappy, and defensive. Good.

Dean turned the key rougher than he intended and popped the trunk. He slid his bag off his shoulder and then slammed the metal back down, too angry to take the care he normally did. Sam was still leaning against the driver’s side door.

“Move.”

“No.”

“Get the fuck out of my way,” Dean ordered harshly.

“No,” Sam growled. “We need to talk.” He pushed off the car and took a step towards Dean.

The gun was out and pointed before Dean even thought about it. Sam froze mid-step.

Dean was proud his hand didn’t shake even a little. He certainly felt like he was vibrating, jangling with clashing emotions demanding a dozen different actions. In the same instant, he could see himself both pinning Sam against the Impala, molding his own body up against all that heat and muscle, and pulling the trigger and resolving everything permanently. He was frozen in indecision, on the edge of all actions, when the choice was made for him.

Sam darted in with inhuman speed and grace; he shoved the gun aside and grabbed Dean’s shoulder, pulling him in so close that Dean could feel the heat of his breath on the side of his face when Sam hissed in his ear, “You know where to find me.”

Then Dean was falling, shoved hard so he landed on his ass as the Impala’s keys were ripped from his hand. He scrambled back up, gun first, but Sam was already gone into the night.

“He took my fucking keys, Bobby!”

“You forget how to hotwire a car? You left a spare set of keys here. Get her started and come pick them up. Then you can go sulk somewhere else.”

“That’s not--! I’m not sulking. He left me. This wasn’t my fucking fault; all I wanted was to get over the entire mess. And I’d also like to point out our entire fucking relationship was a lie. I know where he is all right, but there is no way in hell I’m going to the cabin.”

“Dean...”

“He can obviously shift whenever the hell he wants, and he fits in great with his college buddies, no social issues there. You should have seen the way he was all cozy with that blonde. I don’t know what the fuck he wanted with me, but I’m done. Completely. Fucking. Done.”

“Except you need your keys.”

“YES!”

“Why again?”

Dean hesitated. “I just do. The key to dad’s storage place out in Topeka was on the ring. It’s a bitch to replace.”

“More of a bitch than hiking god-knows-where in the dead of the night in the mountains of Montana to confront a shapeshifter you would prefer never to see again?”

“There might have been a few more keys on that ring too.”

“What keys?” Bobby questioned ominously.

“Bobby...”

“Would the irreplaceable spelled keys to my one-of-a-kind spelled locks be on that ring? The keys you swore you would chain around your neck and never take off? Those keys, by any chance, Dean?”

“I’m walking, Bobby. Listen, I’m walking right now.”

“You’d better be freaking running. I don’t care if what’s waiting at that cabin with your ex-boyfriend are half a dozen poltergeists and a yeti. Get my damn keys back!”

Dean flipped the phone shut and walked faster. If nothing else, the exercise would keep him warm.

Three hours later, Dean was standing in the weed-choked yard of a place he had never wanted to see again. The night was cool enough for a fire, but no smoke rose from the chimney. He could see through the blinds that there was a light on in the living room, but nothing else about the interior. The grass was trying to take over the gravel driveway and a few fence rails were down, but for a place that he had abandoned two years earlier, it looked good. The trust made funds available to him for home repair, but the conservator had never shown any inclination to maintain the property himself. Which was fine with Dean, lazy people were less inclined to bother him, and he had never intended to come back.

But while he had abandoned it, he wasn’t at all sure it had been abandoned, in fact.

He climbed the steps slowly. The long, cold hike had burned away most of the heat of his rage, and he was stooped with exhaustion. He should have hotwired the Impala and driven out to the cabin, but he’s been so messed up after his encounter with Sam that he couldn’t think of anything but getting his fucking keys back.

Yeah, he knew exactly where to find the wolf. Damn them both.

Standing in front of the door made him clench his hands into fists as he realized he would have to knock to enter his own damn place, so it was more of a threatening pound when he finally made himself do it.

There was no sound of footsteps to give away any movement from inside, but after a moment, the door swung open and Sam was there. He stepped back in silent invitation, as Dean had done for him so many times, back when the cabin was his refuge and Sam just the wolf that kept him company, before sex or the supernatural had any part of their relationship.

