Author's NOTE: hey guys! I hope this one is okay, i kinda rushed the ending a bit, but i just wanted to get it done. It takes place in season 5, for me Sam is 24, and Dean is now 30. Okay? It is strange, but i like Sam to be a little younger, it's not a big deal. Please be on the nice side of the comments...
ex: "nice job, but you have a lot of mistakes..."
not this ex: "You are the worst writer ever, stop wasting your life by doing this, cause its all crap!"
Thank you! hehe
And by the way: for me, season 5 broke my heart into tiny little pieces, so this is sorta taping the pieces back together.
AND... I know the title is from Star Wars, but you know what? I'M BAD AT TITLING, so deal with it. Thank You!
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, not even close to it. Or Star Wars. Or anything. And i don't want to get into trouble!
"I don't think we can ever be what we were, you know?" Dean said. "I just don't think I can trust you." He looked so sad, and disappointed His eyes were watering and he felt like his heart was cracking. He wished non-of this ever happened, that it could just be he and Sam facing a little "salt 'n' burn". But it would never be that way again.
Sam felt his heart being ripped from his chest when he heard Dean's words. He couldn't believe this was happening. He just threw away everything he cared about. But what ever Dean was feeling toward Sam, it was nothing compared to what Sam was feeling toward himself. He did hate himself, he was so pissed at himself he couldn't breathe properly. He just stood there, looking at Dean.
Dean turned his back on Sam, facing toward the Impala. Sam felt a little light-headed and had to remind himself to breathe. But he couldn't. He tried to take in a breath, but he couldn't. He felt his airways had closed up, his lungs being compressed. His head was growing heavier, it started pounding, and it hurt. Sam's eyes grew watery, and his legs gave out from under him. He fell hard to the pavement. Knees hitting the ground with full force, his wrist twisted harshly, but he took no notice. All he cared about was that he couldn't breathe. He tried calling out to Dean for help, but his voice wouldn't work. The ground flooded with water. It was cold, so cold it hurt. Then the next thing he knew, the pavement in the hospital parking lot was gone, and he was in the middle of the ocean. It was dark, and raining, and the waves were huge. Sam was always scared of the deep ocean water, especially the waves. He was heavier than usual, like he had a bolder tied to his feet. He started sinking in slow motion, his lungs were screaming in pain, but he would not pass out, he would not die. He was drowning, but not dying. All he wanted was to die, was for this pain and sorrow to end. Please just let this end, he begged. Just let me die. Then he heard Dean's voice in his head.
"Your not my brother anymore! You selfish bastard! You are a monster, a freak! Your weak! And helpless! And you deserve this pain!"
He was falling, falling through nothingness. Falling through, black space. He wasn't dying, he wasn't living, he was just dreaming.
"NOOOOO!" Sam yelled, crying out as he fell, and somehow landed on a hard but warm bed. He gasped in phantom pain, tears streaming down his face, mixing with sweat. His eyes snapped open and he saw darkness, he squeezed them shut. He kicked his legs, and was gripping the sheet for dear life. He needed to get away, to stop falling, to breathe. His head was spinning, and he thought of nothing. Then strong hands grasped his shoulders.
"Sam!" He heard someone shout. "Sammy!" He heard it again. That voice he heard in his dream, that familiar voice that he loved, that always calmed him, that broke his heart as it taunted him. He tried to get away, pushing himself from the warm hands. "Sam, its okay!" He stopped thrashing, but his eyes were still closed. "Its okay," Sam repeated, but he was still pushing away. "I'm not going to hurt you," that voice said again. "You're not going to hurt me," Sam repeated again. Understanding found its way to Sam's brain. He slowly and carefully opened his eyes. He looked through the tears, and saw his brother, Dean, come out of the watery haze. He looked scared, and worried. Much different from how he looked in Sam's dream. Sam was shaky, and he was breathing heavily, as though he couldn't get enough air. He was confused, was what he just woke up from a dream, or a memory? How could he be so sure this wasn't a dream? He let out a sob, mixed with a hiccup. Then he was pull forward into a strong chest, with a familiar smell. The tears still pouring down his face, instantly soaked Dean's shirt. Sam was rocked backward and forward, slowly calming down, heart returning to a normal pace, breathing slower and deeper. He felt Dean's warmth and love. Hearing his brother say in a deep, relaxing tone, "Its okay, your safe, I'm here, I won't let anything hurt you." Even though he was twenty-four, he felt like he was ten, being comforted by his big brother. When he was done freaking out, Dean lowered him to his pillow, and looked at him with worried eyes.
