A/N: I do not own Supernatural!
Summary: Tag to Season 4 Episode 7: It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester; Dean and Sam consider the recent events; angry/limp Sam, angry/caring Dean
The title references to the Charlie Brown movie (It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown) in which Charlie only gets rocks instead of candy like his friends when going out for their trick-or-treat.
Well, I tried my very best and I sincerely hope I succeeded and that you like it because I am not sure about this one. It's unbeta-ed, but hopefully, you will not find too many mistakes.
Enough said, I hope you enjoy this, anyways.
I got a rock!
Dean looked over to the spot on the bench next to his. The spot Castiel had just vacated to vanish into thin air.
Great. This all was just friggin' great.
He tried not to think about the angel's words too much.
Great, decisions he would be making. As if he didn't carry around enough burden already like Heaven, Hell, Earth, small bruises on his back because this girl-ghost had sent him flying all around the mausoleum, a stomach that was sensitive to food, touch and everything because this Tracy-cheerleader-witch-bitch had held on very tight with her invisible grip when Samhain rose, his little brother that had him freaked out a little bit more than he liked to admit. Only to name a few.
Huh, and Cas didn't envy the weight on Dean's shoulders. The Winchester's face crumpled into a humorless smile. Yeah, he didn't envy that himself, either.
Dean frowned, squinting against the sun, as he told himself, watching the playground before him with all the kids laughing and playing and their parents sitting beside it to chatter and looking after their children.
Yes, they did good here. Sam and him. It was right what they did here. Standing up to the angels. As he told Castiel, he would always make the same decision again to save this town. No matter what. And he couldn't care less if his decision was right to anyone or if he passed some damn test or not. When he saw all that around him. That definitely was nothing to question about right or wrong. How could someone, something, and might it be a higher power, even think it was right to smite a whole town instead of trying to save it? That was just wrong. Those friggin' righteous angels thought they knew everything. Well, Cas had just admitted he didn't and that he had questions and doubts about all that, himself. But still, this Uriel-wingass? That dude was proof to his saying: Angels are dicks. Period.
"Damnit!" Dean cursed. Now he had thought about those angels and Castiel's words more than he had ever wanted. He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand up and down his face.
It didn't matter if he stayed here or if he got up and got back to the motel. Both situations were nothing he looked forward to. Here at the playground, his thoughts would just linger around Castiel and his angel dick friends and what was in store for him. Back at the room he would be facing his little brother with his freaky powers he had promised to never use again and yet he had. To exorcise Samhain.
Dean had caught his little brother in his act and he did not know if he was incredulous, worried, angry, disappointed or altogether. Sam had been exhausted and barely managed to keep his legs under him. His nose had bled severely and even though he did not mention it, Sam's head had to be killing him.
Dean closed his eyes. He almost felt something like defeat creeping up in him. He was damn tired of it all. It felt like too much and he would crush under the weight. But he knew he wouldn't. He would keep going. Just like he always would. Because he was a Winchester!
ooo000O000ooo
Perplexed, Sam turned around in the motel room. But Uriel had disappeared.
"Good", he muttered. He really was glad that the angel was gone. The words that feathered-assy-dick had said stung deeply. He didn't need a reminder for what he had done the evening before or that he still kind of felt the demon blood in him. And certainly not for Mom's or Jess' deaths anniversary. And yes, he was afraid of that threat that the angel would get rid of him for good if he was no longer of use for them.
Replaying the conversation between the angel and him over and over in his head, Sam was certain that angel really just wanted to scare him off. And Uriel had played well. Sam was scared. Of the angels, of his abilities, of what the future held, for his brother. The angel had indicated Dean remembered Hell. Sam briefly closed his eyes to will the lump in his throat as well as the building tears back down.
The thinking did nothing good to his already pounding headache. On the contrary it just made it worse. Carefully he rubbed circles at his temples to better the pain.
Sam inhaled deeply and consciously, pushed the air out of his lungs. Even that hurt horribly. He hadn't considered that the fight with Samhain would weaken him that much. Samhain had had a strong hold on his neck when he had strangled him against the mausoleum's wall. Come to think of it, his whole body ached. Being held by a witch that cramped her invisible fingers around your stomach as well as being thrown around in a tomb, being choked and the exorcism on his part had done nothing good for his body. And mind.
And then just now the nice chit-chat with Uriel that left him emotionally wrecked, too, and thinking and rethinking everything he had done and maybe would do? Nothing good to go along with, either.
Needing a distraction from his physical and mental wounds, he grabbed for his shirt to roll it up and stuff it into his bag with more force and anger than was necessary.
ooo000O000ooo
Sam barely managed to open his eyes. But when he did his confusion just spiked with the hammering pain in his head. A feeling of vertigo washed over him. His head was lying on the floor and he could make out the red and black chessboard pattern of the tiles which melted together into a distorted new pattern. And even though his sight was swimming he also saw the floral pink and purple bedspread which seemed to flow into the disturbingly black-red-mess of the floor to create an ugly hash of new colors and designs. His eyes and muddled brain could only process so much that he had to briefly close his eyes to gather his thoughts and swallow the too-much-saliva in his mouth.
