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Dean knocked back another drink. He’d lost count of how many he’d had. Still, his thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone. Still, he couldn’t sleep. Still, Sam’s name resounded in his head, blotting out everything else. Sam. His lovely, sweet, perfect, little brother. Sam.
Dean would die for him. Hell, Dean had died for him. Sam. But still, the kid didn’t get it. Dean dreamed of Sam, but he was always just out of reach. Sam was always turned away from his big brother, disgusted. And Dean would stand there, arm outstretched, feeling like the world had collapsed in on him. Sam.
It was for this reason that the older hunter had to drink himself to sleep. Dean was poison for Sam, he knew, but he wanted him. Sam. He wanted him in ways that he shouldn’t have. Just like his dreams, Dean couldn’t have Sam. Dean knocked back another drink, hoping against all odds that he would have a dreamless sleep tonight. That one word bouncing around his head. It resounded enough in his mind that now it was like a prayer, the only one he had ever memorized.
Sam.