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They were each other’s first loves before they knew it was wrong.
They were each other’s loves when they were trapped in dingy motel for weeks. Alone with nothing but each other as company, alone with their fears and doubts about the world around them, alone with only each other to console.
They were each other’s loves when they’d spend 15 hours a day in the Impala, desperately trying to out run authorities. Desperate glance out the back window were only eased by hands linking together, thumbs drawing circles against skin.
Even when Sam left, they were still each other’s loves.
When Sam would cry, his brother was his heartache.
When Dean would pound back shot after shot and start bloody fights, Sam was in his eyes.
They were each other’s loves when their father died and when the world fell apart around them. When there was no one and nothing left, them against the world, they fell back into the habit of being each other’s everything.
When they were alone in a crowd of thousands, they still had each other. When they were alone in a war against hell…they still found their peace in each other.