Cold from the ground seeped into him. Or maybe he was already cold to begin with. He did not know and he did not care.
The room spun around him and he could not remember that he had laid down. And why would he do that on the floor instead of using one of the beds?
"D'n", he murmured. "Hel'me?"
It cost him much effort to lift his leaden head from of the floor and even more to realize that he was still alone in the room. Putting his head back down and closing his eyes against the whirling he forgot to open them again.
ooo000O000ooo
Dean stood in front of the motel room and took deep breaths to get himself ready for the argument he was about to have with his little brother over his stupid, false, dangerous move of exorcising Samhain like that. Dean just could not leave it like that. Sam needed to understand! And Dean needed an outlet for his fear and worry of what this abilities might do to his little brother.
So, he steeled himself to his best game and pushed the door open. "Sam, we gotta talk!" His tone left no room for argument. But Dean knew his little brother would always argue. Therefore, the older man was taken aback when no response whatsoever came. Only then did he take a look into the room.
Sam's bag was on his bed half packed, still open, some crumpled clothes around it. But no sight of Sam.
Cautiously, Dean inched forward. The room was too small for stealth and he had already announced his entry loud and clear. He could not even remember when he had drawn his gun and when his stance from big-angry-brother-to-little-dumbass-brother-talk had changed into that of big-don't-mess-with-me-hunter.
Upon further entering he made out a dark heap on the floor between the beds.
All his emotions and his steeled behavior deflated when he caught sight of the tall frame of his little brother.
"Sam." The call for his brother sounded out of breath and Dean rushed over to him. Sam lay motionless face down. A small puddle of blood had formed by his head. Carefully, with one hand Dean brushed the unruly bangs out of Sam's face which revealed the nose to be the bleeding source. With his other hand, Dean held on to Sam's wrist. He heaved a sigh of relief at the steady rhythm underneath his touch and at the barely open eyes which tried to focus on him.
"D'n." Sam's voice slurred.
"I'm here. I'm here." Dean stroked Sam's cheek, then his back. "What the hell are you doing on the floor?" He kept on patting his brother, telling himself it was for Sam's reassurance while roaming the room with eyes for the first aid-kit. Probably still in the bathroom. He quickly got up and retrieved it.
"D'n." Sam sounded distressed, his eyes darting back and forth, his hand flailing over the floor.
"Quit mopping the floor with your shirt. I don't wanna do your laundry!" Dean crouched back down by Sam's side and laid out the first aid kit. Dean was very sure he would not get a coherent word out of his brother. Sam seemed too out for the count but a least he was somewhat conscious.
Sam stopped his movements and closed his eyes. "Your turn… with laundry", he pushed out. Dean looked at him rather surprised. He had thought Sam was more muzzily in his scattered brain. Well, maybe he had been wrong.
"No way. I did it the last ten times." Dean pulled out same gauze and pushed it against Sam's nose to stop the blood flow which already seemed to have slowed down to a mere trickle. Dean wiped away the blood on Sam's face and took another look at the nose which was swollen and red but no longer showing signs of bleeding.
"Need to learn… counting… again." Sam's voice sounded nasal.
Dean smiled. "I know my ABCs."
"See."
"And my 1-2-3."
Sam hummed and mumbled, "ABC, it's easy as 1 2 3."
"Oh c'mon, man, no singing the Jackson 5 here!"
"'m not singing."
"Good, 'cause you can't sing anyways!"
"'m good singer." Sam protested weakly.
Tenderly, Dean pulled his brother up and propped him against the bed. Sam groaned against the movement but did not fight his brother either. When his older brother nudged him to open his mouth, he simply complied. He felt the mealy-tasting pills on his tongue, then the cool liquid of water that washed them away as he swallowed it all down. He felt a settling, comfortable feeling in his stomach that had not been there since 600-year-old-cheerleader Tracy tried to squeeze it to mushy squish.
"What happened, Sammy?" Dean asked after a while. Maybe, just maybe, he would get something useful out of his brother. Hell, he still was angry, pissed off at and with Sam but that would not stop him from taking care of him.
Sam kept his eyes closed against the dizzy feeling and the headache and everything around him. The pills worked their way through his system and he felt more conscious than he would like. He rather delayed this conversation to another time. However, it did not matter when it took place as he knew it would take place. However, he could not look at his brother, not when he confessed what he was about to confess. He would not be able to stand his brother's disappointment, yet again. Sam forced his voice to steady, but it was quiet but still appeared too loud in the room, when he said, "Too much playing with fire."
