A/N! A short story, to say a big, big 'Thank you' to the 10.000 viewers, who have clicked on one of my stories... Hello to you all! So, I wasn't going to write this, and I am not sure that it is good but... Here it is! This piece is a Thank You, to all of you. (okay every piece is but this one is more than the rest). Today my counter hit 10.000 views. Okay, you will think, this isn't much. True, it is not, but well, for me, it means more than you know. It means that people can see beyond a certain disability I have, to the main point of the story. It means that I've managed to make even one of you, forget his/her problems, or relax after a hard day, or simply pass the time happily, reading a story I've written. It means that despite the fact that I am dyslectic, and messing up with a lot of words, you still enjoy the stories. Or so I hope... :)
So yes, I do want to thank you, all 10.000 of you, even though I will never meet you. Because you've made me embrace an activity which I love once again, and get out of my shell. So, yeah... This, means much. Too much...
Anyway, I've said enough, let's get on with the story! I hope that you will enjoy! :) A/N!
FULL SUMMARY!
Taking place after Season 12 episode 2: Mama Mia and before episode 3: The foundry. Sam gets sick, really sick, and is burning up with fever. He is falling, falling in an endless dark Pit, drowning in a sea of fire, unable to take in a deep breath. But then, a light shines from the shadows, a hand grabs him, pulling him out of the dark Pit, and cool lips touch his own gently. And then Sam knows, that beyond the darkness and the fire, Dean is waiting for him... Or, a story in which Sam gets sick because of Toni's torture with the cold water, and Dean takes care of him. Mary struggles to understand what kind of relationship her boys have and Cas actually helps Dean with his own way.
"With every heartbeat I have left, I will defend your every breath..."
He was shivering, shivering hard underneath the blankets, and his fogged mind was battling with itself, ordering his drained body to push the blankets aside one minute, and then, as cold air made contact with the burning skin, long hands would lash out, grabbing fistfuls of the blankets they had just pushed away, trying desperately to pull them back. But they didn't really have the strength to complete the task, their hold was weak and their shaking, too violent.
Ragged, quickening breaths were then heard, as the tall man tried to fill his lungs with oxygen in order to find the strength to pull the blankets upwards yet again. Sharp like knives were those breaths, and the man shut his hazel eyes against the burn in his throat. Shivering yet again, he let his head fall to the side, not bothering to open his eyes. His long brown locks, damp with sweat, were a mess, lying all over his face, covering his eyelids and his ears...
For a second there, the woman felt an overwhelming need to enter the room and go pull the blankets over the tall figure which was lying on the bed. Yes, she needed to help him, she couldn't just stand there, by the door and watch through the small crack, as though she was some kind of intruder. The tall, so, so tall figure was her beloved son, her son, who was burning up for two days and two nights now, burning with fever, while coughing badly, making every breath he took a torture. A torture... How ironic this choice of words was...
Her son was lying on that bed and couldn't bring himself to take in a deep breath ,because some British bitch, had been torturing him for days on and on, pouring ice cold water on him, not bothering to let him remove the dripping clothes afterwards. And now, this had happened. He had fallen ill, as his body could no longer fight the strain it had undergone. Taking a step forward, the woman stretched her hand to open the door of the room. She had to get in there, every fiber of her body was screaming at her to. But for some reason, she didn't seem to be able to push the door open.
A pained inhale, followed by a broken plea, or to be more accurate, a muffled whimper of a name, was what made the woman take a hold of the door handle. But before she could do anything more, a hand grabbed hers, and her blue eyes snapped open. "Mrs Mary... I don't think that you should get in there now." Said a deep tenor voice. "It's just 'Mary', Castiel." She muttered, but didn't move from the spot she was standing on. "Okay, Mary... you shouldn't get in there now." Castiel repeated, trying to make the woman move a few inches away from the door.