"Are you going to be okay?" he asked, looking Sam straight in the eyes.
"Probably," Sam answered, looking back at him.
"Do you want to talk about it now or later?" Dean stubbornly asked.
"Later," he said, looking away. He could barely keep him eyes open.
Dean noticed his brother falling back asleep, so he climbed back into his own bed. Hoping the night terror wouldn't come back. I'm lucky I could wake him up this time, he thought. Usually every other night, he would awake to his younger brother's screaming. He would immediately go to him and try to wake him, but Sam almost never woke up. He would just lie on the bed, thrashing and screaming and pleading. Sometimes it would sound as though Dean were hurting him, and it broke Dean's heart to hear his brother sound so afraid of him. With those "comforting" thoughts, Dean fell into an uneasy sleep.
Sam awoke the next morning feeling well rested, but strangely sad, and it took him a little while to find his usual breathing rhythm. He did not look forward to the talk he was going to have with Dean. Usually when he had a night terror, he would just tell Dean he couldn't remember, which sometimes he couldn't. But the ones he woke up from, he always remembered, and Dean knew that. He always made Sam tell him about his night terrors, and Sam hated to talk about them, but he always felt better after, like a huge weight had been lifted. Sam could tell Dean felt guilty when he was the bad guy in Sam's dreams, so Sam tried to make it sound as though it wasn't that bad, and that he didn't blame Dean. Which he didn't. He supposed he could always lie, but Dean seemed to know when he was lying, and he didn't want to lie to Dean anymore, no matter how bad the truth was. He had lied to his brother enough
He turned over and found a note on the nightstand, Gone to pick up breakfast, be back in 20-Dean 8:15
It was 8:21 now, so he got up, did his morning routine, and was just about to make his bed when Dean came in the door.
"Morning, Sunshine!" Dean said brightly, holding a bag and coffee in his hands.
"Morning," Sam said, grabbing his coffee and the bag.
Dean had bought two bagels, and two donuts. Sam grabbed the plain bagel and tossed the bag back to Dean. "What's on the agenda for today?" he asked, trying to avoid the dream subject.
"What else?" Dean asked. "Research," he then answered himself.
"Sounds good," Sam responded, he liked research, even though Dean always called him a nerd.
"Sam, you ready to talk?" Dean asked, even though Sam didn't really have a choice.
"Guess so," Sam said staring at his feet, he knew this was inevitable, might as well get it over with. He sighed and sat down on the bed, and turned toward where Dean was sitting at the small table next to the TV. "We were in the hospital parking lot, after Bobby was stabbed," he started. Sam retold Dean the entire dream; about everything Dean had said, about the water, the waves, and the sinking. He told Dean about his voice in his head, yelling at him, things that were probably true. When he had finished, Dean was just looking at him, a sad expression on his face, with guilt mixed in there. Dean was guilty that his words were causing Sam so much pain, he felt bad that was what Sam thought he thought. But it wasn't true, not entirely.
"Sammy," he started. "What I was saying wasn't entirely true."
Sam looked up at him with guilt ridden, half hopeful eyes.
"I can't fully trust you right now, but I know that one day I will," Dean said this knowing it was true. "We will fix everything, and you will get better, you'll get a handle on yourself. I know that. It'll just take some time."
Sam looked at him long and hard. He looked a little doubtful, he wondered if Dean was just saying these things for his benefit.
"You really mean that?" he asked, feeling a small spark of hope light up inside him, and feeling a little scared that Dean didn't.
Sam sounded like he was 7 again, so lost and in need of his big brother.
"I do," Dean said without hesitation.
Sam's face broke out into a true smile, the first one in a long time. He believed Dean completely.
Dean smiled fondly at his little brother, feeling proud he brought Sam's hope up.
"Now!" Dean shouted as he stood up. "Lets get that research started, this job seems like a fun one."
Sam gave him a funny look. "What?" he asked, incredulous.
"Guy shooting himself in the head three times does not sound very normal does it?" he asked. His mood felt lifted, and for some reason, right now the apocalypse didn't seem as daunting as it did yesterday. He had a new hope.