Where Art Thou, Dear Brother?

Dean's POV

     Dean took another sip of his whiskey. Another day passed, another case solved. He hadn't gotten any sleep in over forty-two hours, but he couldn't sleep, not with all the crap he had going on. There was Metatron, the power-hungry dick, then there was Gadreel who still needed to be found, and then the Mark of Cain. And then there was this whole thing with Sam.

    Honestly, Dean wasn't sure what he had done wrong. I mean, sure, he had tricked his brother into being possessed by an angel, but that was the only way to heal him. Without Gadreel, Sam would be dead. And yes, he felt terrible about Kevin and not making Gadreel leave sooner, but all the same, his brother was okay.

    Dean looked up to see Sam standing in the doorway. "I'm hitting it," he said.

    "Yeah," Dean replied. Sam started to walk away, but Dean stopped him before he could change his mind. "Hey."

    Sam turned around. "Yeah?"

    Dean looked down at his whiskey, frowning. "About what you said the other day."

    "I thought it didn't bother you," Sam said, looking drained.

    "You know Sam," Dean said softly. "I saved your hide back there. And I saved your hide at that church... And the hospital."

    Sam wore an indifferent look that made Dean a little mad. Was his brother not taking him seriously? "I may not think things all the way through. Okay? But what I do, I do because it's the right thing."

    Sam frowned at that. Dean defiantly took another sip of his drink. "I'd do it again."

    "And that," Dean looked up as Sam spoke. "Is the problem. You think you're my savior, my brother, the hero. You swoop in, and even when you mess up, you think what you're doing is worth it because you've convinced yourself you're doing more good than bad..." Sam sighed. "But you're not."

    Dean stared blankly at his brother. What was he saying?

    "I mean, Kevin's dead, Crowley's in the wind," Dean looked away. As if he needed another reminder of how much he had screwed up. Again. "We're no closer to beating this angel thing. Please tell me, what is the upside of me being alive?"

    Dean was shocked. What was the upside of being alive? He was alive, and that was all that mattered!

    Dean spread his hands. "Are you kidding me? You and me...fighting the good fight, together." Was it really so hard for Sam to see that?

    Sam sighed in frustration. He turned to leave, but then apparently decided against it. He walked over to the table were Dean sat and pulled up a stool, letting his indifferent mask fall and finally getting serious.

    "Just once, be honest with me," he said, looking Dean in the eyes. "You didn't save me for me. You did it for you."

    Dean was confused and horrified. How could his brother think that? "What are you talking about?"

    Sam leaned forward in earnest. "I was ready to die. I should have died, but you...You didn't want to be alone."

    Dean blinked in disbelief. The words were like a punch to the gut. How could he say that?

    "And that's what it all boils down to," Sam continued. "You can't stand the thought of being alone."

    "Alright," Dean muttered, shaking his head and standing up, moving away from his brother.

    "I'll give you this much," Sam said, not finished. "You are certainly willing to do the sacrificing, as long as you're not the one being hurt."

    Dean looked at Sam, a little angry now. "Alright, you wanna be honest?" He said, setting his drink down and looking Sam dead in his eyes. "If the situation were reversed, and I was dying, you'd do the same thing."

    Sam looked down at his hands, his expression solemn. "No," he said very softly. "I wouldn't."

     What?

    "Same circumstances..." Sam shook his head. "I wouldn't."

    Dean drew back, startled.

    Sam looked away, not in guilt, not in shame, but in resignation. "I'm gonna get to bed," he muttered, then got up and left without looking back. Dean watched him go, devastated. He sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. Where had his little brother gone?

    He drank for the next six hours. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, hell, he didn't even do research. He just sat and drank, thinking about what Sam had said. He was right. He couldn't stand the thought of being alone, couldn't imagine anything worse. How many times had Dean saved his brother's ass, pulling him out of the fire time and time again? Dean was willing to do anything, to sacrifice anything to save his brother, but Sam wasn't. If Dean was dying, Sam would just let him die. Devastation turned into anger, and anger turned into silent hopelessness.

    He gave everything he had for Sam ever since they were kids. He'd protected him, cared for him, looked out for him all his life. He would die a million times over and even damn himself to an eternity in hell for him. He loved Sammy, with his very being he loved him. And if Sam loved him back, shouldn't he do the same for Dean? Shouldn't he be willing to sacrifice as much as Dean would? But he wasn't. He wouldn't. Not now.

    Did Sam not love him?

    The thought hit him like a ton of bricks. Sam didn't love him anymore. Sam was willing to sit back and watch Dean die, and not do anything about it. Sam was no longer his brother.

    Dean stood up abruptly, his face expressionless. He went to his room and grabbed his keys, and began to head out the door. He stopped in the doorway, looking back. Thinking for a second, he grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled a note. He might have been a little hateful in it, but he didn't care. Not anymore.

    Throwing the note on his bed, he left the bunker, void of all emotion as he got into the Impala and drove away into the night.