Warnings: I know this one stands already with one foot in wincest territory, but I still like to read it as gen (very schmoopy gen!).
I love those wincesty border!storys were they can cuddle and sleep in one bed (and maybe kiss) but without being in love with each other :-)
Rated T for some bad words.
Spoilers: Non, can take place whenever you like.
I know, the trapped-Dean-thing is kinda old, but after seeing the first few episodes of season 6, I needed a reason to make Sam care for Dean and couldn't come up with something else.
Disclaimer: I own Supernatural, but I didn't wrote this story...oh wait...it was the other way round...crap!
Title is a line from the Nine inch nails/Johnny Cash song "Hurt", just because I like the song (the Johnny Cash version) and it has the word 'dirt' in it :-)
I'm sorry for the grammar mistakes, English is not my native language and I've no beta, but I'm working on getting better, making my way through different grammar pages.
It takes Sam three days to find Dean in that hole.
It is about 10 feet deep with steep and slippy walls and it has swallowed Dean like a gigantic, earthy oesophagus, about to digest him.
He is barely conscious when Sam finds him and it takes over an hour for Sam to heave /beg/ tear/drag/insult his brother out of that muddy, dirt pit.
He stuffs Dean into the car and hurries to get away from that fucking wolves's trap or whatever it was.
In the Impala Dean instantly falls to sleep, totally exhausted. He's covered in mud all over, his hair, his face, his clothes and Sam can't think of anything else than to bring him to a place without dirt, or grass, or even a sky. ...also Sam is actually driving much to fast to keep his eyes more on Dean than onto the road.
Back in the motel- the nice, save, crappy, shabby motel, entirely without grass or a sky (maybe some dirt, but you can't have everything)- he lies Dean on one of the beds.
There are ridiculously pretty flowers on the covers and Sam can't stand them, flowers grow in the dirt and he hates to have to lie Dean upon them. Yeah, perhaps he's overreacting a little, but who's gonna blame him.
Dean is still out of it when he strips him from his clothes, sponges him clean from the hole's gastric juices and checks him over again.
Thankfully Dean's pulse is steady and if he has a fever it's not high at least.
Also he has no bigger injuries, just some raw patches of skin and a sprained ankle and Sam is happy that there are no wounds to stitch up or joints to set back.
When he pulls Dean's eyes open and shines a flashlight on Dean's irides, they are nice, round and contracting, and Dean wakes up a little to spit out some soft pain noises and a few insults (right now a feast for Sam's ears).
Sam figures, he's really just tiered and exhausted, thank god.
Sam searches in Dean's duffel for a new t-shirt and new shorts and is careful to choose nothing brown, just white.
White like the pills which he can't make Dean swallow, after putting the new clothes on him.
He gives up on the pills and tries to make him only drink some water, but fails again, the most of it runs down Dean's chin, wets his fresh shirt and waters the stupid flowers on the cover
Obviously Dean mostly needs to sleep, he surely hasn't slept much more in the last three day's than Sam has (thus, not at all).
So Sam carefully carpets him with the ugly cover, before he goes to take a shower to scrub of the remains of the accursed hole from his own skin.
Standing in the shower he watches the odious dirt circling in the pull of the drain, before it gets easily sucked down, like if the clean, white tub eats up the ugly brown filth. That's a comforting sight and Sam starts to relax a bit.
After he has showered he feels better, even if the water couldn't wash of the panic from the last days completely.
Dean had disappeared while being on a smaller hunt alone. It was supposed to be quick and easy, but in their live nothing ever really is, and if Sam hadn't forgotten about that again he wouldn't have let him go alone and spare them both three days of pure agony.
Also maybe Sam is a self-pity bastard, but the next time (not that he'll let something like that happen again) he'd rather be the one down in the hole, than the one who's left behind in clueless uncertainty, worrying himself sick and totally freaking out.
No! No, he figures to be left in the dark about what happened to a person you love, is much, much worse than to starve or freeze to death in a fucking hole...and he is right!
He dresses in fresh clothes and leaves the bathroom.
Dean is rolled up on his side, just like Sam had tugged him in.
Sam looks at him with knitted browns and switches of the light before he carefully lifts the covers to slip in behind him.
Dean doesn't even wake up when he wraps his arms around him and pulls him to his chest.
Sam's found him. He's alive. He'll be okay. Sam presses his nose in Dean's hair and finally gives his own heart-rate the permission to slow down to a non heart-attack triggering speed.
With his arms around his brother, Sam wonders if his hand's have become so frigging big, or if Dean has shrunk, because right now he feels so very small in his gigantic paws. Like something you can easily flip over in your palm, a coin or something. So Sam curls himself up more around Dean (there is still to much space between them anyway) and tries to be a save for that too small Dean-coin.
When minutes later Dean struggles a bit in his sleep and makes a soft, but heart-breaking, moaning noise, Sam suddenly thinks he can't do it any more.
He can't live a life in which he always has to fear that the one person who means the most to him ( and also the only person who is left for him to call a friend or a family) is constantly endangered. Maybe he is getting old, or sentimental, or both, but he is fed up to brim with it and he thinks he'll hand in his resignation right tomorrow.
