Summary: Takes place immediately after 9x01. A few missing scenes between the brothers, including the car ride back.
Disclaimer: Characters remain at large.
A/N: Just a short one-shot. Nothing fancy. Hope y'all enjoy it, nonetheless!
My gut feels like a coiled rag being wrung dry. My clammy palms slide over the steering wheel, trying to get a grip.
Just trying to get a grip.
This whole situation is screwed to hell. I know that. But what else could I do? It's for his own good. At least that's what I'm trying to make myself believe. Because I'm nothing without my brother. And if he was gone – again - I just...I couldn't do it.
I meant what I told him. I just hope that when the time comes he'll understand why I had to do this. I lean a little harder into the gas pedal and try not to think about that look that'll be on his face. Those betrayed, hurt, angry eyes searching mine, begging to understand why I didn't trust him.
I do, though. I trust you, Sam.
But it's my job to make sure you're here to trust. It's my job, that's all. Couldn't lose you again, little brother.
Sam's been really quiet.
He looks so exhausted. The stress lines permanently etched underneath his bleary eyes tell me all I need to know about how lousy he still feels. They tell me everything he won't.
We're fixing that. Everything's gonna be all right.
Occasionally, he'll glance at me, almost as if he's waiting for me to tell him what to do next. And I keep my eyes on the road because I don't know. I don't know what to tell him.
So I just drive.
I drive and watch the yellow lines on the road whizz by and try not to think too hard about anything.
Sam's here and that's all that matters. I have him. I'm not losing him again.
I hear him shifting in his seat. I look over and watch as his fingers trace a pattern in the fogged glass window and then drop to trace the same pattern on the thigh of his jeans.
"Hey, Dean?"
The silence had been so loud I nearly jump at the words.
"Hmm?"
"Do you think, um-"
His hesitancy is unsettling and I feel myself involuntarily gripping the wheel a little tighter. Anticipating.
"What, Sam?"
He swallows, clears his throat and tries again.
"Do you think we could get some food? Or maybe just something to drink?"
I mentally slap myself. Because of course Sam would be thirsty. The food request is an unexpected bonus but I should've thought ahead. He's got to be parched. I feel terrible.
"Oh God, yeah, of course. What do you want? What sounds good?"
"Um-"
"Name it, Sam. Anything you want. Hell, we could drive to that – what'd you call it – Farmer's Market? Get you whole bushels of that organic crap you like so much."
Sam's weary huff of laughter is the most beautiful sound I've heard in weeks. "No, that's okay, thanks." He rubs his hand nervously up and down his jeans. "Just whatever's on the way."
"Well, there's a diner coming up off the highway, here. But we should probably find you something that's gonna be a little easier on your stomach."
Sam shakes his head. "No, no that's fine."
"Okay, well…I'll just pick us up something to-go?"
"Yeah, yeah that sounds good. Thanks."
I nod a smile and turn the car off the interstate. Ten minutes later I'm sliding back in the driver' seat and handing Sam two white paper bags that are practically bursting at the seams.
"Didn't really know what you wanted so I just got a little of everything."
"Yeah, I see that," Sam smirks as he rifles through one of the bags.
"Soup, spaghetti, couple of burgers, scrambled eggs, salad, blueberry muffins – it's all in there somewhere - take your pick. Oh, and I got orange juice, coffee, apple juice and water bottles."
"Dean, you didn't have to do all of this," Sam gratefully accepts a bottle of water and takes a few sips. Then he's back to sifting through the bags like a kid at Christmas and that makes me so damn happy I can't help thinking maybe this won't turn out so bad after all.
To my surprise, he finally settles on a burger, unwrapping the foil and chomping down like he hasn't eaten in…well, weeks.
"Just take it slow," I warn him.
Sam sighs and leans back against the seat, chewing contentedly. "Tastes really good," he informs me around a mouthful. "Thanks, Dean."
"Anytime." And I'm smiling again because it doesn't take a whole lot to make Sammy happy.
