Psychobabble
Creeno
Sanity is basically an act. Insanity, is dropping the act.
- Nana Lee
He doesn't know when it starts. Ruby could probably tell him, but she doesn't give things like that up easily. It's fun for her unless it threatens him.
He only knows is that the gap between holding Dean's dead body and burial, things shift.
"Sammy?"
He jerks awake and not to Asia. Instead, it's a clean bedroom, one with pictures on the wall and a soft bed underneath him. It's his, for sure, because he can feel where it's molded around him.
"Dean?" his voice is thick and scared. This doesn't make sense, Dean's supposed to be—
Then he sees Dean's worried eyes on him and feels, actually feels his hands on his face.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean smiles and it's not so worn, not so tired. At the same time, though, there's…relief. "You've been sick for awhile. Glad to see you've finally snapped out of it."
Dean's lips ghost over his and Sam's too weak to fight it. Somewhere, he knows this isn't right, that this shouldn't be happening, but it's something he knows he can't give up.
Dean draws back, and Sam moves his head up, tries to follow him, but Dean pushes him back. "Nuh-uh, Princess. Your breath smells like horseshit."
"Does not," Sam croaks as Dean moves away. His eyes feel heavy as he watches Dean go into the doorway into what looks like a bathroom, and he feels his throat tighten.
(why?)
He feels himself get heavier, drowsier. Dean reappears, hand on his forehead.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean's eyes look bright, and his hand feels cold, "Sammy, hey—"
"—Sam." Bobby's voice replaces Dean's. "Sam, we gotta go."
Oh. Right.
Sam wearily sits up, scrubbing his face. Doesn't even know how he got here, but he knows by the cold feel in his heart, he won't wake up beside Dean ever again.
His hand brushes over Dean's cold, bloody face as Bobby watches from the doorway, as if he's seen this before.
"I'm ready," he says and he knows he's lying.
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