It's Just a Nightmare
Sam Winchester was known to have nightmares. Intense, scary images flashing in front of his eyes, coming out in violently tossing and turning from the bed beside Dean's, causing his brother to run to Sam and force him awake. Other times coming out in a shake of his big brother's hand and a cry or plead. Dean didn't think Sam ever knew what he really was pleading for. He didn't want any particular from Dean other than his presence, and for his voice to say something that would make it better. Dean only realized how scary dreams could be the first time his little brother had one. Dean remembered it well, cuz he wasn't sure he knew how to deal with it. Sam was three years old. Their Dad was away again. - A hunt that might have been the thing that killed their mom. Sam couldn't know. Sam could never know. Dean had a book. Classics Illustrated Comic Book. Every night he read to Sam to get him to sleep. Dad did care about both of his sons, he used to read to Dean when he was little... Now Dean felt old, and his Dad wasn't the same anymore. They were in a war, Dad used to say. That meant Dean had to be a soldier. And Sam was never going to be a soldier. Sammy had to be protected.
An hour after Dad had left Dean put Sam into his bed and lay beside him. He picked up the book and saw Sam's eyes glowing with anticipation. That always gave Dean a good feeling, like he was doing something right. Dean started reading one of the stories. Knights of the Round Table. Sam laid his cheek against Dean's upper arm clinging to it so tight it was almost hard for Dean to turn the page. "The End." Dean said, and looked over at Sam. He could see he looked kind of thoughtful, too thoughtful for a three year old, Dean figured. Dean smiled a little at him. "Okay, bedtime." Sam didn't let go of his arm, so he figured he'd just stay there. "Cool story huh?" Dean tried and watched his brother. Once his brother had fallen asleep, Dean gently pried away to go slip into his own bed. Dean was glad to finally see him sleeping peacefully. Now it was his turn, he figured. He was exhausted. He was always so worried that Dad wouldn't come home, and that Sam would be upset when Dad left. Sam was never too upset about Dad going away when he was this young. Though if Dean just went out of his sight for a little while, sometimes he swore Sam couldn't deal with it at all.
Dean was a little proud of that after all. He liked the feeling of being needed by his little brother. Dad was a superhero, and Dean was too young to help out there. He knew he was important... Sometimes Dad would come home looking all sad and scared. Dean knew he had to take care of his brother and his family. He knew that that was his job, but he wasn't a superhero like Dad. Even so, that's exactly what he was in his brother's eyes, and that felt good. He swore he would never give up his job. He swore that from he was four years old, seeing that ugly fire. The fire that had burnt into his memory, like a picture right behind his eyes that he could always go back to. But he didn't want to go back to it, not ever. Those pictures you'd rather get rid of, those are the ones who get stuck. And the ones you want to remember forever, those are the ones who fade so easily.
Dean bit his lip as whimpering from the bed beside him interrupted his train of thoughts. "Sammy?" he said before even turning around. His brother was tossing and turning in bed, and Dean felt his throat tighten, and a fist low in his stomach squeezing his inside so hard he was barely able to get up from his own bed and over to his own.
"Take care of Sammy." Dad's voice rang in his ears over and over. Dad wasn't there. Oh God. Was Sammy sick? Was it a demon? Was he...? "Nonononono. Dean, get a grip..." he whispered to himself.
It wasn't until Sam opened his mouth that Dean realized what was happening to him. "No..." his brother whispered in his sleep, and there was so much fear behind the little two-lettered word that it made Dean shudder. Sam was having a nightmare. "Sammy, wake up!" He laid his hands on his shoulders and sat him up. "Sammy!" Sam opened his eyes, he was panting, and it wasn't long until two big tears fell from those big eyes staring at Dean. Dean felt his heart clench. He pulled his brother into his lap and wrapped his arms around him. "It's okay, Sammy, it was just a bad dream."
"Dean..." his brother said. "Dean..."
"I'm here," Dean answered reassuringly. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, cuz that's what their mom used to say to him when he was upset. He remembered that. And then they slept in that bed together. "It's just a nightmare."
Sam Winchester kept having nightmares every now and then. When he was 14, he came over to Dean tears in his eyes shaking his brother awake from his sleep. Dean startled awake looking at him. "Sammy? What's wrong?" No matter how tired Dean was, he never took long to wake up if he thought something was wrong with Sam. "I had a nightmare..." he whispered. Dean sighed softly. He hated it when Sam had them. They scared him so badly. Dean lifted the covers and scooted over in his bed. Sam didn't take long to accept the invitation, and he crawled into Dean's bed beside his brother. Sam sniffled. "What was it about, huh?" Dean asked softly ruffling his brother's hair gently. It took a while before Sam spoke up, like usual. "Dad didn't come home..." he sniffled again.
