kansaskissedlips:

“Hey – hey, what’s wrong?” Dean’s voice is still groggy with sleep, but he can hear Sam’s deep breaths; the barely-held-in sniffles. He gets out of his bed, stumbling towards Sam’s, touching his arm.

“Nothing,” Sam’s voice is hoarse. “Nothing’s wrong. Go back to sleep.”

They’re on a case, staying at a motel for the first time in a long time, the comfort of the bunker left behind. 

Dean crawls into Sam’s bed – hey, he doesn’t give a damn – and turns towards him. “C’mon. I’m not stupid.”

“I – I don’t know why I’m upset,” Sam suddenly says, his voice soft. “And it feels so fucking stupid.”

Dean bites his lip. “Is this…kind of what we talked about the other day? That you’re…feeling sad, and stuff?”

Sam nods, staring down at the comforter. 

He keeps his lip between his teeth, concentrating, trying to figure out how to say it gently. “Sam – Sammy. I…man, it’s not…normal to wake up crying in the middle of the night, you know? Have you…”

Sam looks at him – and he always looks at him like he’s his whole world – and swallows hard. “What?”

“…I think you’re depressed, Sam. Not just – ‘oh, I had a bad day and I’m sad.’ But…like depressed. I don’t know a lot about…y’know, this kind of stuff, but I know you’ve been suffering. And man, you don’t…you don’t have to suffer.” Dean reaches for him, ‘cause he knows that physical affection will soften the blow. Not that he minds holding him, anyway.

The whole room’s suddenly quiet, save for the way Sam exhales into the crook of Dean’s arm, and the way the coarseness of Dean’s hand glides against the soft fabric of Sam’s t-shirt. 

“I think I am, too,” he murmurs, as if giving in, struggling to accept this thing that’s been haunting him for months now. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”

Dean holds him, moving his hand to Sam’s hair. “Maybe we should…” He swallows thickly. “Book an appointment with someone? And just…see what they say?” Two years – hell, even a year ago – he’d be against this. But…seeing the way this invisible force of grief is tearing through Sam is breaking his heart.

Honestly…he knows the feeling. And he doesn’t want that for Sam; he never has. 

“Okay,” Sam acquiesces after a minute. “I’ll…I’ll go. See someone.”

Dean can hear the fear in his voice. “I’ll come with you. Don’t worry. Okay? I have your back.” He squeezes him tightly. 

Sam nods, but he knows…eventually, at least part of this will come down to being in love with Dean, and not being able to tell him.

It always does; doctors can’t right this kind of wrong, even with drugs.