Sam’s body is a temple, the alter Dean kneels at when things get heavy. Sometimes he speaks like he has better places to be, but he still touches Sam like they don’t have each other’s blood on their hands, like Sam’s body is the only heaven that will take him in. He’s a martyr for lost causes, so he keeps setting himself up to fall down on his knees, because the view is so beautiful from below, his brother’s lips half-parted like he’s looking for the right words to describe how good it feels when he lays his dignity at his feet. They could part seas with their love. It’s a constant battle of vices overpowering virtues, that’s a fact Dean has screamed to any god willing to listen, and he’s tried to seek solace in scripture, but their sins are greater shelter than any steeple. Dean knows. Dad used to say every saint has a past, every sinner has a future, so Dean is lost when he can’t remember life before Sam, or life after Sam, or the spaces in between. Dean says Sam’s name in a voice like a prayer, always whispering so the angels don’t hear. He could spend the rest of his life fighting off Sam’s demons as if he doesn’t have enough on his own. It’s a bad religion, but it’s the only one that listens.