One day, Sam wakes up and Dean smiles at him and says "Rise and shine, Sammy!" and Sam's eyes go wide and he can't draw breath, and he stays that way until Dean frowns and asks what's wrong. Sam wants to flinch away from everything, the bed and the alarm clock and his brother's voice and the whole damn world. His brother comes over and grabs his shoulders firmly, looking into his eyes, and says his name, twice, before Sam can let out a strangled sob and grab his big brother in a hug.
It's nine days after Broward County when Sam gets up one morning and the bed next to him is empty, not unmade empty, but never been slept in empty. And with a stony face he concludes that it was just a dream, wasn't it? He's still alone and Dean is still gone, and he just sits on the edge of the bed for a solid five minutes trying to snuff the emotions that he had thought he'd gotten back, in the dream. But he was on his own again. Sam stands and goes to the bathroom and reaches for his razor and there's two of them there, and for a moment he wonders why there's two tubes of toothpaste and two toothbrushes and then his phone rings and it's Dean and Sam remembers, remembers that it's real and Dean is here with him and he's not alone. He picks up the phone.
"Sorry Sam, just I met this smokin chick at the bar and I snuck out right after you fell asleep. I'm almost back to the motel." Sam doesn't say a word, his throat going up and down. "Sammy? Hey, Sam?" Sam opens his mouth to say something and the relief washes over him again at Dean's voice. "Crap, Sam, are you alright? Sam, say something!"
"Oh, God," Sam chokes out, and then outside the motel room a car door slams. The door flings open and in the mirror he sees Dean run in, phone to his ear, and say Sam's name into it again. The older brother looks up and sees Sam bracing himself against the sink with one hand, the other hand pressed against his eyes and a grimace on his face. Dean drops the phone on the bed and pulls Sam's hands away from his face. "Sam, what happened? Are you hurt?"
Sam looks at him. "No, no- I thought, the bed was empty and I thought you were gone and all this was just a dream, I thought you were still dead, Dean. I thought I was still back there and I just-" Dean grabs his upper arms and stares him in the eyes.
"No, Sammy, you're not alone. I'm here, okay? I shouldn't have left, that was stupid. It's okay."
The taller man nods and scrubs a hand over his face with a shudder, and he's just so relieved that it hurts.
They're an hour into a trip to Georgia when the radio station cheerfully fades from "Man in the Mirror" to the song, to that awful string of sounds that he never ever wants to hear again. To Asia. To "Heat of the Moment". Sam's blood runs cold and he stops explaining the details of his research to Dean and looks at the radio with its little red needle and it's nonchalant back-light. Dean looks at him, and then the radio, and realizes what happened. Dean curses and slams the radio off, and Sam just stays frozen because maybe if he doesn't move, if he doesn't get out of bed then nothing will happen to his brother but he's tried that already, he's tried everything and none of it works-
Dean is saying his name suddenly, and Sam blinks at him owlishly. Dean takes his hands and sweeps all the books and papers off of his lap and onto the driver's side and the car is pulled over on the side of the highway. He looks so worried, so Sam smiles at him and his mouth trembles. "I'm okay. Just the song, but I'm okay, Dean."
Dean sighs and nods, but they both know he isn't, and Dean doesn't ask for the research until they're in the motel a few hours later.
The worst time is in the parking lot of a motel just outside of Shreveport, Louisiana. Sam and Dean are packing up the Impala after a successful hunt the night before. Dean is putting the stakes in the trunk and Sam is leaning mostly into the back seat, shoving his duffel to the passenger's side, when the universe suddenly plays some sadistic joke.
"Give me your wallet," A voice says from the back of the car.
"Hey, buddy, let's just calm down, okay?" answers Dean's voice, and Sam pulls himself out of the car in an instant. The man hadn't seen him yet, and at the appearance of another person, much taller than himself, he jumped, and the gun went off.
It missed, by a long shot, flying past Dean and running the length of the Impala, six inches above its roof.
Before Dean can react, there's suddenly a six foot four pillar of fury standing in front of him.
"Oh, shit-" The tattered looking man with the gun says, and then Sam nails him in the jaw with an audible crunch. He goes flying a good five feet, and Dean knows that his brother is strong but this-
Sam draws his gun and is standing over the man, pointing it right between his eyes. The man is holding his jaw, and there's blood coming out of his nose and mouth and his lip is split, and he's trying to say something, but Sam roars at him, just screams no, and even Dean is scared for just a moment.