Dear bitch of a life
Hereby I declare that I refuse to take part in any future life situations which might led to my brothers death, or him nearly dying, or him even getting hurt in any possibly way.
I await things to be always bright and sunshiny, starting by no later than tomorrow.
Fuck you very much.
Fornever your's
Sam Winchester
No, of cause he won't, not now, but maybe the next time Dean gets a scratch or a splinter in a finger it'll be the last straw. He's gonna buy some paper and envelopes right tomorrow, just in case.
When Dean wakes up some hours later, he blinks owlishly at Sam, and Sam's so happy, he beams like a fucking light bulb.
He runs his fingers through Dean's hair and kisses him, his forehead, his cheeks, the side of his mouth, the bridge of his nose, whatever comes in reach.
"You are so not gonna do anything like that ever again, you here me? Stupid jerk!" Sam says with a world's love in his voice, affectionately squeezing and stroking his elder brother.
And maybe he's crying, and of cause Dean will tease him about it tomorrow, but who cares? Not him, he's gonna take it all, as long as Dean is well.
Even more, he's sure he's gonna start sloshing tears of joy again the moment Dean starts to make fun of him about that.
"If you're growing ovaries, I'm so not gonna go buy you tampons, Samantha!"
"Stop bawling, you're tutu's getting wet!"
"Didn't know it's raining outside!"
Yeah, Sam really can't wait!
Than Dean begins to cough and it sounds deep and wet and Sam wouldn't wonder if he'd spit out a mound of earth, big enough to fill a grave. He holds him up a little and thumbs his back to help him until the fit's over.
Reaching around Sam grabs a bottle of water from the nightstand and presses it to Dean's lips. At first he takes only small sips and grimaces, and Sam figures that his throat must hurt, but after a few sips he starts greedily to gulp down the water.
"Hey, hey slowly you're no camel."
He lets Dean drink half of the bottle before he takes it away and puts it back on the nightstand.
Dean looks at him with big, pleading eyes, his chin dripping with spilled water.
"You'll get more later, okay?" he soothes and runs a hand over Dean's face to wipe away the water.
"S'my..." Dean also sound's as if he has a grave's spoil of dirt in his throat and Sam hates holes in the ground so much right now.
"Shh, try not to talk, okay?"
"...where...?"
With an arm around his shoulder's he guides Dean back down, tugs him to his side.
"You're save. And now stop talking."
Sam assumes than Dean's understand him, cause he huffs a 10 feet deep sigh of relieve, before he heaves his weary head up to rest it on Sam's chest, his eyes already closing again.
And than Dean is back to sleep, which is good, cause that way Sam can continue kissing his head and stroking his back, in peace, without needing to fear that Dean bitches about chick-flick moments.
And when Dean starts snoring softly it sounds like violins in Sam's ears and he really don't mind that Dean also drools all over his chest.
Lying awake in the darkness for some more minutes, Sam looks up to the ceiling and tries figuring out what the next days will be like.
Dean'll probably bitch about the porridge Sam's gonna cook him tomorrow, and about the thick clothes he's gonna make him wear in the next days, and, most of all, about the way Sam's gonna hover around him like a moon all the time.
But no matter how much Dean's going to grumble about Sam's nurturing, claiming he doesn't need it, Sam'll know that he's lying.
He'll know it by the way Dean presses up next to him on the diner bench instead of sitting opposite ("That bench's dirtier than my socks – and that says something – no way I'm gonna sit there, Sammy"), by the way he "accidentally" leans his head on Sam's shoulder while he's sleeping in the passenger seat, by the way Dean looks panicked after he's lost sight of Sam in the supermarket.
But, even so, after round about two weeks Dean'll be okay he figures, and than he can allow himself to have his own well-needed breakdown, crying out all the fear and anxiousness and frustration he had suffered during Dean's disappearance.
Dean'll hug him as long as it takes and than say, "Come on Sammy, something like that'll never happen again, so spare all the girly tears for something really sorry...like your chance on ever getting late if your not finally coming up with some macho vibes."
Sam'll laugh and call him a, "Jerk" and Dean'll replay "Bitch" and everything will be back to normal.
Sam smiles silently into the darkness.
He knows they would never really sit down and talk about all that crap...shit happens and it would feel awkward to go all Dr. Phil about it. They'll come through this with comforting side glances and touches (saving the words for mocking, to contrast the under-surfaced stress and the unobtrusive affectionateness which helps to relieve it).
Yes, that's how they're gonna live this down, Sam knows it'll work – it has before.
Dean makes a slurping noise in the drool puddle on Sam's chest and Sam kisses the top of his head one last time before he nuzzles his cheek against Dean's hair.
He knows, they're going to be okay – at least as okay as they could be with that bitch of a life they're living - and for now that's good enough for Sam.
He closes his eyes and finally drifts away to sleep - for the first time in three days.
Thank you so much for reading!
And if you feel like give the writing-dog a review-bone before leaving, it will happily wag it's tail :-D