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Ruthie
Ruthie’s ankles ache from standing all day. Working at the diner pays the bills and gives her something to do in her older age, especially since all of her kids have moved out, but it can be exhausting work.
Luckily, tonight is a slow afternoon. At least, it is now that the lunch rush has settled.
There’s only three tables occupied at the moment.
A family of four: a mom, dad, toddler daughter, and baby that she guesses is also a girl considering her little tutu. They were an easy order. They knew what they wanted.
Old Rick is sitting in his usual seat by the window. He got his usual order, but it’s a pain in the ass that one. Damn specific. Even makes her count the ice cubes she puts into his iced tea.
The third table is taken up by two men she’s seen around, but not like this.
They haven’t been around much recently, but apparently have come in the last couple weeks. Must’ve moved back to town.
Pretty Lips (the blonde one who’s a real James Dean) ordered for him and Long Hair (really, he’s a real good lookin’ man, but the long hair just ain’t for her). He got himself a burger with all the fixings, fries, and a water and for his brother he got plain pancakes, the fruit salad (requested to be brought separated in different ramekins) and a glass of milk.
She doesn’t see the two for a while. She’s too busy helping in the back and cleaning. Their order is quick, though, and she brings it to them with a smile.
“Y’all enjoy your meal, ya hear?” she says.
“Thanks so much, sweetheart,” Pretty Lips says with a heartstopping grin.
She goes to clean up after the family who left a generous tip and watches the two men.
Pretty Lips cuts up Long Hair’s food for him. Small pieces, even smaller than usual bite sized pieces for a man his size. He also cuts his strawberries and grapes in half.
“Open up, Sammy.”
Long Hair shakes his head, eyes glued to the table.
“C’mon. Doesn’t this look delicious? Smells real good,” Pretty Lips coaxes.
Long Hair peeks up, looking at the piece of pancake that sits on the fork.
“Look good, don’t it?” Pretty Lips asks.
Long Hair stares at it blankly.
“Open up,” Pretty Lips says.
Hesitantly, Long Hair opens his mouth. Pretty Lips slides the pancake into his mouth.
“Gotta get it off the fork now, Sammy,” he murmurs.
Excruciatingly slow, Long Hair pulls it off, holding the pancake in his mouth.
“Don’t swallow that just yet,” Pretty Lips says. “You’ve gotta chew it.”
Long Hair chews for a long time, giving Pretty Lips enough time to take a few rushed bites into his burger.
When Long Hair finally swallows, Pretty Lips immediately puts his burger down.
They continue this cycle for a while, until Long Hair refuses to eat another bite of pancakes.
“You wanna try some fruit? I know how much you love your rabbit food.”
Long Hair doesn’t respond.
Pretty Lips sighs and slides a strawberry onto his fork. He brings it up to Long Hair’s lips, but he doesn’t open his mouth.
“C’mon, Sammy. You love strawberries.”
He shakes his head.
“Sam,” he says, firmer.
Long Hair stares at the fork with wide eyes, breaths growing ragged.
“Sam,” he says, more exasperated. “This is just a strawberry. It isn’t anything else. Whatever you think it is, it isn’t. Alright?”
Long Hair whines, loud and high. It’s almost a whimper.
“Sam,” he says, now becoming frustrated. “Just one day. One day without you—”
Long Hair huffs loudly.
“Sam,” he says, now sounding angry. “I am doing everything I can to… just, please, just eat the damn—”
Long Hair pushes the plate at Pretty Lips with another huff.
The family getting seated and Old Rick stop to gawk at them.
Pretty Lips’ face flushes in embarrassment and he covers his face with his hand, clearly exhausted. “Okay. Fine. You don’t want to eat? Then you’re not gonna eat. But don’t be bitchin’ at me when you’re hungry later.”
Long Hair’s head bows.
“No, no, shit. Sammy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You know I… I’m just so tired, and you… no, it’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Long Hair doesn’t respond. He stares at the table.
Pretty Lips sighs and collapses into his seat, head resting on the back of the booth. He looks down at his nearly empty plate and at Long Hair’s which still has three pancakes and all of his fruit.
He meets Ruthie’s eyes.
She ambles to the table with a smile. “You boys ready for your check?”
“That’d be great. Thank you. And can we take his to go?”