"I have to, he's burning up, hurting, and-" "And if there is one thing Sam needs right now, that's his brother, not me, not even you." The angel said, his voice even and calm. Mary lowered her head, taking in a calming breath, but when she returned her gaze to where the angel had been standing, she found that he was no longer by her side, but walking down the hallway instead. He had left, but she couldn't bring herself to do the same, as another broken whisper was heard.
Shaking her head, to clear it from thoughts she shouldn't be having at that moment, like the fact that her boys were way closer than any brothers should ever be, Mary risked opening the door just a little bit more, so as to get a better glimpse, of what was happening inside. The room was dimly lit, as only the lamp by the nightstand was turned on. Mary blinked a couple of times, in order for her eyes to adjust at the lack of light, and then fixed her gaze on the crack.
Sam was tossing and turning on the bed, his body drained of all energy, yet restless, unable to settle down for more than half an hour. Broken whispers were escaping his lips, mostly names, names Mary had no idea to whom they belonged to. Names like Jess, Sara, Madison, Kevin and Bobby... She knew none of them, but as it would seem, her boys did, because as soon as the muffled words had escaped Sam's dry lips, Dean made his appearance in Mary's line of sight.
"Shh, no you can't be tossing the blankets around Sammy, alright?" She heard her older son say, voice low, as though it was a piece of darkness. His well trained hands took a hold of the blankets and pulled them over Sam, who at that point, was repeating the word 'sorry' over and over again. Such was their tenderness as they moved, such was their gentleness when they would be hovering over Sam, that Mary felt her heart aching.
Tearing her gaze from those hands, Mary took a closer look at Dean's face, which was looking bizarre under the dim light. Too tired and pale, thin and shadowed by agony it looked. And it had every right to look that way, for Dean hadn't slept in his own bed for two days now, as he was constantly refusing to leave his brother's side. But there was more than just weariness and agony painted on that face. Haunted, one would say it was, yes, haunted by a never ending agony, about Sam's well being.
Mary bit her lip, as she saw Dean kneeling on the floor, his long hands taking a hold of Sam's burning face. "You're still burning up..." He muttered to himself and glanced at his watch. Mary found herself wondering why her son was doing that, but then it hit her, Dean was checking the time, so as to see if he was able to give Sam more pills for his fever. She raised her hand and got ready to gaze at her own watch, but as she heard Dean sighing bitterly, she figured out she didn't have to. Strange thing isn't it? How time seems to fly sometimes, while on other occasions, it seems to stand still...
"No, no no... Dean... No, please no, Dean!" Sam's pained grunt, brought Mary back to the present and got her out of her thoughts. Her eyes blurred, as she once again looked through the crack, and saw Dean placing a wet washcloth on Sam's forehead. But what made her heart stop, was what Dean did right after Sam's plea had faded. He furled his body even more and got his lips to Sam's ear, whispering words which were meant only for Sam to hear.
Yes, only for Sam to hear. For Sam, who was burning in a dark Pit, burning in an endless sea of hellish, swirling fire and seething smoke. For Sam, who under his closed eyelids was watching all the people he ever loved die one by one, unable to help them, or prevent their demise. For Sam, who was lashing his long trembling hands, seeking something, anything to hold on to, to ground himself. Anything? No, not anything, not some random thing, or person. He was desperately looking for Dean, for the one and only person, who had always been there.
And as Mary took in a sharp breath, as her eyes opened wide, Dean took a hold of Sam's hand with his own, lashing their fingers together, whispering a little louder now, whispering that he was right there, that he was alive, that he loved Sam so very much... "I'm here Sammy, right here baby, right here..." And with those words, Sam's hazel eyes flew open and he bolted upright on his bed, coughing repeatedly, his body shaking like a leaf in Dean's arms... Dean's arms... Yes, in less then a heartbeat they had moved from Sam's face and were now locked around his waist and chest, rubbing small circles on them.
For a few minutes, nothing but harsh, uneven breaths were echoing in the small room, and even though Mary was sure Dean was still muttering things to Sam's ear, she once again couldn't hear them. And she wasn't sure she had the right to. Because those were words of absolute love and adoration, words simple, yet so very meaningful, spoken not by one man to another, not even by one brother to the other. Those were words, spoken by someone who was trying to pull the person he loved the most, out of a dark, dreadful place, out of a realm of nightmares and painful memories. Words spoken by someone who would gladly go to Hell and back, who would kill everything and everyone, who would dare to harm the person he loved the most.
