The events take place immediately after "Simon Said." Title taken from Death Cab For Cutie's beautiful song.
This one I wrote more or less impulsively. Hope you enjoy and please leave a review! Lots of love.
Brothers On A Hotel Bed
They are driving down a lightless road. Dean can tell that Sam is out of it. He does not blame him after the previous events. He is standing by him now, waiting for him to fall, and he'll be ready to catch him. He doesn't know if he can pick him up though, and put the pieces back together again. He doesn't know how to help. The visions are scorching his brother from the inside. The sun is burning too, and the clouds keep coming.
After speaking with Ellen, Dean feels a little strange. A secret that has been spoken between them in whispered words has come out into the open. But he can't be mad at Sam now. Not when Sam's eyes are shining like dull stars. There is hardly anything inside them.
They drive towards a motel and get a room for the night. When they arrive, the sun has disappeared behind the fortifying clouds, and wisps of darkness cover the heavens.
Dean arranges the deal with the owner, before marching out with the keys dangling in his hands. Sam is staring at something. Dean isn't sure what. Sam suddenly notices Dean looking at him, through him, and impulsively steps out of the car, trying to hide his pain, apparently. Dean approaches him nonetheless, and he is glad that he does.
"Sam?"
Sam suddenly falls forward. Dean catches him, there for him like a safety net. Sam clutches his jacket with both hands, his head leaning against Dean's chest. Sam can feel it rise and fall, can feel him breathe and his heartbeat sooth the ache in his head. He unleashes a frayed breath, and because he can't help it, a small sob. Dean is holding him up, hands carefully steadying him.
"Sam! Hey, hey, Sam... Are you okay?" He asks, unable to hide the concern in his voice.
"Dean..." Sam manages, and releases a few heavy breaths. He stops shaking, and looks into Dean's green eyes.
"Talk to me, man. What is it?" Dean asks.
"Back on the bridge, I saw you... I thought you were..."
Oh, that. Fuck. Sam had seen him die.
Dean wasn't able to control himself. He kept hearing a voice in his head, it was actually soothing and he couldn't argue against it, but when the voice dissolved, everything came crashing down. He had fallen to the ground in shock, the thought of leaving Sam alone scaring him more than the fact that he was about to blow his face into smithereens. Then he noticed that Sam was still lying on the ground, and half-sliding, half-running down the rocky hill, he came down to him. His brother seemed pretty shaken up, but Dean just thought it was because of the hit to the back he had just received. And all the crap he had just been through.
He was wrong.
Sam had watched him die, again.
Dean put a hand on his shoulder, to emphasize his words. They needed to be heard.
"You're not going blind on me, are you? I'm still here, Sam. Nothing happened to me." Dean tries to keep the tone light with a smile.
"I know..." Sam eventually says. Dean rearranges Sam so that he is leaning against him, so that he can support his weight.
"Come on, let's go inside." Dean says, and Sam nods. Dean leads him inside, leaving the darkness behind them.
Inside, Dean carefully places him on the bed and Sam willingly sinks into it, lying down on his back and closing his eyes. He's shivering a little, and Dean wonders if he has a fever. He slides his hand under his chocolate bangs, but doesn't feel any warmth.
"I'm okay, Dean. I just... need to sleep." Sam whispers, his voice weak and barely audible. Dean withdraws his hand, at a loss for what to do for his brother; a feeling he dislikes immensely.
"Alright... Just sleep for a while, okay?" Dean orders softly. He brushes away a strand of hair, before standing up, letting Sam receive the space he needs, silently requires. Dean walks into the bathroom and splashes some water in his face. He lets the cold substance dance off his face. He leans forward, hands gripping each side of the sink, as if he were trying to hold on.
He feels so useless, and it's killing him to know that he can't do anything to alleviate Sam's pain, to vanquish it. Dean has always managed to overcome obstacles, especially when it concerns his brother. But this is something beyond his reach. He wishes he could do more for him. He looks in the mirror and stares into his own mossy green eyes, sharp and hollow.
He enters the room again, eyes immediately locked on the form lying on the bed. He is still, in a deep sleep that will preferably be dreamless and calm. He sits on the bed next to Sam's and watches, and waits.
He stares out of the window, looking at the increasing darkness that creeps its way into the room. Dean is in deep thought, so when he hears his brother mumble something underneath his breath, Dean is slightly startled.
"Dean?" Sam calls, voice broken.
"Hey, kiddo. You were out like a light. How're you doing?" Dean asks.
"My head hurts." He says. Sam forces himself into a sitting position and scrubs his face.
"How long was I out?" Sam asks. He looks a bit confused.
"An hour maybe... It doesn't surprise me, with all the shit that has happened today. You needed some beauty sleep." Dean states, certainty prevailing his voice. He scans Sam's physical condition, and reassures himself that his brother looks a bit better than before, colour in his face and eyes not so empty. Not so soulless.
"Sam..." Dean starts.
"Dean, do you think..." Sam cuts him off abruptly. He inhales a deep breath, as if he is afraid to ask the question.
"Do I think what?" Dean questions, surprised over the gentleness in his rough voice.
"That I may start to... hurt people?" Sam finishes his question, and his hazel eyes that are bottomless fill up with reawakened stars, shining. Tears are forcing their way out, and Dean knows that he can't stop them from falling.
"What? Go dark-side?" Dean asks, unable to hide the shock in his voice. His brother nods sharply. He forces a small smile but it breaks. Dean wants to repair it. If only he could. He doesn't know a lot about the road ahead. But he knows the answer to that question.
Dean doesn't even have to ponder over it. He already knows the answer, in his heart, in his mind, in all of him.
"No. No way..." Dean says, his voice clear and certain. Their gazes intertwine, and Dean needs to reach him, so he strengthens his stare.
"I've told you before, Sam. I won't let anything happen to you. I won't let that happen." Dean says. And he knows. As long as Sam has him, Dean will make sure he stays sane, grounded and safe. A small smile of acknowledgement graces Sam's face. Their eyes have locked. Sam's have regained a little life, and Dean hopes that he kan keep them that way. An appreciative silence stretches between them, before Dean remembers how hungry he is.
"Now, are you hungry?" He asks Sam. His brother nods.
"Thanks, Dean." Sam whispers, and they both get up. Dean opens the door, making sure Sam is stable on his feet, before letting him by.
'As long as I am around, nothing bad is going to happen to you.'
That was a promise he is never going to break. Over his fucking dead body. He just hopes Sam can believe in him, even when most of the time he's been shutting him out because of Dad. Dean's eyes are still on Sam, they always have, and they probably always will be. He promised his Dad too.
A promise he would adhere to for the rest of his days.
The End.