She nods. “You want the fruit in separate cups?”
He gives her a grateful smile. “That would be fantastic. Thank you.”
She takes their plates and heads back to bring them their box.
When she returns, Pretty Lips is murmuring to Long Hair whose eyes were as vacant as they were before.
Pretty Lips pays with cash and tells her to keep the change.
It was a damn good tip, too.
Lucas
No one wants to work at a Gas-n-Sip.
The pay is shitty, the hours are grueling, and the bathroom is in a constant state of nuclear hazard.
Lucas really doesn’t want to work at the Gas-n-Sip, but apparently when your psycho manager at Chick-Fil-A finds the whole transgender thing a bit too political and risque and accuses you from pocketing cash from the register, no one wants to hire you.
He just wants money for his testosterone. Okay? And his parents sure as hell aren’t going to pay for it.
They barely support the whole thing. In all honesty, he doesn’t think they even realize it’s really… real. They’re stuck in denial and have been for two years. They’re just waiting for their precious daughter to come back.
Well, she’s not, and he is wiping off red slushie from the Gas-N-Sip counter at 8PM on a school night because of how badly he wants to really feel like a boy.
Because he is. Even without the testosterone.
But, shit, he still wants it.
Lucas has the unfortunate schedule of 4PM-10PM on weekdays which means he not only gets the rush after the high school lets out, but he also gets rush hour.
It settles once the traffic dies down, but then he’s left with the weirdos who come to a gas station at 8PM.
And this guy is definitely ticking a lot of boxes for his “Gas-n-Sip Weirdo Bingo.”
The dude is tall. Like, crazy tall. Giant tall. Gotta be at least 6’4”. Maybe taller if he wasn’t slouching like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
His arms are wrapped around his torso tightly and his eyes are darting around the store like he doesn’t know how he got there.
Alarms are blaring in Lucas’s head. ‘Major red flags, man!’ they’re telling him. But even though the dude seems a little unhinged, he’s not causing any trouble.
Lucas, being the amazing sales associate he is, plasters on a polite smile. “Hi. You need help finding anything?”
Giant Man’s head snaps up. Well, up from the floor, but not that much up because Lucas is 5’3’ on a good day. “I… I, I, I… I always… when we come, he always— he always and I always— I have to—” His brows furrow. “I don’t remember why. Why am I here? He, he, he gets the gas and I… he told me to stay but I don’t stay. I come in and I, and I, and I…” He taps his head with his palm. “I can’t remember. I can’t remember. I can’t remember.”
“Hey, buddy, it’s alright,” Lucas says, trying to deescalate the situation as best he can.
Lucas is not good at this. He’s never been good at the whole calming someone down thing. When Celeste Lopez’s shitty boyfriend broke up with her after they got off the bus from their field trip to Mount Rushmore, he told her that he probably hasn’t loved her in a long time anyway if he was cheating on her with Brooke for so long.
Yeah. He’s not the best at reading situations.
Giant Man’s curls even tighter into himself, which Lucas totally didn’t think was possible at all, and began to gnaw nervously at his lip. “He would get gas and I would come in. He would… he gets gas and I would come in. But why? Why, why, why?”
“Are you guys on a road trip?” Lucas asks, trying to ooze as much casualness despite his inner panic.
He stops and nods slowly. “On the road,” he murmurs. His voice and posture shifts, as if he’s speaking as someone else. “Let’s hit the road, Sammy!” His lips curve up. “And on the road means… means…” His eyes light up. “Dean gets gas and I get snacks.”
Lucas sighs a breath of relief. “Snacks. We’ve got those.”
Giant Man, now searching the aisles with manic eyes, sits on the floor by the shelves and begins to pick each individual item and read it slowly, mouthing the words to himself.
Lucas stares at him incredulously, not sure of what to do.
Giant Man grows more and more distressed as he continues to read, tapping his head with his palm again.
With a burst of confidence, Lucas asks, “Do you… need help finding snacks?”
He looks at Lucas, head tilted slightly. “I don’t know what he wants. He… I can’t remember. It’s been too long. Too long, not there, not there , not here.”
Lucas hesitantly leaves the safe haven behind the counter and joins him by the shelves. “Well, I’d say the staples are beef jerky, a dry snack — my recommendation is, and will always be cheese ball — and a coupla drinks. If you can’t decide on a drink, water’s always a safe bet. Hydration and all of that.” Lucas shrugs awkwardly.
