What he’s never been able to understand is that I’ve never blamed him. It has never been his fault, not the way I feel, the way he doesn’t feel, the way everything is so screwed up and dark and I have to hide from the world with all the sins I keep committing. I think he always believed that I found him overbearing, overprotective, and maybe even weak. But the thing is that he knows how helplessly in love with him I am, and he still thinks that there are things I hate him for. I don’t know how Dean’s mind works.
I slam my way into the room and start throwing things in my duffel, and he’s only four seconds behind me.
“Sammy, come on. This isn’t you, you don’t do this!”
I pause, hand clenched around shirt, and glance at him. “Yeah, actually, I do. You’ve always known I’d try to get out.”
He’s quiet for a while, watching me systematically sort my socks from his. “Is it because of me, because I don’t feel - ?”
I sit slowly on the bed and sigh. “Yes, Dean, of course it is. But your lack of feelings for me wasn’t an unexpected turn of events. And there’s too much piled up now, too many reasons not to stay, and who the hell would pass up a full ride at Stanford? I want you to understand something, Dean.” I wait for him to make eye contact and hold it before I continue, “I’m not leaving you. As a matter of fact, I’m not leaving. I’m taking a break and figuring my shit out. Okay?”
Dean purses his lips snidely and stays silent. I start packing again. I’m almost done with the papers on my desk when he speaks once more. “You know, I could - I mean, I could - we could try. I don’t promise anything, but how bad could it be?”
I chuckle, “If we ever do ‘try anything,’ Dean, I don’t want you asking yourself how bad it could be. If that makes me a selfish asshole, so be it.”
“Sam,” his voice is low, sad. “I don’t want to be alone here.”
I shrug, “You’ll always have Dad. I slowed you guys down, anyway. Now you’ll be faster and stronger and have less to worry about.”
“Sam,” he says again. “Please.”
When I look up, his eyes are wet, but his cheeks are dry. He’s hanging on the edge. For his good, for my good, for the sake of everything I want him to have and experience and live for, for all the years he spent protecting and caring for me, for everything he’s sacrificed and will no doubt sacrifice again, I throw him off it. “Dean, no.”
