Fallen [Dean Winchester FanFiction]

III

Three

"Sam!"

The sound of Dean's voice shouting his brother's name reverberated off the bunker's reinforced-steel walls. He waited at the top of the stairs as he cast a look over the balcony's railing. There was no sign of Sam in the operations room. The oval-shaped table sat in the center as neat as the day they'd left it.

He quickly descended the iron staircase. His heavy footsteps echoed loudly as his legs carried him over to stand at the library's vast threshold. Like the room behind him, this one showed no signs of his brother's presence. With a scowl etched deeply into the fine wrinkles of his forehead, Dean stormed off towards the end of the library, and into the maze-like halls.

He continued to call out to Sam as he wandered through the long passageways. He made a brief stop at the kitchen, pausing to glance inside of the room. Upon seeing that it was empty, he proceeded towards the sleeping quarters.

"Sam!" he bellowed. "Dammit. I know you hear me!"

By now, the elder Winchester's irritation had given way to anger. Before he knew it, he'd reached the familiar wooden door leading into his brother's bedroom. He didn't waste a second and barged right in.

At the foot of the queen-sized bed, Dean noticed an oversized duffel bag packed almost to the brim with clothes. He snapped his gaze over to the far end of the room where Sam was quietly rummaging through his dresser, and glared at the back of his head.

"Really, Sam? So, what, you get mad, take my Baby and friggin' leave my ass stranded? Not cool, man. Not cool."

Turning to face him, Sam cast his brother an indifferent look. He calmly walked back to his bed to stow away the folded shirts he held in his hands.

"How'd you make it home?"

Dean regarded him, incredulously. "You can't be serious. The hell’s your problem?"

"My problem—" Sam said while neatly arranging his belongings. "—is how you think everything should be okay between us after what’s happened."

"Sam—"

The younger Winchester halted his movements. "Don't." He whipped around. "Don't go there, Dean."

"The hell I won't." Determination blazing in his green eyes, Dean stepped further into the room. "I know what you're thinking, okay?"

"Really?" Sam shook his head as a humorless chuckle left his lips. "I'm not doing this with you right now."

"Doin' what, Sam? Talking about what's bothering you?"

"Yeah. Why don't you just go, alright?"

"No."

"Dean," Sam began to warn. "I mean it, go—"

Disregarding the seriousness behind his brother’s words, he drew closer.

"Look at me, Sammy."

Sam hesitated. He dragged in a steady breath before lifting his gaze up from the floor to meet Dean's stare. The eldest brother could see the inner conflict in the other's eyes. Hardening his expression, he proceeded to speak.

"Listen. I know how jacked-up this is, alright? With Kevin dead and Gadreel falling off the map—"

"It's been a month," Sam stated somberly. "A whole month, and nothing. I...I can't live with myself, Dean. He was just a kid, and I—"

"It ain't your fault," Dean interjected. "That son of a bitch played us. No way in hell is Kevin's death on your hands."

A frown settled across Sam's face. "Us? He played you, Dean. None of this would've happened had you let me go. Hell, I was ready."