“I had a daughter,” Dean says. The first words his brother has spoken to him in over five years are to tell him about a brand new family. While Sam has been pining away this whole time. Fucking perfect.
He gets angry all over again.
“It wasn't... anything supernatural. Hit by a garbage truck on her way home from school.”
“You got married?” Sam asks. It sounds more bitter than he'd like it to.
Dean cocks his head and narrows his eyes a little.
“No.”
Sam doesn't say anything to that, just sits quietly for several long seconds before he asks, “What are you doing here?”
Dean sighs and finally lets his hand drop from Sam's shoulder.
“In town? Hunting a werewolf. At this group? Sharing and caring.”
“Seriously, Dean. Wait... you're still hunting?”
“You're not?”
“No, I...” Sam breaks off and shakes his head, turns to face Dean and scowls. “You told me not to! You said we needed to get out, that this life was toxic.”
“It is.”
“So...”
Dean's eyes slip shut, he leans on his chair so that he's only inches away from Sam. He breathes in, out and his hand comes to rest on Sam's knee, completely innocuous, completely innocent.
Except for the sudden flash of images it triggers in Sam's mind, all the other times Dean's touched him like that, the way Dean's hands have gripped his thighs, lifted and parted them.
“I don't know how to do anything else, Sammy,” he admits. “I wanted you safe but I don't know how to do anything else.”
Sam wants that to be his cue, wants to swoop in and take Dean's mouth with his own, wants to swear and make Dean swear that they can keep on hunting forever. Sam's not doing anything important, anyway. He works in a convenience store and watches the home shopping channel.
But he doesn't think that's what Dean needs right now.
“You want to go get some coffee?” he asks instead. “I know a good place a few blocks over, better than the swill they got in here. You can tell me about... about your little girl?”
Sam holds his breath, forces his leg lax under Dean's involuntary flinch. It's a decent ten count before Dean's fingers loosen up again and then, to Sam's surprise, Dean nods.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we can catch up. Like old times.”
“Yeah,” Sam agrees, standing alongside Dean with a watery, nervous smile. “Like old times.”
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He gets angry all over again.
“It wasn't... anything supernatural. Hit by a garbage truck on her way home from school.”
“You got married?” Sam asks. It sounds more bitter than he'd like it to.
Dean cocks his head and narrows his eyes a little.
“No.”
Sam doesn't say anything to that, just sits quietly for several long seconds before he asks, “What are you doing here?”
Dean sighs and finally lets his hand drop from Sam's shoulder.
“In town? Hunting a werewolf. At this group? Sharing and caring.”
“Seriously, Dean. Wait... you're still hunting?”
“You're not?”
“No, I...” Sam breaks off and shakes his head, turns to face Dean and scowls. “You told me not to! You said we needed to get out, that this life was toxic.”
“It is.”
“So...”
Dean's eyes slip shut, he leans on his chair so that he's only inches away from Sam. He breathes in, out and his hand comes to rest on Sam's knee, completely innocuous, completely innocent.
Except for the sudden flash of images it triggers in Sam's mind, all the other times Dean's touched him like that, the way Dean's hands have gripped his thighs, lifted and parted them.
“I don't know how to do anything else, Sammy,” he admits. “I wanted you safe but I don't know how to do anything else.”
Sam wants that to be his cue, wants to swoop in and take Dean's mouth with his own, wants to swear and make Dean swear that they can keep on hunting forever. Sam's not doing anything important, anyway. He works in a convenience store and watches the home shopping channel.
But he doesn't think that's what Dean needs right now.
“You want to go get some coffee?” he asks instead. “I know a good place a few blocks over, better than the swill they got in here. You can tell me about... about your little girl?”
Sam holds his breath, forces his leg lax under Dean's involuntary flinch. It's a decent ten count before Dean's fingers loosen up again and then, to Sam's surprise, Dean nods.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we can catch up. Like old times.”
“Yeah,” Sam agrees, standing alongside Dean with a watery, nervous smile. “Like old times.”