Dean couldn’t remember the last time Sam held him without tears in his eyes. Not until he was standing in that field outside Ridgefield, Washington, bright green and blue fireworks shooting off only ten feet away.
Sam didn’t hold him like he was his lifeline, and for a minute Dean could pretend he didn’t have the weight of both of their lives hanging around his shoulders. He was thirteen, bright-eyed and looking at Dean like he’d done something magical buying them a milk crate full of the best fireworks Milton Pierce’s credit card could get. Dean didn’t know if this was a standout memory for Sam, if he even remembered that hot night in 1996, but he hoped that he remembered the burnt edges of it.
Though maybe he only remembered the field going up in flames and the two of them running like hell back to the car. Dean’s heart was in his throat and Sam’s wide eyes were wet with unshed tears. Maybe that overshadowed the private display just for the two of them.
—
Dean saw the two of them watching the fireworks again after he changed out of his bloody clothes, and resignation and anger turned it a spiteful red. He looked at Sam when Cas disappeared, regret boiling over inside him; regret that they’d tried, regret that his best wasn’t good enough, regret that after everything, Sam’s best memories had nothing to do with him.
The amulet burned underneath his clasped fingers. Sam looked as pained as ever, but Dean couldn’t figure out where his pain stemmed from anymore. His thoughts spun out behind what he believed to be a decent poker face, but what did he know?
“We’ll figure it out,” Sam’s voice was an echo in an empty room.
Flashes of gold and red, sprinkling embers falling to the ground like rain, and Dean knew now that Sam didn’t think fondly enough of that night for it to make his greatest hits. He was going to burn out into nothing if he stayed here any longer, holding a useless charm necklace and standing across from the person he loved the most in this world, who couldn’t even bother to scratch his name onto the tape that held his heaven. Dean had been played, and he was over it.
He crossed the room to the door, holding the amulet over the trash can. All of this work with nothing to show for it.
Dean bristled when he heard a whoosh of air behind him, felt a hand on his arm. When he turned, Sam’s irritatingly remorseful face stared back at him and he wondered if he’d been sent straight to his own personal hell.
Sam folded his arms around him and nestled his face against the side of Dean’s head, practically forcing him to bury his face into his brother’s shoulder. If the buckshot in Sam’s chest and his bright eyes reflecting Saturn shells hadn’t made Dean’s own start to water, holding him certainly did.