As Mary felt tears in the corner of her eyes, she blinked, focusing her gaze on Sam, whose eyes were now open and red rimmed, whose chest was rising and falling way too fast, whose body was shaking and yet, curling closer to Dean's. "D'n..." He finally uttered, through clenched teeth. "You with me Sammy?" Dean dared to ask. "God, D'n-" "It was just a dream Sammy, just a fever dream..." He said, moving from where he was kneeling by the bed. "Don't go-" "I'm not leaving baby, I'm just-" "Please don't, don't leave me, don't hate me Dean, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" "Shhh, hey, hey easy, Sam easy, I'm not leaving you baby and you know that I could never, ever hate you Sammy." Dean said, voice quiet.
"But I... I killed them all, it's my fault, all of their deaths..." But Sam could no longer speak, as he started coughing yet again. "Shh, no talking, come on baby boy, you have to drink some water-" "It's my fault, all of them, Bobby, Charlie, Madison, Sara, you, oh God, I couldn't help you, not back then with the Deal, not now with Amara-" But Dean couldn't bare to hear Sam talking like that, so he manhandled him, making him sit on the bed, while grabbing the washcloth from where he had tossed it, pressing it on Sam's jaw and neck.
"No, don't, it's cold-" "I know, I know Sammy, but you're burning up, so I have no other choice." The green eyed man replied, taking his brother's face in his hands in a vice like grip, flinching as his fingers touched the burning skin. Resting his forehead on Sam's sweated one, Dean spoke, choosing his words carefully. "Sam, Sammy you have to listen to me now, okay? I don't blame you Sam, they didn't die because of you, you tried your best to save them. All of them." Dean declared, feeling Sam starting to shake even more, as another wave of fever was working its way in his body.
"N-N-No, they said so, back then, when Toni-" "That bitch had dragged you Sam, what you were seeing, it wasn't real." Dean interjected, trying to keep Sam's blurring eyes on his own sad green ones. "No... I failed them all, I failed you. When she used the spell, I thought I was fucking her and I didn't think of you, you were supposed to be dead, but I had forgotten about it, about you, God I'm..." "Sam, Sammy easy, breathe through it, come on." Dean coaxed, as the young man coughed yet again, his body furling almost in half, his trembling hands unable to cover his mouth.
Dean however, was fast and used his own hand, placing it in front of Sam's mouth, while holding Sam upright as much as possible with his free hand. Mary's face frowned, this wasn't a gesture people would do, not even for their own children. But then again, as it would seem, there was nothing Dean wouldn't do for Sam. And that terrified Mary, so very much. "I'm cold Dean..." "Yeah, I know, come on, drink some water, small sips, okay?" The old man instructed, and Sam obeyed. "Dean I-" "Sam... Sammy... God... How can you think that I could ever hate you baby?" He muttered, taking Sam's face in his hands yet again.
"Because... I'm..." "You're... You're everything Sam. And I fucking love you, so fucking much, that it hurts..." Dean whispered, brushing his lips on Sam's burning ones. And it was in that moment, that Sam felt the all too familiar taste of Dean's lips on his own, it was that moment, in which his mind was finally clear enough, and free of memories and old ghosts of the past. So he kissed back, his trembling hands locking themselves around Dean's torso. It was in that moment, in which Sam felt Dean's strong arms around his waist, that he felt grounded on Earth and not falling in some Dark Pit filled with Hell fire.
And it was in this moment, in which Mary Winchester felt the world had stopped spinning. This was... Wrong... It was something she couldn't bare to look, and yet, she couldn't turn away from. She couldn't turn away from it, for it was breathtaking, it was an act of pure, unconditional love, a simple act, yet it meant so much... It meant, that Sam loved Dean so very much. It meant that Dean would always be there for his brother, there by his side, as he had always been. There, to teach him everything, everything he had to know, to hold him close when he needed someone to lean on to. There, to drag him out of the dark places his mind would pull him in. There, to whisper words of comfort in his ear, to kiss his tears away.
