A/N: Saw a post for this on my feed and thought it would be a good prompt. Please excuse any grammatical and or spelling errors. Feedback is important and appreciated so if you'd leave a comment/review, that'd be great! Enjoy! :)
They had just wrapped up a case down in Florida and were heading west towards Kansas when Sam Winchester began to feel drousy. The twenty-six year old had had a long-ass day, filled with ganking wendigos and hunting werewolves and he was wiped out. Dean had bored the the majority of the blows by the werewolves and had received the worse of the wendigos yet he sat in the driver's seat jamming out as casually as he would any other day to the soft eighty's music. Sammy's older brother's arm had practically been torn open after a werewolf had dragged its claw down from Dean's hand, the knife-like nail running so smoothly through the skin as if butter and exposing ounces of blood and tissue and muscle. Blowing it off as he did everything though, Dean merely shrugged off the injury after baring more wounds and simply took a towel to the gash, wrapping the cloth around his forearm, and rolling some duct-tape around that before tearing the end with his teeth.
Sam had offered to drive, but Dean was stubborn and refused to hand over his precious 67' Chevy Impala he proudly referred to as Baby. As the younger Winchester had gotten into the passenger's seat, he noticed his older brother take a few moments to himself before getting in the driver's seat. For the beginning of the ride, Sam couldn't help but watch as Dean drove; seeming dazed and lost in thought. His eyes were glazed over with an exhaustion even Sam couldn't put into words, but he knew if he asked Dean if he was alright, Dean being the tough-guy he was would laugh at the statement and assure the younger brother that he was, indeed, fine and that Sam was being a pansy.
So, sucking up his worry and concern, Sam turned his head against the window and began to drift off. He had been in that position ever since, not once checking over to see how Dean was doing. Deciding he'd look just once before he passed out, Sam glanced over at the driver. His towel he had duct-taped to his arm had began to create a red splotch on it's cloth indicating the blood was beginning to seep through and the cut on his temple had stopped bleeding, but left a dry-blood trail down his cheek. His eyes looked tired and droopy, but almost determined as his fingers drummed against the steerwheel, his lips mouthing the words to the Metallica song, "Enter Sandman", that was quietly playing in the background.
Although his brother looked tired, Sam discarded his unease for Dean and placed his head back against the window. He knew from trial-and-error that Dean would chuckle at the fact Sam even thought the older Winchester wasn't okay, so came to the conclusion it was better to just leave the thirty year old alone.
Everything around him began to fade to black and the music that softly bounced around the car's interior soon became to only thing that he focused in on. Sam's mind began to go else where and he felt his consciousness begin to drift, until a certain song started on the radio. Within the first cord, Sam was awake, his eyes wide and panic beginning to poison his blood. Snapping his head to look at Dean, he swallowed the fucking rock that had somehow formed in his throat and turned his attention to the radio as the singer began to sing his infamous song. Sam knew it all too well. Hell, he had heard it two-hundred-plus times that one unfortunate day when that dick-wad of a trickster had sent poor Sammy into a Ground-Hog's-Wannabe alternate-universe and Dean continously died.
Everytime Dean died though, Sam woke up. Same day, same hotel, same Dean as he would mouth the words to the God-awful song Sam had grown to hate, and that stupid-ass song that played on the radio every single morning as Sam sat up from bed. Then, the brothers would go through their day, Dean would somehow die, and then Sam would wake up again to that song playing and Dean mouthing the words and so forth.
Sam slowly turned his head and watched his brother for a moment as Dean began to mouth the words of the song the way he had that day- or multiple days... however you want to put it. Sam watched in horror, every single time Dean had been killed flashing through his head as the song progressed; dog mauling, choking on a sausage, poisoned by a taco, hit by a car, fallen in a shower, axed by Sam. He watched in terror, his body frozen to move as he prayed for this not to be something of the trickster's, watching as Dean's lips mouthed, "It's the heat of the moment," over and over again as the song got to the chorus. Taking a breath, Sam forced his tongue that felt too big to properly use to form words as he slowly asked, "What day is it?"
Dean chuckled, turning his head for the first time he had the entire ride to Sam and rose an eyebrow in amusement before replying, "Tuesday, why?"
And then it happened. As quickly as the last syllable of the word Tuesday came out of his mouth had another car slammed into the side of the Baby, driver's side, and thrown the Impala over; flipping into the woods and ending up upside down. It took a second or two to realize what had happened after the car had came to a complete stop and even then Sam was awfully confused and shocked. Seeing as the car was flipped over, they were dangling upside down and as Sam slowly opened his eyes, he found it hard to understand where they were until he understood that the flipped trees and pavement were actually just his interpretion of the world from an upside-down perspective.
His head was blistering and sore and everything was aching, but he somehow managed to turn his head over to Dean who was dangling from his seat as well, the seat-belt keeping him secure. The front-window on his side had a huge crack on it as if something had slammed into it, like a fist or rock or... Sam's eyes widened; or a head.
Sam instantly, despite the pain, unbuckled himself and dashed to Dean's aid, dragging the limp body from the vehicle and scanning him, his oxygen cutting short in his throat. Dean's entire forehead and part of his nose and temples had been completely sprinkled with bits of glass, blood oozing from all the punctures in his face. His lips were bloody and swollen, his nose turning purple and the area around his eyes fading a nice blue-tinge. Sam restlessly began CPR though, shoving against Dean's chest as hard as he could while he ignored the violent sobs that dared to shake his body.
