[ There's another smile there, but it's less because of Sam and more because of Dean's words. Because she can never help the swell of warmth at sibling affection and when she's countless drinks down there's no way of hiding that. (And should anyone really want to hide their delight at that? Probably not.) She can't help it the same way she - or at least, her dream-self - couldn't help the bragging about her totally smart totally a genius younger brother who better be going to one of the best universities in the world in seven years so help her god.
(He didn't. He should have. It's still her fault and her failure. Her fault for acquiescing and keeping all these things between them - she could have alerted someone, anyone. It didn't even have to be the family friends that took them in, just someone who could deny his wants better than she ever could.
He got what he wanted and she did things she was too good at and ignored her own wants in the process.)
But instead he's seven years dead and fuck, even when she thinks she's used to no white noise in her head at all, it all comes rushing back. Dreams where he appears in the Colosseum, fighting off Creatures or some random monster of the month, and the noise is just so vivid, so realistic that she wakes up with her chest aching when everything goes dark again. ] I'll- [ The sentence starts and stops before she even really knows what she's about to say, but there's that sibling need simmering - that fuck she really likes this guy need burning just as strongly (the one she thought was non-existent for all but friendship, when there really was no time to concentrate on anything about romance): the ones that say protect protect protect because the last thing she needs (that any of them need) is more loss.
(She is still too damn terrified of that possibility. That she's opened herself up to way more hurt by letting Sam crawl under her skin like this, here where people can be killed over and over again or just disappear into the ether without fanfare or goodbyes.) ] -try and make sure he doesn't. [ Change. Try because guaranteeing that would be impossible.
But she wants to try. She has to try, because this damn place will do everything to change all of them. ]
THAT... IS ONE WAY OF PUTTING IT...
(He didn't. He should have. It's still her fault and her failure. Her fault for acquiescing and keeping all these things between them - she could have alerted someone, anyone. It didn't even have to be the family friends that took them in, just someone who could deny his wants better than she ever could.
He got what he wanted and she did things she was too good at and ignored her own wants in the process.)
But instead he's seven years dead and fuck, even when she thinks she's used to no white noise in her head at all, it all comes rushing back. Dreams where he appears in the Colosseum, fighting off Creatures or some random monster of the month, and the noise is just so vivid, so realistic that she wakes up with her chest aching when everything goes dark again. ] I'll- [ The sentence starts and stops before she even really knows what she's about to say, but there's that sibling need simmering - that fuck she really likes this guy need burning just as strongly (the one she thought was non-existent for all but friendship, when there really was no time to concentrate on anything about romance): the ones that say protect protect protect because the last thing she needs (that any of them need) is more loss.
(She is still too damn terrified of that possibility. That she's opened herself up to way more hurt by letting Sam crawl under her skin like this, here where people can be killed over and over again or just disappear into the ether without fanfare or goodbyes.) ] -try and make sure he doesn't. [ Change. Try because guaranteeing that would be impossible.
But she wants to try. She has to try, because this damn place will do everything to change all of them. ]