Not Like This
This is my hopeful attempt to join the SFTCOL(AR)S. I hope that it will meet with their approval and that they will accept me into their hallowed ranks!
I love limp Sam!
The job should have been a simple one; dig up the bones, salt and burn them, fill in the grave again and go. However life as a Winchester was never straight forward and Dean couldn't help but bite his lip in frustration as he watched Sam slouch from the car, dragging the shovel behind him.
His brother was pale and tired looking, there were circles under his slanting hazel eyes and his skin looked sallow. Sam had been quiet, quieter than normal and Dean knew that he was dwelling on all the things that had happened to them recently.
Dean regretted telling Sam the secret and, seeing Sam's reaction, he realised his father had been right when he had advised Dean to keep it from Sam. Dean knew his brother feared nothing more than becoming evil; becoming one of the things they hunted. He knew that Sam would never, wittingly, harm another human being and the thought that his baby, his Sammy could kill and enjoy it, disturbed Dean almost as much as it disturbed Sam.
Dean swallowed hard as he remembered the promise he made to Sam, a promise that he had hoped Sam would not remember. His brother had been wasted, completely out of it, drunk as a skunk; most people under the influence of so much alcohol would forget what had been said to them, but not Sam. No Sam had remembered everything and more and, after unburdening himself of his dad's secret, Dean was now burdened with a promise to his brother that he could never keep.
"Come on Sam" he put on his game face and turned, irritated to look at his brother. Despite being 6ft 4 inches tall, Sam seemed to have shrunk, buried deep into a sweatshirt that was too big, jeans hanging on too skinny hips "Lets get this thing over with and get out of here"
Sam raised his head as he heard his brother's voice and he swallowed hard. His throat was sore and his neck hurt. He felt sick, his stomach was rolling and his head felt heavy and thick with fog. He heard the impatience in Dean's voice and he forced his lips into a smile, hoping that it didn't look as pained and as false as it felt. All he wanted to do was go back to the motel, lie down and go to sleep. He swallowed again, hoping that the grave wasn't too deep and that the earth wasn't too hard.
It seemed to take forever to uncover the coffin and, despite the coolness of the night, Sam was dripping with sweat. It pooled in the small of his back, clung to his hair and poured into his eyes. Dean frowned as he looked at his brother. In the last two hours Sam had gone from pale to white, his skin thin, his jutting cheekbones making him look more like a skeleton than the bones infront of him. "Sam – what the fuck?" Dean felt his body tense with anger "Come on – you've got to stop dwelling on what's happened Sam – you've gotta let it go"
Sam lifted his head and frowned, the very movement making him wince with pain. His neck hurt so much now and it was stiff, as if he had been lying in an uncomfortable position. His throat felt as if it was on fire and he longed for a drink. He put a trembling hand up to touch his head and was disgusted at how wet and slimy it felt. His body swayed a little and he leant on the spade, trying to give the impression that he was ok, that everything was fine "M' ok Dean" his speech sounded slurred, even to his own ears and he felt as if he had been drinking again, the memory of beer and spirits making his stomach roll once more "Just a little tired is all – I'm not dwelling on anything" he put an uncoordinated hand up to his eyes and rubbed hard "M' ok"
He wanted it to be true; the last few weeks had been hell and he just wanted to put them out of his mind and move on. He could still remember the awful panic when the woman in the lab had cut him and rubbed her blood into his wound, still remembered his brother's face as he had faced him, his determination to kill both Sam and then himself. With painful clarity he recalled Dean's face when he had confessed his father's deathbed secret to Sam; he could still feel the horror, the fear; as he discovered just what the demon had planned for him. The dawning clarity that one day his beloved brother might have to kill him. 'Promise me' he'd said, drunkenly "You have to promise me" and Dean had complied, but Sam knew, knew only too well that Dean would walk to hell and back before keeping that promise.
He heard Dean shift and move and he heard the click of Dean's lighter as he bent over the grave. He smelt the sharp, metallic smell of petrol, the bitter scent of salt. Light flared and he winced, the sudden orange flames too bright; searing his eyes. He put his arm across his face, closing his eyes, squeezing them tight shut against the intensity. God everything hurt, every damn nerve, every fucking muscle. He moaned and knelt down suddenly, his head swimming "Dean…."
Dean watched with satisfaction as the bones burnt; another job well done, another evil thing banished from this good earth. "Hey Sam" he turned to his brother "Beers all round eh?" The words dried in his throat as he saw his brother over the flickering fire, Sam was on his knees, curled over so that his head rested on the grave dirt in front of him. He had his arms curled about his chest protectively and he was moaning, long, drawn out sounds like an animal in pain "Sammy?" Dean dodged the flames and knelt down by his brother "Sam?"
"Hurts" Sam's voice was harsh "Hurts Dean"
"What? What hurts Sammy?"
"Head, eyes, neck" Sam seemed to be folding in on himself, his whole body crumpling "Too bright Dean – everything – too bright"
"I'm gonna get you back to the car Sam and then we're gonna get to a hospital ok?" he put his hands under his brother's arms and hauled him to his feet. Sam groaned and reeled and Dean watched in horror as his little brother threw his head forward and vomited, hard and fast, the contents of his stomach spilling out. Dean felt the weight of Sam's body pull on his arms and he was forced to let his brother go, laying him gently on the grass, turning him over on to his side so that he didn't choke on his own vomit. Dean got out his cell and dialled 911, wondering briefly what he was going to tell the medics when they arrived at an open grave that was now smouldering and covered in ash. As he heard his brother moan yet again, he realised that that was the least of his worries. TBC