Tears began to cloud his vision but he didn't stop. He continued to push, Dean heaving up and down as he did but no sign of life visible on his brother's body. Sam's heart began to break, slamming so hard against his ribcage Sam was sure it would accidentally knock into a rib and get damaged. His head began to blur as the part of it that controlled his reasonablity turned off and he pushed harder and harder on Dean's chest until Sam thought he might end up breaking one of Dean's ribs. He didn't even know he was screaming Dean's name until his voice cracked and his throat began to burn. As he realized this, he also became aware of the fact his cheeks were wet and his eyes were sore and everything about him ached.
He was relentless and continued to shove his brother's chest. Eventually, he gave up that tactic and ended up shaking Dean's shoulders, calling his name and crying out to any sort of power to save him. Sammy knew he needed Dean. Despite it all, despite the idiot's stupid comments and witty comebacks and argumentative attitudes, Dean was all Sam had left to call family and he'd be damned if a fucking car would kill Dean fucking Winchester. Last Sam checked, Dean Winchester didn't die, yet here he was, becoming cold and blue and a cadaver. Hell, he was a cadaver although Sam wouldn't admit it. Somewhere inside of him, somewhere where a little brother was screaming so loudly his vocal cords were straining, somewhere where a little boy was crying out for his big brother to wake up, refused to admit Dean was dead.
Sam soon was breathing again, but not correctly. He began to hyperventilate as reality threatened to chisel away the younger brother's hope for Dean to wake up. To open his eyes or take a heavy breath or... or something. His heart was twisting and turning and breaking and shattering from within him, his stomach was flipping and doing fucking back-flips in his torso and his head was beginning to give. Everything felt so wrong. This wasn't okay, this wasn't right this wasn't... this can't be. His massive hands continued to thud against his brother's chest, giving the body a little momentium as it kind of bounced up and down, but nothing else happened. He didn't take that as an answer though. No, Sammy would do whatever it took to get his brother again. He'd sit right there for days, in cold and rain pressing his hands against his chest waiting for his brother to take a breath.
Dean wasn't dead.
He couldn't be!
But he was.
He really fucking was. Stone-cold, unmoving, lip-partedly dead.
Sam snapped awake, Dean was hovering over him and "Heat of the Moment" was playing on the radio as Sam felt tears trickle down his cheeks. His throat was hoarse and Dean sat on his bed with a confused and startled face as Sam's eyes zeroed in on his brother. He was gasping for breath and everything felt out of wack when he zoned into the real world, but when he saw Dean, everything disappeared. Within a second, Sam had his arms wrapped around Dean, trying to hide the sobs as he dug his head into his brother's shoulder. That little boy that was stuck screaming inside of him was took over, squeezing the life out of Dean and trying to make sure that this Dean Winchester was real; that he wasn't dreaming and that this was real. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, concerned but quiet as he allowed his brother to let it out.
Sam then, and only then, did he realize that the stupid trickster's trick was over. Not once in this entire time he had been stuck in this God-forsaken Tuesday-loop had Dean been hovering over him, had Sam been crying and had Dean shifted into being the older brother he was when they were children and sooth Sam as he attempted to calm his hysteria. Taking a few more moments to make sure Dean was truly alive and this wasn't a figment of his imagination and he really wasn't asleep, Sam finally pulled away. He wiped his tears, scuffing and clearing up a bit of the mucus that had lodged itself in his throat and nose and turned his back on Dean to clean himself up a bit.
Dean stood in bewilderment. A few minutes ago he had been coming out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth and was beginning to tie his shoe laces on his bed when Sam began crying out in his sleep and wailing Dean's name. Tears began falling down his face, down his temples rather as he was lying down, and he began gasping for breath, his body shaking on the bed and trembling. Instinctively, he was by Sam's side, shaking Sammy's shoulders and telling him to wake up, but only when the radio belted Asia did Dean's younger brother snap out of his trance and gasp himself awake. Considering Sam had now had his back towards Dean, though, Dean kind of got the message he didn't want to talk about it.
And quite frankly, that was fine. As long as Sam was okay now and good, Dean was fine with what happened. The brothers didn't talk about feelings and dreams and nightmares and emotions. Instead, they comfort each other with touch, something that's essential to the Winchester family. Touch meant life, touch meant that they were real and everything was okay. They didn't hug just so that they could be close together or any of that crap other people do the gesture for, but because to them, a hug is evidence, a proving action that the man, the brother in front of them was real. So when Sam hugged Dean and turned his back, Dean took that as a way of Sammy making sure Dean was okay and there. God knows how many times Dean's gasped himself awake, sweat trickling down his body and turned over to make sure Sam was okay in bed.
Although he wasn't going to ask about what had happened, Dean watched curiously to what Sam would do next. He watched his younger brother's attention zone directly on the radio that was blasting Asia through the hotel room and snarl deeply. A deep noise that came from within his chest, a sound created from a hate Dean was startled to hear from Sam as Sammy was nothing but a teddy-bear, really.
The younger Winchester grabbed the clock, and threw it against the wall opposite of himself and turning to Dean forcefully before jabbing his finger at Dean and growling, "We're never listening to that damn song again." With that, Sam stormed out not once turning back. Dean looked at the shattered alarm clock/radio and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, turning to Sam's back as the moose-tall man turned out of the doorway and into the sunlight. The older brother sighed lightly knowing he'd probably add another twenty to the pay for the clock as he grabbed his keys and jacket along with journal and flask before heading towards Baby.
As Dean got into the driver's seat, he looked over at Sam who was inspecting every area of the car. It took a minute or two before Sam relax and kept his eyes glued out the window and this only made Dean a tad more concerned. It was as if the song had gotten Sam so hyped up, but again, Dean didn't ask. He decided that he could live without that song. Dean could live with not listening to Asia, especially when it had that kind of effect on his baby brother. Hell, he would live without anything that made Sam get so hysterical like that, because Dean had lived with Sam practically all his life and not once did his brother freak out the way he had that eventful Tuesday morning.