Author's Note #1: Sensing a theme from me this week? We've had so much hurt so far this season, from both Sam and Dean, and not a whole heck of a lot of comfort, so I had to write some of my own until we get that break-down, "chick-flick" moment we're all waiting with baited breath for.
Author's Note #2: I figured that since I used "two" days of the week, I could double my drabble and make it 200 words ;-) Big Thanks to Riathe Mai for her encouragement, editing, last minute questions and research...and the virtual slap upside the head and not letting me delete this entire thing.
As always...I don't own anything.
ooOOoo
"Damn it, Sam!"
"Dean…no…just…drop it, okay? Please."
Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, Sam's overly bright eyes and choked, broken plea only strengthening his resolve.
"No. I can't. I won't. Not this time."
"Really, Dean, I'm—"
"No. You're not," Dean interrupted. He sat on the bed, shoulder just brushing Sam's.
"Listen, I get it, alright? After Cold Oak, I didn't want to let you out of my sight for even a moment. But this, man, this has been over the top…even for you. I get that that bastard Trickster…"
He felt Sam shudder before his body tensed. Dean's heart clenched as he watched his little brother curl in on himself; shoulders hunched, hands clasped tightly and tucked between his knees.
"Come on, Sammy, talk to me," Dean said softly, nudging his knee with his own.
"You died," Sam whispered.
"I can't even imagine what that Tuesday must've been like for you Sammy, but—"
Sam stood up suddenly, his words hectic and rambling as he paced the small motel room.
"Wednesday! Wednesday…not Tuesday…you…died! And you…I wouldn't wake up…and I hunted and…I…didn't…I couldn't…and then I killed…thought—"
"Whoa! Hey, what're you talking about?"
"I need to tell you something…"