“Can you… show me?” Giant Man asks tentatively.
“No problem, dude. Kinda my job.” Lucas grabs him a basket and fills it with the dry snacks. “You can go look in the fridge for drinks. Holler if you need anything.” He hands him the basket and heads back to behind the counter.
Giant Man stares at the contents for a long moment and approaches the fridge. He goes to grab a drink but his hand meets the glass of the door.
“You’ve gotta open it,” Lucas says, completely bewildered by this strange man.
His face lights up in realization, as if he didn’t even think of that. He opens it and goes completely rigid. The basket drops from his hands. “No!” He screams, his voice raw and rough.
Lucas flinches, frozen in shock.
Giant Man falls to the floor sliding so his back is against the shelf, one hand raised in defense and the other curled around his torso. He shivers violently as he shakes his head. “Please! No more. Not again. No more.”
The door slams open and a tall, hunky blonde rushes in. He bolts to Giant Man’s side, slamming the fridge shut and sitting in front of him, making an obvious point to not touch him.
“Sammy. Sammy, it’s alright. You’re safe. You’re not there.”
“No, please! Not Dean! Only me! Don’t hurt him!”
“Sam!” he barks. “Look at me,” he says, voice soft and gentle. “C’mon. I know you can do it.”
Sam’s head peaks up for a moment, but he buries it behind his arm again.
“Nope. C’mon. Look at me.”
When Sam’s head slowly rises, the blonde, Dean apparently, smiles warmly.
“Dean?” Sam asks meekly.
“Got it in one, bud.”
“Real?” Sam reaches a trembling hand to caress Dean’s face.
“Real as the sun in the sky. Speaking of the sun, did you know that sunglasses were originally designed for Chinese judges to hide their facial expressions in court?”
Sam chuckles softly. “Real.”
“Were you gonna get me some snacks for the road?” Dean asks.
“You get gas. I get snacks,” Sam says, voice small.
“Yeah. That’s what we used to do.” Dean’s grin grows wider. “You remembered?”
Sam nods.
“Do you want to go back to the car and warm up while I get the snacks? I’ll even get you some peanut butter. I’ll get us a couple spoons and you can get some good protein in ya.”
Lucas can’t see Sam, but he’s guessing that he’s smiling.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Dean says lowly.
“I, I, I can go,” Sam says.
“Okay. I’ll be there in just a minute.”
Sam yanks him into a tight hug which makes Dean let out a startled laugh.
Sam pulls himself off the floor without any assistance from Dean and shuffles out of the store, turning the last minute to give Lucas a small wave.
Dean refills the basket and grabs a water and cream soda before sauntering to the register. Though his feigned nonchalance was very polished, Lucas could see the exhaustion in his eyes.
“Long drive?” Lucas asks.
“Hm?” Dean asks, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Oh, no. Just, running some late night errands. Good to get out of the house.”
Lucas nods, not really understanding the sentiment. “That’ll be $15.62.”
“Jesus,” Dean says under his breath. “Right. Sorry.” He places a twenty on the counter.
Lucas rushes to get the change and nearly throws it into his hand. “Have a good night.”
Dean gives him a small smile. “You too, kid.”
Lucas watches as he slides into the driver’s seat of the car that looks like the toy car that he stole from his older brother as a kid and drives away.
Honestly? Not the weirdest thing that’s happened at the Gas-n-Sip.
Emilio
It’s a warm October morning in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
Emilio is sitting at his favorite table in the park, working on his fifth draft of his screenplay before he sends it off to the editors. He sips at his lukewarm cinnamon flat white and squints at his laptop screen.
He just can’t figure out how to make the dialogue less clunky. He’s too close to it, he knows that. He just needs a fresh mindset.
Most importantly, though, he needs to do some people watching.
The best way to master realistic dialogue is to observe natural dialogue in the making. He pulls out his headphones and scans the park.
At the playground are five people, two adults and three children. They don’t seem to know each other, but a man — well past middle aged, wearing a button up that was too loose at the top and too tight at the bottom, most likely there with grandchildren — is flirting with a woman — young twenties, gorgeous curls, in athletic wear, no wedding ring — who looks extremely uncomfortable.