“Give me the keys.”

“Leave the gun on the porch and come inside.” Clear, perfect English.

“I don’t need to come inside, I just need the keys. I don’t care if you want to use the freaking cabin, but I’m cold and I’m tired and... fuck you, Sam. I didn’t do a goddamned thing to you that you didn’t start first. We’ve had our own lives now for two years; I just want the keys so I can go. What the fuck is so hard about that?”

Something darkened in the hazel eyes, but Sam’s voice stayed level and calm. “We need to talk; I don’t want the gun involved. Leave it out there; no one else is going to come around. You give me ten minutes and then you can have the keys, the cabin, and anything else you want.”

‘You?’ was on the tip of Dean’s tongue to ask, but he bit it back, furious at the impulse, and took refuge in the anger that had kept him walking though the dark cold. “How about I keep my gun and you give me the damn keys anyway?”

Sam smiled thinly. “I’m not talking to you while you’re armed, and talking is the only way you get them from me.” He must have seen the idea cross Dean’s face, because after a moment, his eyes narrowed and he added, “Shooting me won’t help you; I hid them.”

Dean scowled and laid the gun on the porch. Sam backed into the cabin and Dean followed, trying not to show his relief to be out of the biting weather. The inside was much as he remembered: the same furniture, the same appliances. A pile of what looked like textbooks on the table beside the couch and a thick, fuzzy rug of some sort big enough to cover the area in front of the television and fireplace were the only real differences.

“Relative of yours?” Dean asked, nodding towards the floor.

Sam ignored him. “I missed you.”

“You left me,” Dean snarled. “You don’t get to hold me hostage here now so you can tell me how much you fucking missed me.”

“I thought you would wait.”

Dean just gaped for a minute. “I did wait, Sam. I waited for a few days, and then I waited for you for a few weeks. And I kept waiting until you were gone an entire month. Remember that? Or were you too busy boning some chick in exchange for fucking language lessons. Congratulations, you have ‘prick’ down great.”

“I didn’t have a choice! I didn’t want to go!”

“Of course you had a choice! Who the hell’s choice do you think it was?! I loved you. I would have given up everything to stay with you, be with you, and you fucking walked away. Give me my goddamned keys. I don’t have to stand here and listen to this. If you had something to say to me, you should have said it two years ago.”

“I couldn’t say it two years ago,” Sam growled. “I did the best I could; I thought you understood!”

“The only thing I understood was that you walked out on me. Screw you, Sam. Give me the fucking keys.”

Sam’s expression was pure frustration. Dean could have sympathized with it if he felt like sympathizing with Sam at all. But he wanted his keys and he wanted far away from him.

“Come and get them.”

“What?!”

“The keys, they’re in my pocket. Come and get them,” Sam taunted.

Dean ground his teeth. “Great hiding place. You said if I talked to you, I could have them; we talked.”

“I didn’t say how you could have them.” Sam spread his arms wide. Dean had been deliberately avoiding looking at anything but his face, but the bulge in Sam’s pocket was obvious. It wasn’t the only obvious bulge, and Dean felt his own body take a sharp interest despite himself. Sam had always called to the most basic parts of him, and Dean ground his teeth to be reminded of it now.

He saw Sam’s nostrils flare and a tight smile curve his lips. The werewolf could smell his response; fucking wonderful.

“I’m not going to stick my hand in your pocket!”

“Then I guess you don’t want them that badly. Feel free to stay the night; it’s your house, after all. I’ll stay with my family; we can talk again tomorrow night.”

“You aren’t leaving this house until I have those keys!”

“I already told you how to get them.”

Dean took an angry step forward, not so much to get the keys as to wipe the smirk off of Sam’s face. His fists were balled so tightly, his short nails were digging into his skin, and fury had his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

After a moment, Sam shrugged and let his arms drop back to his sides.

“See you tomorrow then.” The werewolf pulled on a flannel shirt from the back of the chair and bent to retie a lace.

“Sam, I am fucking warning you...”