"Dad's fine, Sam." Dean said, making sure every word sounded solid as a rock to Sam's ears.
- More solid than they truly felt. Sometimes Dean wasn't sure himself. "He's coming home tomorrow, you know that Sammy..." he said softly. "Okay?" Sam just nodded, and Dean lay down. "You'll feel better when you wake up," Dean said. And then they slept in that bed together. "It's just a nightmare."
Dad came back, not the next day, but two days later. That's when Sam and his Dad had had their first big fight. "I want to go my own way!" Sam had shouted, and his Dad had shouted back. He had gotten that idea from some teacher at some school. Dean had tried to stop them, just like he would for the next nine years. - But to no use. Those two were always butting heads. "I'm leaving," had been Sam's last sentence before he'd left. He hadn't come back for several days, and Dean had been terrified. Eight Years later Sam left again. This fight was bigger. - Bigger than ever. Dean had never felt so alone. The one he had used to be a hero for had ran away from him. He never picked up the phone and called. - Except once.
"Dean..."
"Sammy?"
Dean was sure this phone call from Stanford meant something had sliced him up, left him on the ground to die, and now he was calling Dean to say bye. His breath hitched, and he clenched his hands into fists. "What's wrong?"
But Sammy was okay. "I... Nothing's wrong Dean. I just wanted to hear… if... if you were doing alright... I just couldn't sleep."
Dean released his breath. "Yeah, Sam, I'm fine. I mean... Dad and I are still huntin', we..." Sam interrupted him. "I had a nightmare." Dean frowned, not expecting that confession. "I had a nightmare, Dean, and you're not here..." Dean could hear his brother was crying and his heart clenched painfully in his chest. "I'm here, Sammy..." Sam went silent for a while. "You wanna talk about it?" Dean asked. "Not really." Sam didn't want to talk anymore, Dean thought. When they were kids he couldn't wait to pour his heart out to his brother every day about everything. He asked so many question, questions Dean didn't even have the answers to. Even less, answers he didn't want Sam to know.
Now Sam had too many answers. And they had hurt him. "I'm only a phone call away, man... And... And I miss you." Dean swallowed hard. Words didn't come easily to him. He'd rather just lift the covers and let Sam crawl into bed with him, and wrap an arm around him. But it wasn't like either of them ever would admit that that was what they both wished for. "I know, Dean. Thanks." And then he hung up, and Dean looked at his phone for a long time. It felt weird to have comforted his brother without him really being there. Without feeling the warmth of his body next to him. Without hearing the soft puffs of his breath as he slowly fell back to sleep, knowing he was the one who had soothed him back into safe sleep, feeling like a hero again, but knowing he really wasn't. He let the phone down beside him. "It was just a nightmare," he whispered to himself. And then he slept in his bed, knowing Sam would sleep safe in his, at least for this night.
After hunting evil again alongside his brother, Sam had grieved his girlfriend's death, he had grieved his father's death, and he had worried himself and his brother with psychic abilities none of them wanted to own. But Sam knew he did, and that he wouldn't get rid of them. Dean got used to his brother's nightmares to get even more intense. Two brothers dying in Michigan, a doctor getting hit by a bus, a woman burning to death, Dean killing a young man. Sam had seen a lot, and Dean knew it scared him. "I'm scared, Dean," he had said. And the truth was, Dean had been scared too. Scared of what it all had meant. They had gotten some answers, but the consequences had been horrible. Sam had died.
"No!"
Dean had run to his brother, but it had been too late. He had run to his brother the same way Sam had run to him for the very first time he ever ran. Once he had been sure he was gone, Dean had held him that way for a long time, and he had made up his mind right away. Sam wasn't staying dead. How could he ever? He had lain him down on the wooden table, run his hand over his hair and gathered his hands gently over his stomach squeezing one of them, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "It's just a nightmare," he had whispered, and let his tears fall for his little brother.
And when Dean had sold his soul for Sam to keep on living... that's when Sam's nightmare had started. The trickster had tricked them again, fooling Sam into living one Tuesday after the other, each one of them all the same except him. And at the end of every Tuesday had his nightmare been: Dean died. When it had turned Wednesday, Sam had begged Dean to hurry and pack his bags cuz they had to get out of there. But Dean had been shot, and Sam's nightmare had only continued. His brother had died and stayed dead for months. Sam had to hunt without him.
