"I was wrong." Sam said.
Dean considered his options in answering. To ask 'about what?' could be taken as a snarky challenge, because God and His angels knew there was so much Sam could be considered wrong about. To say 'no you weren't' would be expedient but would be probably wrong, and would probably still ignite an argument from Sam.
They were at Bobby's. Dean couldn't be sure – okay, he could be sure, they'd been here five days - but it felt like they'd been here their whole lives. They were safe here, safer than they'd be anywhere else, and there was still a panic room downstairs with Sam's name on it. Only this time if they had to put him there, it wouldn't be to keep him in, it would be to keep hell out and away from him.
Dean just hadn't mentioned that to Sam. Yet
"Okay." Dean answered Sam's remark. He was sitting at the desk in Bobby's library, head in his hand, trying to read a book – another book - on the Apocalypse. Sam was standing in front of the desk. Dean tried to sound – neutral. He wasn't sure which way Sam's mood was headed.
"What I said, back at the motel, when I said you never trusted me, I was wrong."
"Okay." Dean tried again. This time he tried to sound – encouraging. Sam looked – well, as bad as he'd been looking all week. Tired. Wasted. Struggling. Wishing he could roll up and die and just have it over with. Dean wondered how long he'd been working on this little reveal of his.
"I was thinking, I remembered, do you remember when Dad was missing and we were in Jericho with the Woman in White and the cops arrested you at the motel? You remember what you said to me?"
"I'm pretty sure the word 'dammit' was part of it."
Sam either didn't hear Dean's attempt at humor or he was too far gone to care.
"You told me to find Dad. You trusted that I would find Dad. And when that demon was crashing planes and killing the survivors, I said we had to get on that plane and you trusted me enough to go even though you hate flying. In Florida, at the Mystery Spot, every day for a hundred days you just kept trusting me that something was wrong, even though you had absolutely no proof of it. You trusted me whenever I had a vision. You trusted me whenever I asked you to. You spent your whole life trusting me. So – what I said in that motel room – I was wrong."
Dean considered his options in answering again. To say 'well, duh, yeah' - while being very accurate wouldn't be very nice. It'd be too easy anyway; Sammy was wearing his 'go ahead, kick me' look right now.
"Oh, see when you said I never trusted you, I thought you meant that day." Dean said.
Sam's expression pulled in in puzzlement. Not the answer he was expecting apparently.
"But I was wrong." He kept trying.
"But I hadn't trusted you Sam. That day. So, you weren't wrong."
Sam took this in and mulled it over and his exhaustion and experience with Dean's sense of logic did him in for any more arguments. He opted for,
"You're an idiot."
"Ah – see there? Now you're wrong." Dean said. "C'mon, pull up a couch and a book and let's get this battle underway."
"Yeah. Okay." Sam pulled a book from the unending pile and dropped himself on the couch.
"I was wrong." He said again.
"Didn't Dad teach you anything?" Dean asked. "Winchesters are never wrong – we simply make correction decisions based on faulty information."
That got a smile out of Sam and a soundless laugh.
"You're an idiot."
"I'm an idiot who's never wrong." Dean clarified. Sam was looking at him and Dean met his eyes and held the gaze. When Dean raised an eyebrow in an 'okay?' question, Sam nodded and turned his attention to the book in his lap. After a few minutes he said quietly,
"You're an idiot I trust. You know that, right?"
Dean smiled. As long as Sam kept that #1 in his mind, he'd never be wrong again.
"Yeah, I know that Sammy."