A/N: There's a longer Wincestier version at my livejournal (that's my homepage on my profile). This here isn't necessarily Wincest at all.
Dean looks up from his position on the floor, kneeling in a veritable sea of blood. Eyes wide and innocent, he looks at Sam.
"Dude, what's wrong?" he smiles, "What? What is it? I got something on my face?" Sam can't manage it any more, can't take it, seeing his brother this way. Every single time it ends like this it's more blood on his hands. His hands, Dean's hands, it's all the same now, they're never apart long enough to be considered separate entities these days.
"Yeah," Sam sighs, "Yeah, Dean, you got a whole lot of blood on your face." Dean grins and wipes some of the blood off his cheek with a finger and licks it clean and it's all Sam can do to not look away. He did this, so now he has to live with it. Dean stands up, nudges the lady who, until recently, was a perfectly happy receptionist at the dentist's just down the street. Until she looked at Sam the wrong way. Dean rolls her over with his foot.
"So, bury or burn?" Dean looks like he's thinking it over but he doesn't really care, Sam knows that, he only takes an interest in what happens to the body so he doesn't get caught by anyone. He only asks because he wants Sam's opinion because Sam, who has always been the centre of his world, is now his whole world. Everything.
Dean only avoids capture because that would take him away from Sam, he only lives to see Sam live, he only kills to keep Sam safe. Sam is Dean's soul reason for being.
"I don't care, Dean, whichever," Sam says, tired and exhausted and he's been doing this too long, he just wants it to end.
"You ok, Sam?" Dean cocks his head like an inquisitive puppy, an inquisitive puppy dripping with blood and gore.
"Yeah, just tired," because Dean always knows when he's lying. For the first time tonight Dean looks torn. At no point while slicing that woman's head off did he look at all worried, at all indecisive. Ever since she looked at Sam in that way, the way people should never look at him, it had been going around Dean's head. Sam could almost see the thoughts running through his brother's mind, see the planning of her murder as he watched Dean sharpen his knife.
And only now is Dean torn, torn because he can't decide between cleaning up his mess and letting his brother get some rest. Not that sleep is the kind of rest Sam wants.
"I'll finish up here then we can go back to the motel and you can get some rest, ok Sammy?" Dean's already got the lighter fluid and is pouring it everywhere. Sam's on the verge of tears that never come, he's been that way for months now.
"Why, Dean? Why did you do it?" He asks it quietly, but Dean hears, Dean always hears.
"She looked at you wrong." It's the same answer as always. Sam doesn't even know what wrong is any more, just that he should never be looked at that way. He shouldn't be allowed outside, he shouldn't be allowed near other people. Dean would love that, just him and Sam, alone together forever. It would be the most fitting punishment for Sam.
But that's not how the world works and Dean won't let him sit inside and starve, and Dean won't leave him alone to go get some food. So, they have to go out into the big wide world and Sam can only hope that the way people look at him isn't wrong.
"What does that mean, Dean? What does that mean?" Dean's finished dousing the remains now, is getting ready to set it alight.
"It was wrong," it's all he ever says, the only reason he ever needs. Sam hates it, hates Dean as much as he loves him.
"No!" he yells as the body begins to burn, the smell stinging his nose, "I'll tell you what's wrong! Killing some woman who did nothing, nothing but look at me! She did nothing wrong, Dean!" Dean smiles and walks to Sam, placing an arm around his shoulder and leaning in close, always so close.
"Oh, Sammy." Dean's smiling indulgently and suddenly Sam's five again and doesn't understand anything about the world and needs his big brother to explain it to him, "Oh, Sammy, it was wrong. You just couldn't see it." Sam looks into his brother's eyes, leans into his comforting warmth, comforting despite everything. Dean steers them slowly away from the blazing fire at their backs towards the car.
"Did she deserve to die, Dean? Do any of them?"
"Yes," says Dean without hesitation, still close, always too close. Sam wants to try harder, wants to learn more but he's still tired and he'll never get anywhere, he knows it. Dean's never been one to open up.
Dean stops them just in front of the car and turns to face Sam so that they are forehead to forehead, so that Sam can smell the blood that still coats Dean.
"You're my brother," says Dean quietly, his eyes looking straight into Sam's, "I'd die without you."
Thank you for reading.