"Bring him back..." Sam pleaded. And then he was back to that Wednesday before it all happened, and he hugged his brother so close, feeling him, smelling his scent of coffee and alcohol and leather and shampoo, and just Dean… And everything was okay again – for a little while.
Dean grabbed his bag and went to the door. Sam wanted to even go together to the parking lot. Dean figured the Trickster hadn't been easy on him, but all he had told Dean was all the tuesdays he had been through, and that they had to get out of there. Together. Dean stopped by the door and looked at his brother closing his bag. He looked pale. Worried. Scared even.
- And so incredibly sad. "Hey, you don't look so good. Somethin' else happened?"
"Just had a really weird dream..."
Dean tried to lighten the mood. "Clowns or midgets?" Sam tried to smile back, but Dean could tell it didn't reach his eyes. He went to the car, and Sam followed shortly after. Sam stayed silent the whole ride. They didn't have a new job yet, so they just drove off as far as they could. Sam wanted to get out of there badly, and Dean didn't mind, not at all. Dean wanted to turn to his brother and ask him to tell him what had really happened, all of it. Dean realized that he had died over and over, a lot of Tuesdays. He guessed that had taken its toll on his brother, and he didn't blame him. The Trickster and everyone around them screwed with them.
"Because I've been looking up to you since I was four, Dean. Studying you, trying to be just like my big brother, so yeah I know you. Better than anyone else in the entire world."
Sam's words rang in his ears. He knew Dean. He knew he was scared of going to Hell. That's part of why he hadn't lied anymore. After saving Bobby from his own nightmares, Dean had told him the truth. "I don't wanna die. I don't wanna go to Hell." And Sam had told him that they'd find a way to save him. He trusted Sam, but he'd never blame him if they couldn't. It wasn't his fault. Now he was sitting turned against the window, forehead resting against the cool glass, but his eyes were still open.
"Sam, maybe you should get some rest...?" Dean tried. Sam just quickly shook his head, as if Dean had suggested something terrible. "Why not?" Dean asked. "I know the Tuesdays were bad, man, but it's over. Get some sleep. You look awful..."
"You died..." Sam whispered facing Dean now. Looking straight at him. "On a Wednesday." Dean's eyes softened, but were still fixed on the road. That's what made Sam so upset: his big brother's death. - His final death. "You died, and I couldn't save you!" Suddenly he was sobbing and Dean felt each sob like a punch to his gut. "Heyheyhey... Sammy come on," Dean said turning the car over, stopping. "I'm fine. A nightmare can't kill me..."
"It's not a nightmare, Dean! It's real! Your time is running out, man, and you're still going to Hell. You're still going to leave me. I can't... How can I let you go...?"
"Sammy..."
"Dean, you died... You died, and I had to live without you for six months... His tears fell. The Tri-ickster..." Dean nodded knowing the rest. "I'm here now. Okay?" Sam snorted and looked away.
"Sam, look. We'll figure it out. But if you can't save me... It's not your fault. It never was, Sammy..."
"You're not going to Hell." Sam was panting slightly now looking panicked, so Dean grabbed his shoulders gently taking him into his embrace. "Shh, okay Sammy..." he whispered. "Okay, I won't. We will figure it out." Sam leaned into his brother's embrace, letting his hands clutch the jacket Dean was wearing like it was his lifebuoy. Dean just tightened his hold. He wanted to show Sam it would really be okay.
Dean felt Sam's heart pound against his own chest. "Shh, calm down..." And after a while his sobs and desperate tears subsided. "How did you get back? Or… how did I get back?" Dean frowned confused at himself for a second. "The Trickster I guess... He realized I wasn't giving up." Sam's jaw clenched, and so did Dean's heart. Sam hadn't given up even if Dean had been dead for six months.
"You're not going to Hell..." Sam whispered again, sad and frustrated, and stubborn as hell, just like always. Just like Dean.
"It was just a nightmare... It'll be fine, you'll see."
"It will," Sam nodded.
And then they stayed in the Impala until they both fell asleep in that car together.
