He won't know (Dean/Sam ficlet)
Disclaimer: written as a prompt for wincestweek on Tumblr
The worst thing had been the silence, the feeling of emptiness starting right at the center of his being, and then expanding...giving off silence.
He had counted the days, one for each time he opened his eyes, and Dean's name was on his lips, until he realized, that Dean wasn't there. That there was no more Dean...there was just that empty place and the silence.
There were things, he thought, as he hugged Dean...his Dean - his...because that was the simplest truths of all: Dean was his - and his brother held him tight, that he would never, ever tell him.
And it wasn't just Ruby.
He would never tell Dean how he had gone and bled all over the devil's gate, reasoning that if he had Azazel's blood in him, if Lilith hadn't been able to kill him he could open the fucking thing with his blood and crawl his way into the Pit and bring Dean back.
He would never tell Dean how he had kicked and screamed when the fucking door hadn't opened and had hated him for leaving him alone.
As Dean hugged him, he recalled how his skin had felt unreal, even as he fucked Ruby or drunk her blood, because there was something missing...and it didn't matter how much blood he drunk or before, how much he got hammered, it was still there: the silence, the emptiness, the feeling of his soul - did he still have one? Good question....because he was pretty sure he was holding his soul right then, and it smelled of Bobby's soap and beer and clean sweat and has warm skin -
he thought he would never tell Dean how he had never been to his grave, after he had buried him, but he had driven through the place, with their car, and the silence had made his eyes water, his insides burn with rage and just plain old grief.
He had counted the days, the hours, the minutes...all the time he had spent in hell, his body buried six feet under, as he wandered upside seeking a way to bring him back: begging, pleading, threatening, bleeding, crying, fucking....and when it didn't work, seeking revenge...because it made him breathe, it made the silence less deafening.
Dean was hugging him: real, alive, his and he didn't need to know.
~
Sam would never know, Dean thought, decided, as his brother trembled in his arms, his body a furnace, like he remembered, his blood screaming inside of him....recognizing Sammy.
Sam didn't need to know...the things he saw, the things he did while on the Pit. Sammy needed to stop trembling, to keep hugging him, to never let go...he didn't need to know that his big brother had been shredded into confetti, probed and used in every possible way until there was nothing left...except himself, except...that piece of him, one that had hazel eyes, strong arms and had been the centre of his life, kept him going even there.
He could never tell him why he had taken the knife, for the first time, he had made himself forget it.
All it mattered was there, in his arms: his soul, for the first time in decades whole...as he felt almost - but not completely....because there was that thing...the one that made his heart beat too fast, his thoughts get dark with lust sometimes....but it could wait, it would, it didn't matter - clean.
Dean closed his eyes, holding tighter his brother, hanging onto him, saving him...as Sammy tried to do the same. It was how they rolled, it was how they loved, lived and died.
Together.