Like in a flashback to the early days of their relationship, the werewolf showed no signs of having heard him. He ignored Dean as if he wasn’t even standing there and reached for the front door.

Dean lost it.

Dean had done smarter things in his life than throw himself bodily at a full-grown werewolf and attempt to beat the shit out of him by hand, but if Sam wanted Dean to communicate with him, then he could fucking take what he had coming. Dean might trip over his own tongue sometimes, but he was fluent in bodily harm.

It didn’t quite go as expected. Dean had a lot of anger and pent up fury to pound into Sam, but the dreams that had haunted him for two years were the result of a different sort of deep-seated need. Sometime after the two of them landed on the end table and shattered it into kindling, the tumultuous free-for-all changed from an attempt to carve their frustrations out of each other’s flesh and into something just as frantic, but more cooperative.

Cloth ripped under supernatural strength as Sam tried to find Dean’s skin under layers of fabric, and Dean raked his own nails across any part of Sam he could grab, twisting them both over so he had the shifter pinned under him. He bit hard on the muscle where Sam’s neck and shoulder met when the wolf struggled to regain ground and Sam shuddered beneath him, stilling in place. Dean drew a deep lungful of the clean, wild scent of him, then pulled back to see his face. Sam leaned up and licked desperately across his lips, the gesture an echo of his lupine form, odd in his human flesh. Dean pushed hard on his shoulder to pin him down and then rolled off, shaken. It was too easy. This was too easy. He pushed to his feet and started for the door. He needed the cold air and some distance to clear his head.

From the corner of his eye, Dean could see the keys half beneath the couch from where they had spilled from Sam’s pocket during the struggle. He made no move to grab them; if he didn’t get out, he was in danger of not leaving at all. His fingers brushed the door handle just as a heavy weight hit him behind the knees and he went down in a tangle of limbs.

“No!” Sam hissed fiercely in his ear. “No, you aren’t leaving me again. You can’t; don’t you understand?!”

“Let me go!” Dean fought hard to win free, but as before when they had fought -- what the wolf lacked in skill, he made up for in persistence and desperation. Sam had his arms wrapped over Dean’s own and was clinging like he needed Dean to breath. Dean needed to breathe, and he let some of the tension seep out of his body to relax into the heat of Sam’s. “Sam...”

“Stay,” Sam mumbled into Dean’s throat, face buried in the collar of his shirt and breath heavy and heated through the fabric. Dean could feel the echo of Sam’s heartbeat in his own flesh. The werewolf was shaking, wiggling like he wanted to crawl inside Dean’s skin with him. Sam shifted around until his arms could slip under Dean’s, and he curled so his head was tucked under Dean’s chin.

With the faint ticking of the ancient clock on the mantle and the soft rustle of the cool air through the trees outside, Dean could almost believe the two years of anger and separation had never happened. The raw beams of the roof overhead and the warm weight in his arms were as familiar to him as if he had spent every one of those nights just like this.

“Who’s decision was it, Sam?” Dean whispered down into the soft hair. He didn’t think he would get an answer, but he wanted one, desperately. He wanted Sam to have an answer that would make things if not okay, then at least something he could understand. Some reason that would make lying wrapped in Sam’s arms anything but a fool’s mistake.

Sam tilted his head back so Dean could see the glitter of his eyes. “It wasn’t... it wasn’t what you think. I don’t know what you think, but it wasn’t... It was for us. So we could be together. I didn’t leave you; I would never leave you. But you went away. I couldn’t find your track, couldn’t follow where you went.” He rubbed the side of his face against Dean’s chest. “Stay with me.”

Dean swallowed, fighting to say anything but yes. Sam had always made him stupid. “That’s not an answer.”

“Stay with me tonight. Tomorrow, when the sun sets, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Tell me now.”

“No.” Sam untangled himself and stood up. He held one hand out to Dean, eyes very dark and something fragile in his expression.

Part of Dean wanted to ignore the hand and leave, to walk away from the promise of more heartache and the confusion that Sam represented. But the part of him that had never forgotten eyes that rocked him to his soul at the age of ten reached out anyway and grabbed hold.

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