The woman’s daughter (he presumes because they share the same dark skin tone) is on the swings, not going very far. Most likely too afraid of heights but still enjoys the motions of the swings.
At the sandpit are two little boys, one older than the other by about a year, about three and four he would guess. The elder obviously loves the younger sibling and guides him into building a sand castle with the slightly damp sand.
The younger sibling doesn’t care about making a sandcastle and is more enamored by the way sand glistens in the sunlight.
The only conversation he can pick up is nonsense babble from the child (which isn’t helpful for his dialogue between two adults) and the one-sided flirting between the woman and man (which he just doesn’t want to listen to).
He turns the other way and sees two men sitting on a bench.
They both wear many layers, neutral colors, warm flannel, worn jeans.
The taller man looks… uncomfortable. His eyes are darting rapidly around the park while the other man is seemingly oblivious, his arm around the back of the bench, talking about vapid nothing.
The taller man is nodding, trying to look interested, but his mind is far away. He makes eye contact with Emilio and freezes, quickly averting his gaze back to the man beside him.
When his head turns, his hair falls into his face, but it doesn’t look like he intends on moving it.
The smaller man — cocky, heartthrob, gruff — stops and brushes the hair behind the taller man’s ear. He flinches.
The smaller man goes still, face darkening, though also filled with concern.
“I’m going to go get you a drink, okay, Sammy? I’ll be right back,” the smaller man says.
Emilio doesn’t hear it, but the smaller man’s mouth says “thank you.”
When the smaller man walks away to the vending machine by the bathrooms, Emilio feels the magnetic pull forcing him out of his seat and to the taller man.
The taller man closes his eyes, turning his face towards the sun as if to soak up all the warmth he can. Emilio’s grandad does that too. A deep pit rumbles in his stomach telling him that this man doesn’t get to go outside much.
Emilio sits down, leaving lots of space between them.
The taller man opens his eyes and looks at him with timid, frightened eyes.
“I had a guy like him once,” Emilio tells him. “He knew all the right things to say. Romantic, so romantic. He knew how to sweep me off my feet.”
The man’s brows furrow tightly.
“But, of course, when I got comfortable and I felt safe, it… it wasn’t so safe anymore.” Emilio takes a breath. “It’s none of my business, but just know that you don’t have to stay with him. No matter how much you love him, no matter how much you think he loves you, that doesn’t make it okay. You don’t deserve the hurt. You don’t deserve anything but kindness and happiness and real safety.”
This seems to confuse the man more. “Dean… doesn’t hurt me. He never… never if he doesn’t mean to. Never unless he couldn’t… unless he didn’t…” He swallows thickly. “He would never… not… he never meant to… and he doesn’t now…”
“He shouldn’t have ever,” Emilio interrupts. “No one should hurt you.”
“But…” The man takes a long pause. “But people do. People have. They hurt me. A lot.”
Emilio’s breath hitches. “Do you need me to call someone for you?”
The man shakes his head, a small, innocent smile on his lips. “No thank you. I’m okay.”
“But…”
“Hey, Sammy. You make a new friend?”
Emilio looks up and is greeted by “Sammy’s” companion. He holds two water bottles and gives him a wary smile, his eyes calculating and untrusting.
“I was just leaving,” Emilio says, jumping off the bench.
“It was… nice to… meet you,” Sammy says, as though the phrase is foreign to him.
Emilio curses himself silently as he returns to his table, expecting to see “Dean” giving Sammy a hard time, one prompted by Emilio’s recklessness.
Instead, he sees Dean opening Sammy’s water bottle and guiding it to his hands with a soft smile. He babbles again, talking about nothing, praising him for talking to a stranger.
Sammy smiles and sips at his water slowly.
Dean ruffles his hair and puts his arm back around his shoulders.
Emilio is stumped. Maybe he got it wrong.
Cha-eun
Chae-eun hates grocery shopping. If not only because it was tedious with how grocery stores annoyingly often rearrange to make people have to wander and impulsively buy more items but also because of how distracted Seo-yun gets.
She loves her son. He’s the light of her life. But if he tries to eat the coffee grounds that spilled on the cart seat one more time, she’s going to lose her mind.
She is a wonderful mother, very benevolent, and has decided that Seo-yun can get one new toy. His favorite stuffed animal met an unfortunate demise by Cocker Spaniel this last Saturday and now he can’t take it to Show and Tell.