I lean over to turn on the radio while Sam goes back to digging in the bag. And I'm thrilled that he's eating, but now I'm afraid he's going to make himself sick. Maybe all the variety wasn't such a gangbuster idea. But then I feel something brush against my shoulder and I turn and there's Sam holding the second burger, gesturing for me to take it.
"You should eat, too," he says. "You look like you could use it."
"Gee, thanks," I glare half-heartedly. But I accept the burger because he'll sit there until his arm falls off if I don't take it. I don't really have much of an appetite but I unwrap it and take a bite, anyway.
Sam watches my progress a moment before turning back to his own meal, apparently satisfied. I mentally roll my eyes.
Overprotective little brothers - can't live with 'em…definitely can't without…
The meat has turned to ash on my tongue and it's suddenly difficult to swallow.
I glance over a moment later and Sam's head is lolling against the window, his fingers still gripping the half-eaten burger lying in his lap. His breathing is slow and deep. My lips quirk as I realize he totally konked out mid-chew.
I lean over and adjust his neck to a more comfortable position before tossing the rest of the food back in the bag.
Sam's soft snores fill the silence and for a moment it's peaceful and there are no deals, no angels, no possessions…no one else. Just my kid, asleep in the passenger's seat exactly where he's supposed to be. It can't last and I know that, but for now it's enough. Enough to get us home and push us into tomorrow.
We pull up to the bunker and I gently shake Sam awake. He's groggy and sleepy and tells me he still wants his burger.
"I'll save it for you, huh?"
"Yeah, m'kay," he agrees before pushing his stiff limbs out of the car.
"Shower or bed?" I ask him as soon as we're inside. He takes a moment to consider and slowly nods his head.
"Shower."
"Okay, just gimme a second to put this up and I'll give you a hand."
"No, I'm good. I got it." He fixes me with his most sincere please let me do this myself stare. And I can understand that Sam wants some privacy but the thought of him being alone, even for a few minutes, does nothing to soothe the anxiety clawing it's way back up my throat.
I don't want to leave him alone.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"All right, well…just call me if you need anything. I'll be right outside."
"'Kay."
He disappears down the hallway and I spend the next eight minutes pacing outside the bathroom door. The water shuts off and I'm finally able to breathe a little. Then I hear a dull thud.
"Sam? Sammy, you okay?" I knock on the door and listen for his answer.
Instead, I hear something that sounds like fingers slipping against wet tile, trying to find purchase. And that settles it.
"Sam? I'm coming in."
I push open the door and it only opens halfway because Sam's leg is blocking the rest of the opening. My heart stutters in my chest when I see him blinking up at me from the bathroom floor. His back is wedged in the corner between the tub and toilet and he looks slightly dazed. He's managed to pull on a pair of sweats but the white t-shirt is still clutched tightly in his hands.
"Sam, what the hell happened?" I'm immediately down on my knees beside him, carefully assessing the damage.
"I'm fine," Sam insists as he swats away my frantic hands. "Jus'…just got a little lightheaded and lost my balance."
"You hit anything?"
Sam shakes his head apologetically and hoists himself off the floor while I hover.
"Really, Dean, I'm fine," his voice is soft and earnest. "Just tired is all."
"Okay, well I can fix that."
I settle him into bed and immediately pull up a nearby chair. Sam frowns at me from underneath the covers even as his eyes begin to droop.
"Dean-" he's interrupted by a giant yawn. "Go get some sleep."
"I am."
"In a real bed. In your bed."
"Nah," I pull a face. "Beds are overrated."
"Please, Dean. You need to sleep." And now Sam's just trying to keep his eyes open but he's having to try because of me and that's unacceptable.
"Okay, compromise." I haul in a musty sleeping bag and lay it out on the floor beside Sam's bed. "Final offer, Sammy. Take it or leave it." I stretch out and pillow my hands behind my head.
"Friggin' stubborn," Sam slurs drowsily. He nuzzles his face deeper into the pillows as healing sleep finally coaxes him under.
I lie awake, listening to Sam's soft breathing, the slight rustle of the sheets as he rolls over, and there's no doubt in my mind that it's all worth it.
I'm gonna fix this, Sammy. I'm gonna fix it.
End.