Peace by asesina
Disclaimer: Eric Kripke owns supernatural.
A/n: Oneshot set right after the events of "Mystery Spot". Warning: Spoilers through 3x11.
Inspired by a quote from "Benjamin Button" (the 2008 movie).
"There's something peaceful, even comforting, knowing that the people that you love are asleep in their beds where nothing can harm them."
-Benjamin Button (2008)
The motel bed is exceedingly uncomfortable and the whole room smells like mothballs and mildew.
Sam suppresses a gag as he rolls onto his side so he's facing Dean. His brother occupies the twin bed that is a mere 3 feet from his own, but it feels like there's a canyon between them.
They're three states away from Broward County, but Sam still can't shake that place from his head.
It's enough that he had to live through hundreds of Tuesdays and a lone Wednesday in Broward County, but now he's starting to dream about the damn place.
Sam is currently recovering from a particularly vivid vision that actually was a dream, but it was so much like the Mystery Spot that he can't fall back asleep.
He tries to decimate the dream with many of his old heuristics, but none of them are proving to be successful.
Counting sheep? Check.
Chanting? Check.
Praying? Unbelievable that he even considers it, but he can check that one off too.
Sam presses his eyes shut, but they fly open in an instant.
He has to watch Dean.
He has spent the past few nights like this, waiting with bated breath as he waits for the imminent rise and fall of Dean's chest.
Sam half expects Dean to cry out in pain and keel over from a heart attack or a seizure.
Sam's become increasingly aware of, well, everything about Dean. He knows when Dean wakes up, what Dean eats, where Dean goes.
He doesn't want to take his eyes off his brother for fear that Dean will simply evaporate before his eyes.
Sam is also keenly aware of the passage of time. He counts the seconds, the minutes, and the hours as he lies awake under a water-damaged ceiling in a tiny Missourian motel room.
It's enough to drive a man mad, but Sam doesn't mind it. It keeps him occupied. He wants to grab the clock and the minute hand to swing in a westerly direction once in a while.
Every minute that passes is a minute closer to Dean's demise.
The year-long deal makes this whole Mystery Spot ordeal even worse. Sam's prepared for the worst, but he hopes for the best.
He knows that Dean will leave him someday soon, but he still doesn't want to give up hope.
Sam rolls onto his back for a moment, surveying the wavy grey patterns of the mold-paths on the ceiling.
He exhales in a slow, measured fashion and listens for Dean's even breathing.
Sam is alarmed when he finds the room to be unnervingly quiet.
He instantly rolls to his side and frantically examines Dean from a distance.
It's not enough.
Sam climbs out of bed and hesitatingly lays a hand on Dean's wrist. He exhales with euphoric relief when he feels the steady pulse beating out a hopeful legato rhythm under Dean's skin.
Sam carefully looks at Dean's chest and is doubly pleased when he sees the covers moving in a visible testament to Dean's continuous pulmonary activity.
He sits back down on his own bed and blinks back tears as he slowly lowers his head to the flat pillow.
Sam isn't sure if it's grief or happiness that causes him to tear up, but he takes comfort in the fact that Dean isn't going anywhere soon.
End.