She has a plan as she heads to the toy aisle. She’ll pull him out of the cart seat and park the cart on the side she knows he won’t gravitate towards. She’ll let him admire the many stuffed animals on the shelves and give him six minutes maximum. She’ll gently (though slightly impatiently) guide him to find the one and then they can grab the vegetables for supper and head home.
However, what she hadn’t been expecting is a man with shaggy brown hair sitting criss cross applesauce in front of the stuffed animals, picking them one by one off of the shelf and squeezing them softly.
He smiles innocently at them all, swaying slightly as he sits.
“You’ve got kids?” she asks him, trying to announce her presence.
He looks up and tilts his head. “Bagle biab g brita de ol?”
“Oh, sorry, I don’t speak…” She trails off. “Do you not speak English?” she says, enunciating the words.
He just stares at her with a curious gaze. He turns back to the stuffed animals and continues to pull them off and squeeze them.
As much as she believes that this man has no ill intent, she doesn’t quite trust her child near him.
So, she grabs a few toys off the shelf and brings them over to Seo-yun, showing them one by one to see what piques his interest.
Seo-yun doesn’t bother with them, though. Instead, his eyes are locked on the toy giraffe that the man holds. Which happens to be the last one on the shelf.
The man isn’t putting this one back on the shelf. He squeezes it for a long minute and Che-eun really doesn’t have the time for this.
She taps him on the shoulder and he recoils back, dropping the toy and slamming his back against the shelves.
Che-eun jolts back, startled. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The man begins to mumble the strange language under his breath, grabbing the toy and squeezing it tightly to his chest.
Che-eun really doesn’t know what to do. He isn’t a scared kid. He’s a grown man who apparently doesn’t speak any English and who is very, very freaked out.
She’s about to go grab help when a frantic footsteps approach.
A tall blonde man stops at the end of the aisle. He sighs in relief. “There you are. God, you can’t keep scarin' me like that.”
The brunette man looks up, eyes wide.
“You can’t just run off like that,” the blonde man says, voice stern but soft. He looks at the stuffed giraffe with a raised eyebrow. “What’d’ya got there?”
He holds it up as if to present it and squishes the toy in his giant hands.
The blonde laughs. “Yeah, we can get that. If it’ll make you happy.”
The brunette beams at him and holds it close to his chest again.
“Sorry for the bother,” the blonde says. “He’s… he’s got some PTSD issues.”
Che-eun’s eyebrows shoot up. “Has he been overseas?”
The blonde nods. “Yeah. Something like that. He’s just having some trouble readjusting.” His expression grows darker. “He didn’t…?”
“No! Nothing. He’s been completely fine. If anything, I’m sorry for startling him.”
“Don’t worry about it. It ain’t your fault.” He squats next to the brunette and taps him lightly on the shoulder. “C’mon, Sammy. Time to go.”
Sammy takes hold of the blonde’s hand and pulls himself off the ground.
Seo-yun watches as the man walks away with the giraffe and big crocodile tears bubble in his eyes.
Che-eun sighs. It’s gonna be a long day.
Oscar
When you’re a hunter, there are some simple facts to life. However, the newest one, but one that everyone knows:
If the Winchester brothers are there, then there’s trouble.
So, when Oscar is on a walk through Palisades State Park with his wife and daughter and he spots Sam and Dean Winchester lurking around, he knows something’s up.
They’re not in their usual gear. Sam Winchester is in a puffy winter coat with a fluffy scarf and thick mittens on. He’s even wearing an ushanka, a big, ugly, fluffy thing.
Dean Winchester looks more prepared for whatever hunt they’ve got. He’s wearing his usual layers and Oscar can see the bulge of weapons on his person, though well hidden.
Sam’s hands are swinging limply by his sides, slightly swaying as he takes slow steps.
Dean is chattering away, a bright, toothy grin spread on his face, hands gesticulating wildly.
Oscar turns to his wife and gives her an apologetic smile. “Tracey, why don’t you and Annabelle have some trail mix?”
Her eyes go hard. “Annabelle?” she calls sweetly. “You want some nummies?”
Their daughter’s eyes light up. “Nummy-nums!”
“Stay safe,” Tracey whispers before kissing him on the cheek.