"Not this time!" Sam thunders, looming over the thief. "I won't let you take him from me! I won't let him die!" The man reaches for his gun a few inches away and Sam kicks him in the stomach, twice, then levels the gun at his head again, and Dean thinks, he's going to do it.
Dean runs forward, grabbing his brother's shoulder. "Sam, stop!" He shouts, but Sam is deaf to everything, and he kicks the man in the head. The man goes limp, unconscious, and Dean knows he's going to kill him.
Dean steps in front of Sam and shouts again, and Sam finally stops, staring at Dean in anguish.
"Dean-" Sam begins, hoarse, and Dean lowers Sam's gun arm. "Dean, I-"
Dean grabs his little brother and embraces him, and Sam drops the gun with a clatter, wrapping his arms around Dean and digging his fingers into the leather so hard that it hurts.
Sam puts his head in the space between Dean's chin and shoulder and sobs.
In Epes, Alabama, the brothers stroll into a diner with wooden walls and big, mostly clean windows. Sam laughs at something Dean says and shoves open the door with hand.
Right there on the wall of the diner, right in front of him, is a full color poster with a smiling pig on it.
Pig 'n a poke, only $2.99 on Tuesdays and Wednesdays!
Sam stops in his tracks and Dean just walks right into him, pushing him forward right into the path of a waitress, and the trio fall onto the wooden floor. Sam pushes himself up, grins, and then helps up the waitress with a clear apology. She nods and walks away, looking embarrassed, and Dean slaps him on the shoulder and calls him clumsy. Sam keeps the plastic grin on his face until the waitress comes over to their booth and asks for their order. "What's your special, Tracy?" Dean asks with a half-smile, reading her name tag, and she recites the advertisement that's on another poster, on the wall behind Dean.
"Pig n' a poke," She says, and Dean's smile stops being sincere. He looks at Sammy, and then back at the waitress. "Actually, Tracy, I'm not sure I'm in the mood for normal breakfast. Hey, Sammy, you up for something different today? Chinese, maybe? Or pizza," Dean says. Sam nods without a word and they leave, and that day the Winchester brothers skip breakfast altogether.
Coming back from the library, Sam walks into the motel and sees Dean at the little table by the window, food wrapped in paper in front of him. He nods his head at Sam and says hey, then picks up one of the things and goes to take a bite.
It's a hard shelled taco, and he shouts, lunging forward to slap it out of his brother's hands, remembering the last time, but before he can do a thing, Dean's already taken a bite. Sam stops, wide eyed, and Dean drops the taco back on the table, surprised.
"What?" Dean asks, and Sam collects himself, feeling stupid.
"Nothing."
"No, Sam, what? People don't just scream at tacos for no reason."
Sam looks out the window. "Just, uh, back in- in Broward, one of the ways you died was a bad taco."
Dean glances down at the taco on the table and then back to Sam. "Seriously? I hunt demons and vampires and vengeful spirits for a living and I died eating a bad taco?"
Sam thinks on it for a moment, and barks out a laugh, because it is kind of ridiculous.
But Dean doesn't miss the way his little brother skips them altogether and only eats the salad.
When he is finally able to sleep again, Sam has a nightmare that all the days past were just a dream and he's still looking for the Trickster with a cold heart and no brother, and when he finally jolts awake, the alarm clock is going off. A red hot something boils up inside him and he reaches out with one long arm and grabs the cord, yanking it forward so hard that it comes unplugged before being hurled against the wall. It shuts up and falls to the ground, leaving a dent in the wall. The glass face shatters and the plastic casing separates, the inside workings of the clock visible. Sam pants heavily and stares at it before looking up at Dean's shocked face, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.
"Sam, what the hell?" He exclaims, and Sam just clenches his jaw and drops his face into his hands.
He gets better, of course, because he always does. Because he has to. But there are some things that never change back for Sam, things that will always make him grimace and feel full of dread.
He can't listen to anything by Asia without going silent.
He can't watch Groundhog Day.
He can't take hot sauce with his breakfast.
And he can never, ever tell Dean about the time, on the 263rd Tuesday, that he woke up, looked at his brother with dead eyes, and shot himself in the head.
A/N: Good gravy I posted this at 1am and 8 hours later I've got 3 reviews and 100 views and a favorite
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