Space Where Your Bed Should Be, a supernatural fanfic

There is a feeling Sam got at university, and it was a feeling he'd felt on three times in his childhood – When there was a space where his brother should have gone that was not filled in his room.

br That doesn't happen too much. Normally, Sam shares with Dean, and Dean grumbles about it and stays as far away from his little brother as he can, for all of ten minutes. Then he gets cold, so he gets under the topsheet, and three minutes after that, Sam has managed to insinuate himself under one of his brother's arms, face pressed to his neck, snoring peacefully.

br There were only three times between when Sam was three and when Sam left for Stanford that they didn't share a room, and Sam remembers them all.

br When Sam was five, Dean got hurt – really hurt, lots of blood, Daddy stitched it up. Dean and Daddy had their own room, Sam's had a little door that connected, and he slammed it shut and locked it so he could pretend it was a hurt animal and not his big brother crying in the other room. Sam asked Daddy if they could get Dean a present the next day, and they found the amulet his big brother has worn every day since.

br When Sam was ten, and Dean was fourteen, Sam insisted he didn't want Dean to take care of him, and there was money that week – he doesn't know why. And Dad laughed and got them their own rooms, sharing one with Dean (because he loved Dean best, Sam thought), and Sam spent the whole night sitting bolt straight, holding his gun in his hands. Dean snuck into his room the next morning and flung an arm over his little brother. Sam slept 'till noon and Dad just came in and chuckled at them. Dean had been up all night looking in the direction of the wall they shared with Sam, nervously polishing a knife.

br When Sam was fourteen and Dean was eighteen, they had a fight. About everything; the fact that Dean snuck out at midnight, and in at three smelling like a brothel, that Dean remembered Mom and Sam didn't and Dean held it over him, that Dean had always gotten the extra cookie, that Sam was smarter and he could go places other than here but this was all Dean would get, that Dean had failed the twelfth grade on purpose so he could watch out for Sam his first year of high school and that Sam never felt like his father loved him as much as he loved Dean, or that he loved his father as much as he loved Dean either. It was a bad fight – Dean broke his ankle, and Sam's collarbone snapped, and he had three cracked ribs. Dad had actually taken them to the hospital that time, and then gotten three rooms, and Dean had still snuck out and come back smelling like a brothel, and Sam had stayed up all night polishing his guns and pretending that his water glass had exploded because he was holding it too tight. The next night, after spending the whole day in a silent, glared conversation in the back seat, they asked for their normal double room, and Dean bought Nair for Sam's shampoo, and Sam stole Dean's toothpaste.

br There have only been three times since Sam came home that they have shared a bed – and it's home, because it's Dean, and the Impala, and though he'll never tell anyone, Dad's voice on the phone if he can't sleep.

br The first time was the night after Jess. He had been calm, perversely so – he had, for once in his goddamned life, been the son his father wanted him to be, and he hadn't thought about her as Jess after Dean got him out of the room. He hadn't thought of the dreams, or thought to ask why his brother hadn't just sped off after he'd dropped him off. He'd just toyed with weapons – like he did when he was younger and afraid – showered, and gotten into bed. A few friends had offered to let him stay at their places for the duration, and Dean had practically growled and then booked them into a hotel. Not a motel, a hotel, with good beds and a nice shower and a pool downstairs. Just one room, like always; Sam almost shudders to realize they're back to a place that has i 'always /i ' in it for he and Dean. His brother showers second and he gets into bed, wearing a pair of Dean's sweats – they smell like his brother, like their bedroom from when they still had the house, like Dad's old gloves and Dean's aftershave, he isn't used to sleeping alone, and he doesn't feel tired. He's just trying to hit i always /i just right the first time, maybe then he'll get it into his head that he's not going home again. But Dean fucks that up – Dean has his own idea of always – and crawls into bed behind him. He doesn't touch him, but he does get under the covers first thing.

br "It's gonna be OK, Sammy."

br And suddenly, Sam isn't so calm anymore – his big brother did always know just the right spot to hit when they fought.

br "Dad doesn't want to talk to me," Dean mumbles, finally looking up at Sam.

br "Or he's not where there's cell phone reception, or he's trying to make us more independent again, Dean," Sam rolls his eyes, "Dad wouldn't just ignore you on a whim – we're family." Dean gives Sam a look that says that he, of all people, should never talk about what family does, and does not do – because family, in Dean's opinion, doesn't just leave and go out looking for whatever it is they want that their family can't give. Sam rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair – yeah, he can shower in the morning.

br "If Dad's not picking up when we – when I call," Dean corrects when Sam gives him the look that says 'I was eighteen, I was alone and I was scared damn it, and I called and neither of you picked up', that's a conversation that can wait for another time. Even for them it takes a minute for Dean to get that message from a slight tilt of his brother's head, a clenching of his right hand by his side and the way he become slightly more hunched as if he wants Dean to forget that he's four inches taller, and just remember that he's four years younger and needs taking care of. "If I call and Dad doesn't pick up, Sammy, you know what that can mean."

br "OK," Sam says, and nods, and pulls on a long-sleeved shirt before climbing into bed with Dean. Dean doesn't object, he just lifts himself above the covers, and waits for his little brother to arrange his lanky limbs.

br Thirteen minutes later Dean is overheated and Sammy's hair is tickling his chin.

br This time, Sam doesn't ask, Sam doesn't talk and neither does Dean. It is expected, Leila leaves and Sam comes back with a Mars Bar and Dean is sitting on the bed, head in his hands.

br This time, it's a mutual decision – Sam turns to Dean's bed and Dean turns to Sam's after they've changed and showered, and they both laugh before Sam crawls into his own bed and Dean follows. This time, Sam pushes him under the covers, and pulls his brother's body towards him. He rests his head on his brother's chest instead of his shoulder and puts his hand around one of his brother's wrists, taking his pulse, and goes to sleep.

br Dean falls asleep too, but when he wakes up, he's got an arm around Sam and Sam's too-long hair (and really, the man is twenty-two, he shouldn't have to remind him to get it cut still) is practically up his nose.

br Sam regrets that he's lost the life he once had, the life where he was going to be a lawyer, and marry Jess, and have kids who didn't reflexively check the ceiling of any room their brother wasn't in. But, even with the nightmares, and the visions and the bruises, he doesn't miss the way he used to feel when there was a space in his room where Dean's bed should be.

br Because he's never going to let that space stay empty for long again.