Oscar gives a short nod and follows the two men, hand ghosting his weapon in his jeans.
They are deep in the forest which doesn’t bode well. Whatever they’re hunting must be hidden well. Nymph? Ajatar? Leshy? His heart is racing as he gets closer.
His blood goes cold when he hears Sam Winchester let out a raw, guttural scream. He whips his gun out and approaches quietly but quickly.
He hides behind a tree and tries to get a clear look at what they’re dealing with.
“Get your hands off of him!” Sam yells.
Oscar freezes.
“Take me instead!" Sam pleads. "Please, take me! Don’t you touch him!”
“Sam! Calm down!” Dean shouts back.
“Please,” Sam’s voice breaks, almost a sob, “don’t hurt him. He didn’t do anything. I was the one who trapped you. I’m the one you want.”
“Sam, he’s not there,” Dean says slowly.
“I promise I’ll be good to you. I won’t fight back. I’ll let you have whatever you want with me. Just don’t touch him. Please.”
“Sam, listen to me. You’re at Palisades National Park. You’re not there anymore.”
Sam lets out an even more broken sob. “No, please, what more can you want? I’ve given you all I have. You already have my soul. You’ve torn it to shreds piece by piece with your grace and rebuilt me again and again. I am… I’m nothing without you! You’ve made me everything I am. I’m, I’m, I’m grateful. Is that what you want to hear?”
Dean lets out a sound like he’s being punched in the gut. “Sam…”
‘What the hell is this?’ Oscar thinks, trying to pick up clues. When he peaks over, there’s nothing there.
“T-that’s right,” Sam says, voice quiet and weak. “I… I am nothing. And I never will be. Not without you.”
Dean makes a choked noise. “Sammy,” he says, voice obviously hurt.
There’s a loud rustle of leaves as Sam skitters away from Dean’s touch.
“Sam,” Dean says, voice light and inviting. “Feel the breeze on your face. Smell the trees and the grass. It’s so fresh. It’s so real. The bark smells just like that old table Bobby had when we were kids. We used to play cards on that table and when you spilled your juice, the scent soaked in for years.
“The grass smells just like the field we went to Fourth of July, 1996. It had rained the night before so it was still a little damp and got stuck in the soles of our shoes. The leaves crunch just like they did the first time we got to make a leaf pile. It was after that hunt, just a simple salt and burn, and the cemetery was just covered in leaves. We picked them up with our hands and made a pile and jumped in it ‘til they were just shards of leaves.
“I… remember that,” Sam says slowly.
“Speaking of leaves, did you know that the most leaves ever found on a clover is fifty six?”
Sam looks up. “Dean?”
“Yeah, Sammy. It’s me.”
“Real?”
“Would a fake me know that squirrels are behind most power outages in the United States?” Dean asks.
“Real,” Sam says, satisfied.
“How are you feeling?” Dean asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
Feeling like he’s intruding on something extremely personal, Oscar retreats away silently.
When he returns to his wife and daughter, they’re picking out shapes in the clouds.
“Daddy, daddy! I say that cloud looks like an el-e-phant but mommy sayses it looks like a truck.”
Oscar looks up at the clouds. “I think I see an elephant too.”
Dean
To an outsider, it may seem like there’s nothing left of Sam inside of this husk of a man. But Dean sees it.
He sees it when Sam’s lips curl up minutely, just a bare whisper of a smile when he gets a whiff of freshly brewed coffee.
He sees it when Sam hums a tuneless tune while he takes a bath, lathering his long locks until they’re covered in suds.
He sees it when Sam leans into his touches instead of flinching, making him linger his touch just a little longer because he knows he needs it.
Sam is still there. He may be battered and bruised but he is not broken beyond repair. He still sucks on his chocolates instead of biting them and he still wears his ridiculous neon socks and he still turns the couch pillows to the other side before lying down.
Sam is healing. Sam needs time.
And Dean will be damned if he isn’t there by his side every step of the way.
Dean loves his little brother, loves him no matter what, no matter how bad he may fuck up, and that’s a lot. Dean loves his little brother despite how much of a pain in the ass he can be. Dean loves his brother and he knows he loves him too, though he doesn’t know how he possibly can after everything he's done.
Dean loves his little brother, however much of him is left, and he’s not going anywhere. Not again.