There, by Sam's side, ready to hold the skies up when they would be falling, there, to protect him, with every heartbeat he had left. Because Sam deserved all those things and so much more. Because Sam, was Dean's world, his reason to keep fighting, to keep living. Sam was the light in that ugly world. Sam, was everything Dean ever had, everything he ever wanted to have.
Taking many unsteady steps backwards, Mary tripped on her own feet, and would have fallen down, if strong hands hadn't been there to catch her in time. "What the... Castiel?" The woman uttered, voice trembling. "I felt your... distress so I came back here." The angel answered, guiding Mary away from the door. "Are you alright?" He questioned, while casting a glimpse over his shoulder to see Dean lying Sam back on the bed, covering him with the blankets.
"You said... They have met God and His Sister..." Mary uttered, turning her gaze on the angel. "Yes, they have." "And is God... Permitting what they... I mean..." "Sam and Dean are Soulmates, which means that they share the same Heaven. Like you share one with John." The angel explained. "So, it is only natural for them to be so close." "But..." "Since you asked, God does not oppose to their relationship." The man said, offering his hand to Mary.
"And what about other people?" Mary uttered, but the angel had turned his face towards the door, behind which he could sense Dean's presence. The hunter had heard them... "I'm sure that for them, your opinion matters the most." "But they are my sons and..." "Does what you saw make you despise them?" The angel asked, voice low. "No... I could never..." "Do you still love them?" Castiel questioned, fixing his eyes on Mary. "I... Yes, more than anything." She replied. "Then that is enough." Said Castiel giving her a soft smile, as he watched her walk away, towards the main room.
"Thanks Cas." Dean's low voice was heard from behind the door, a few heartbeats later. "It's alright Dean, go take care of Sam, he is still having a very bad fever." Answered the angel. "Can't you help him?" Dean almost pleaded, as he opened the door a little bit more. "I am sorry Dean... My powers can't help him now." Castiel said, in a sad voice. "But you, you can help him, it's you he needs, it's you he loves." The man uttered, giving Dean one last smile, while closing the door behind him.
Dean returned to where Sam was lying as soon as the door had been shut. He once again damped the washcloth in the bowl with the water which he had placed on the nightstand and then he kicked off his shoes, lying next to Sam in a blink of an eye. "D'n..." "Shh, I'm right here Sammy. Try to get some sleep baby boy." Dean encouraged, wiping Sam's face with the damped towel. "I don't want-" "I promise I'll wake you up Sammy, won't let you have a nightmare again alright?" "Alright..." Sam replied, getting closer to Dean's body.
"I... I love you Dean..." The young man muttered in the crook of Dean's neck, and the green eyed man kissed the top of his head. "So am I Sammy. So am I." He uttered, but Sam was already drifting off, to a more peaceful sleep. Yes, sleeping at last. And when Dean was sure that his brother was asleep, he let his own eyes flutter close.
Tomorrow, he would have to talk to his mother. Tomorrow, he would have to search for the British Men of Letters. Tomorrow... But not tonight. Tonight, he would stay with Sam. Because Sam, was his light. Because Sam, was his everything. And Dean would gladly travel from the lowest Pits of Hell to the highest pike of Heaven in order to find him. He would gladly spend his every breath defending him. Because Sam, loved him. Loved him more than anything.
And all Dean wanted to do, was to love him even more than he already did. He didn't know if it was possible. But he would be damned, if he didn't try.
"I love you Sammy..." He whispered again, finally falling asleep.
A/N! So, this is the end! I tried to make this one short, I really did... :) This story came to me, while I was listening to a song!
Song:Light
Band: Sleeping at Last
Thank you so much for reading, hope that you enjoyed! comments are like hot chocolate on a cold winter's day! A/N!