But it wouldn't. It wouldn't be fine. Dean died. Dean was sliced up by hellhounds at midnight, and Sam was alone. Bobby tried to look out for him, make sure he was okay, calling him again and again, but Sam was alone. It felt like his world, everything he knew, all his life, had been ripped to shreds. Sam tried everything to find Lillth, so that he could kill her and get revenge for Dean's death. Ruby had been there. She wanted him to use his powers, but he didn't know. He wasn't sure what he was doing. All he knew was that Dean wasn't there, and that he would do anything for his brother to come back, or at least get his revenge. Dean would want him to kill her... Everything sucked. He wanted to climb into Hell and get his brother out. But he knew that would only make it worse, and Dean wouldn't want that.
He'd lie down in whatever bed he got, and just try not to think at all. This time he had gotten two queens in his room, even if he'd asked for one. Or had he asked for two? Sam didn't remember. Sometimes he felt like he got things mixed up, like the days and dates. They all seemed so alike, but too different. Behind his eyelids Sam could see the hellhounds over again. Dean's blood showing in places Dean's blood shouldn't show. "Dean!" – Then Dean dead. He lifted Dean up, but he was gone. Never would Dean talk again, sing loudly, make stupid jokes or look at Sam with concern in his eyes. Never would Dean breathe.
Sam woke up in bed panting. "It's just a dream..." came to his mind, and he sat up feeling the other bed there, ready to go over to Dean to seek his comfort. "I had a..." Sam saw the empty bed. Dean wasn't there. That's the first time Sam panicked. Dean wasn't there. Sam had a nightmare, and Dean wasn't there. He stared at the empty bed, just like he had stared at it after his six months without Dean. Then he knew Dean had gone to the car. This time Dean wasn't in the car. No one was. His chin quivered. He ran his hand over Dean's amulet around his own neck. He climbed into the bed that was supposed to be Dean's, grabbed what was supposed to be his pillow and held it tightly to his chest. He closed his eyes. And then he slept in that bed. Alone. "It's just a nightmare... It's just a nightmare, Sam..." he whispered to himself. But he knew it wasn't. This time it was real. This was Sam's living nightmare.
Dean had come back one day. Sam hadn't believed it. He had tried to fight him. It had to have been a demon, someone who was tricking them! But Bobby had pried him away from Dean and told him that Dean really was real. And when Dean had said, "I know. I look fantastic, huh?" Sam had known for sure that that was his big brother, Dean Winchester who stood in front of him, and he had thrown himself in his arms. God, it had felt good when he had felt Dean's immediately close around him too.
Dean had been to Hell for four months, but he hadn't remembered anything. At least that's what he had told Sam. But when Uriel had said he really did remember Hell, that's when Sam had gotten suspicious. Dean's drinking, nervous looks and nightmares hadn't helped his case much, and soon Dean had come to his brother and told him everything about Hell.
"It wasn't four months you know. It was four months up here, but down there... I don't know, time is different... It was more like 40 years." Sam's heart had ached when he heard. 40 years in Hell, how could anyone... Dean was damaged. He knew. Dean was hurting and scared, and Sam knew it was his turn. Dean had practically raised him and taken care of him his whole life. He shouldn't have to go through this alone now.
Dean was lying in bed one night. Sam hadn't gone to sleep yet, so he could see it from his own bed. His head was turning slightly, and he was letting out airy "No-es"
"Dean, wake up!" Sam had tried. If anyone, he knew what having a nightmare felt like. Dean opened his eyes, and it didn't take long until Sam saw a tear falling from his eyes. He figured that had to be a bad dream as Dean rarely cried. But Dean was hurt. He knew that. Dean was scared. "You okay?" Sam asked softly. Dean just hurried to nod, and as usual Sam knew he was lying to him. He wasn't okay. Sam's hand gripped the covers of his bed and lifted them. Dean just stared at him for a moment, but he didn't protest. He didn't start any "no chick flick moments"-comment, or any "Sam, I'm fine." Cuz he knew that he wasn't. He wasn't fine.
Dean left his own bed and climbed into Sam's. Sam gave him a little smile. "You wanna talk about it?" he asked softly. Dean swallowed hard looking down. "It…" His throat was dry and he had to clear it. "It was Hell..." Sam nodded. Dean hitched and another tear fell. Sam laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. "You're home now, Dean... It's over..."
"They said you were dead..." Sam's eyes softened. "I'm fine, Dean. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," he said, cuz that's what Dean used to say to him when he was upset. He remembered that. Dean smiled a little through his tears and turned to lie down on the pillow next to his brother. Sam wasn't the only one needing that comfort. Dean needed it just as much. And then they slept in that bed together. "It's just a nightmare..." Sam whispered, and Dean knew that it was.
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