Brothers Keep Her

Raven

Sam flips his collar against the brisk winter wind, standing outside the roadhouse bar. His hands find solace in the pockets of his coat as he prepares to go inside, just as he has done every day for the last three weeks. It never gets any easier.

The door opens and two burly men walk out of the bar. One wears a red bandana on his head, the other has a salt and pepper beard and a gold cross hanging just above the hairs of his chest. They wear matching leather vests.

He takes a deep breath. He knows he needs to pick up one foot and place it in front of the other and do it again and again until he makes it to the table by the jukebox, but he can't move.

The bikers start their Harleys with a thunderous snarl. Sam looks up, part of him desperate to just ride off into the unknown. What's the point in getting close? Everyone he's ever loved is dead and gone. He sniffs and glances up at the sky.

Everyone except Dean, who's died and come back more times than Sam wants to count. Every day with Dean is a blessing, but Sam feels like they're running out of those.

They haven't seen Cas since that night.

The sun will set soon. He's got to get his brother out of the bar before the night crowd comes in. The bartenders called Sam the first three nights in a row when Dean started trouble when he wouldn't let anyone touch the jukebox. Customers walked out because of the depressing music he played all night, every night.

He runs his hands down the stubble on his face and shakes out his arms. Just go.

A blast of warm air washes over him the moment he opens the door. He can already hear the music playing on the jukebox. This time, he's walked into the middle of a song that worries him.

Save a place for me,

Save a place for me.

I'll be there soon.

I'll be there soon...

He finds Dean at the same table, slumped over in the same chair, with the same number of empty beer bottles and shot glasses scattered in front of him. The bartender nods at Sam, offering a sympathetic smile as she polishes a glass. Sam presses his lips into a line and gives her a short nod back.

He knows he has to be cautious. Dean's been volatile ever since you... well. Ever since you. Even now it crushes Sam inside to think about it, let alone say it out loud. He glances around the bar, and half the customers are focused on him and Dean, watching. He looks away and takes the seat across from his brother, leaving his hands in his pockets.

As the song plays out, they sit there, not looking at each other, not talking either. Dean picks at the label on his beer bottle. He's got a pile of them stacked on the table.

When the song ends, Sam speaks. "Hey," he says, his voice low.

Dean doesn't react. He goes on picking at the label, staring at the bottle.

"It's time to go, Dean."

The corner finally peels up. Dean takes a hold of it and pulls it slowly, steadily, until it's free. Then he stares at it for a moment, thinking God knows what, before placing it on the top of the pile. "We've been through this so many times," he says, and for the first time in days his voice is soft. "Why does it hurt so much more this time, Sam?"