Disclaimer: Neither the boys nor anything related to Supernatural belongs to me. I'm just the boys out for a little spin.
What Grief I Bear
By: Vanessa Sgroi
Amazingly it was the sound of nearby sniffling that broke through the frozen obsidian fog surrounding him. It seemed incessant, as if the perpetrator had a nasty cold and wasn't bothering to wipe his runny nose. After a few uninterrupted minutes of this irksome, repetitive noise, Dean grew slightly perturbed.
Sammy—it had to be Sammy, right?—wipe your nose! It sounds disgusting.
When there was no change in the rhythmic sniffles, Dean realized two things simultaneously. He hadn't said that out loud and his eyes were closed. With an internal sigh of determination, he decided to remedy one, if not both, of those issues immediately. Dean worked his jaw and tried to make his lips move but they were being surprisingly obstinate. So instead, he concentrated on opening his eyes, shocked when even that became a monumental task. Eventually though, Dean succeeded, raising his weighted eyelids only to half-mast but enough to see that it was indeed Sam who was sniffling. In fact, it looked like Sam was…crying. Crying? Dean spied wet tear tracks on his brother's cheeks just before Sam dropped his forehead down to rest on Dean's arm. He could feel the tremors wracking Sam's frame.
Dean frowned. Sammy, what the hell? Why are you crying?
He felt an urgent need to ask his baby brother that very question but still no sound emerged from his lips. Foiled in that most direct attempt to get to the bottom of this, Dean turned his attention to getting Sam's attention the only other way he knew how. He tried to move the arm pillowing Sam's head. To his dismay, nothing happened. Frustrated, he blinked slowly, willed his brother to look up, to look at his face.
Sam, c'mon man, look at me. Look. At. Me. Look right now!
The telepathy didn't work either. Damn it. Sam's sniffling grew worse and Dean could feel the hot tears running down his arm.
Beyond frustrated, Dean poured all his concentration back into moving that arm. And it twitched! He wanted to crow in delight, but settled for a triumphantly upturned corner of his mouth. He repeated the twitch, adding a flutter of his index finger.
The reaction was instantaneous. Sam's raised his head and flew out of his chair, sending it toppling to the side. "Dean? Dean!" Sam's hazel eyes, wet and luminescent, were full of a combination of lingering despair, dawning disbelief, and the first rays of hope. He reached out a hand and lightly grazed his fingertips across Dean's forehead. "Dean? Y-y-you're awake?" he breathed.
Dean blinked. Swallowed and worked his jaw.
"T-th-they said—the doctors said—t-there was n-no hope. You…c-c-coma and…and…d-dying…" Sam babbled breathlessly, as joy worked to replace such recent hopelessness and despair.
Dean finally managed to push out a whisper. "C-can't get rid of me th—that easy, bro." His comment was lost in Sam's jabbering.
"I-I-I tried c-calling Cas, but…but…he didn't…he wouldn't answer. Oh, God—Dean! I-I…"
"Can't get rid of me th—that easy, Sammy. Too s-s'tubrn." This time his words were a bit louder and more forceful. He watched as Sam sank down on the edge of the bed, eyes brimming again as emotion bubbled beneath the surface. As he grew a little more coherent, Dean was beginning to regain some coordinated movement. He shifted slightly then lifted his fingers and patted the back of Sam's hand. "'s-okay, S'm, 's okay now. I'm here."
Sam laid his other hand over Dean's fingers. "Th-they were wrong. You're right. It's okay now."
Dean's brow wrinkled as he frowned again. "S'not."
"What? What's not okay? Is something wrong?"
Dean rolled his eyes and pointed. "SNOT. Wipe your nose, Sammy."
FIN