Dean sat back on his heels and raised his eyebrows. He had not expected as much. He had expected a fight with Sam over using his powers. And here he sat and admitted that it had been too much effort.
"Why'd you do it?"
Sam opened his eyes carefully, casting a glance at his older brother who sat on the floor leaning against the other bed.
"Samhain would have killed me. And you. And the whole town. Everybody." Sam stopped briefly, looking at the hands in his lap. Dean waited patiently observing his little brother. "He fought me, choked me, threw me around, knocked the knife outta my hands. It was kinda like the last resort I had to stop him." And he kind of had missed the rush of exorcising demons with his mind. He knew, it took a lot out of him but somehow it made him feel good. That something good came out of his demon-blood-tainted-blood after all. However, he kept silent about that. Dean probably would not take that one too kindly and beat the shit out of him.
Sam looked sheepishly up at Dean. "I did what I had to." Sam's voice sounded so small and the way he slumped at the bed and the floor he seemed like a five year old kid rather than a grown man of 6 ft 4.
"He choked you?"
Sam nodded.
"You breathe alright?"
"Just a little sore."
"Any other injuries?"
"Some bruises on my back, probably. Worked-over stomach."
Dean crawled over to Sam, made him lean over and pushed up his shirt to inspect the marks on Sam's back, then at his stomach. "Yeah, well, that comes with the job and dealing with ghosts and other nasties", he said as he sat back again a little bit slower than usual.
"You?" Sam asked, his brother's words had finally sunken in with the tiny moan Dean had let out when he had leaned back. Both indicated Dean had some wounds of his own.
"The same."
Sam raised his eyebrows in question.
"This ghost-chick threw me against a wall. So, I probably look kinda like you."
A moment of silence ensued. Sam sighed thinking of Uriel's departing words.
"What?" Dean snapped him out his thinking.
"I was just thinking."
"I saw that. What about?"
"All this. The angels."
Curiously, Dean observed his brother, raising an eyebrow. "Dicks."
"True", Sam nodded, "Uriel was here. A real narcissist."
Dean scoffed in affirmation. "What'd he tell you?"
"I shouldn't use my abilities. Warned me about using them again. Reminded me of tomorrow's anniversaries and the 'profane' demon blood in me. To tell you to climb off your high horse." Sam decided this was not the time to tell his big brother about Uriel's threat of eliminating him if he was not useful anymore nor about his departing words of asking Dean about his memories of hell.
"My high horse? Should take a look in the mirror himself! Dick!" Dean growled angrily. He took a moment to make sense of all of Sam's words. "He did say all that?"
Sam nodded.
"And he threatened you?"
"Kinda." Sam replied.
"I'd love to plant my fist into that slimy angel face of his. What a wing-swing-asshole!" Dean's face mirrored clearly the anger he felt. His jaw tightened and his hands clenched into fists by his side. If his hair could it probably would be spikier, too. Nobody, not even an "Angel of the Lord" threatened his family! Not even his off-the-reservation-scaring-the-shit-out-of-him-little-brother Sam.
"So, bimbo-ghost got the drop on you?" Sam tried to change the subject. He did not need a sharp return of his headache and there probably would be enough of other times when they could do angel-talk.
Dean's head snapped up and his anger slowly melted. "Hey, there were zombies and ghosts. Zillions against one."
Sam grinned. At least, his pounding headache numbed down slowly and the spinning room was on slow motion finally.
Both brothers knew there were more than enough unsolved issues between them but they both were more than happy to treat lighter waters now. They had started their real issue conversation. And they would end it. Probably. Eventually. But not now.
"And we were both wrong about Tracy being the victim!" Dean defended himself, "For such a tiny girl she sure had a violent grip."
"Don't make me remember."
"I still feel like I did 500 sit-ups in like 30 seconds." Dean crossed his arms protectively over his stomach. Then he declared, "I'm hungry."
"Dude!" Sam exclaimed, feeling better but still the thought of food made him nauseous
"What?" Dean looked surprised. "I need to feed my body to keep my good looks."
"But what you stuff yourself with isn't helping."
"What'd'you mean?"
"All that junk food? You're stuffing yourself like a turkey on Thanksgiving."
"Burgers and fries are good and very satisfying."
"Ain't healthy."
"Fries are potatoes, burgers are made of beef, lettuce, onions, tomatoes. All healthy stuff."
"And fried and greasy."
"You can stick to your rabbit-salad-shake-food. That just don't work for me. I'd just be hungry the moment it was down my throat."
"'cause you're always hungry."
"I need nutrition. I work out a lot!"
"Really? Chasing demons, gankin' ghosts is your work-out?"
"Yes!" Dean raised his eyebrows and held out his hands in disbelief. "I run a lot and dig. Gotta keep this", Dean indicated with his hands at his body, "in shape."
The End
A/N: Thank you for reading.