Author's Note: This oneshot takes place early on in season 3, but during no particular event in the show.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Sam felt like he was being dragged slowly out of a fog so thick it might actually hold him back. His head throbbed violently, and he felt somewhat nauseous. He heard mumbling, kind of like listening to someone talking underwater, but as his head cleared more he could make out the distinctly low and worried tones of his older brother.
"Come on Sammy. This…It's too damn familiar. I don't have another soul to give, so you better wake up man." The older Winchester's voice sounded strained. "Fine. I'll just sit here twiddling my thumbs." Dean was upset and Sam knew it.
Clearly to Dean, he looked pretty close to how he did after Jake had stabbed him.
But before Sam could open his eyes to show his brother he was in fact fine, Dean said something that made Sam wait.
"You know mom used to actually do that? Twiddle her thumbs. " the older Winchester added this remark casually, but Sam recognized the shift in his brother's tone. He was distracting himself from his present concerns by reminiscing about better times, and Sam really wanted to ease those concerns himself- to sit up and tell him he was ok- but something selfish inside him made him hold back.
He had never heard Dean talk about their mother like this.
Dean had never said anything of the little details about her Sam had no way to remember on his own, and Sam wanted to know those details. He wanted to form a personality in his mind to match the image of his mother he had stored there.
So Sam ignored the guilt in his gut and continued to feign unconsciousness, seeing where this one-sided conversation Dean was having would lead to.
"She taught me to do it too. See, I was never good at sitting still when I was a kid. Guess I've always been… rambunctious is good word for it, eh Sammy?" the slight lift in Dean's voice made it easy for Sam to picture his brother smirking.
"Anyway, she showed me the thumbs thing and told me that if I was someplace where I needed to sit still, I could twirl my thumbs and it would help distract me. She told me it was her secret way to keep from running around too." Dean chuckled softly.
"I used to do it all the time back then. But I had to stop after…" his voice trailed off. "I mean dad couldn't handle it, you know? He would tell me to stop fidgeting so much. I understood that it hurt him to be reminded of her like that. So I quit doing it." Dean took a deep breath.
"But I do it sometimes still, when I just want to run. When it's all too freaking much and I can barely stand to hold back, you know? I twiddle my thumbs around, just because I can. It works most of the time. Keeps me from losing it..."
Dean went quiet after that, apparently lost in thoughts too deep to give voice to, and Sam was left to lay there in the silence, unsure of what to think.
Instead of learning more about their mom, Sam had discovered that his brother had spent his childhood being deprived of one of his best memories of her- had been told to quit twiddling his thumbs because their dad 'couldn't handle' seeing it.
And what had four year old Dean done? He'd stopped. Because even at four years old, Dean was putting others first. He did everything for someone else's sake. He worked hard for their dad, he fought hard for total strangers. He even gave up his own soul for Sam's life.
Sam finally took a deep breath and blinked his eyes, pretending to just awaken. "Dean?" he mumbled.
The light blurred his vision but he still spotted the familiar leather covered form of his brother leaning against a tree next to him. Hovering protectively like always. The grave of the vengeful spirit that had attacked Sam lay nearby with smoke still wafting upward from within. Of course Dean had successfully finished the job and kept Sam safe... What else was new?
"Ah…Ready to rejoin the living, are we Sammy? Did you enjoy your nap while I was saving your bacon?" Dean teased, coming over to help Sam to his feet.
Sam rolled his eyes, but inside he knew what Dean said about 'rejoining the living' was closer to home than his brother would admit. He hadn't forgotten about waking up to Dean talking about how "familiar" the situation was, and Sam knew that he had just forced his brother to momentarily re-live the traumatic event that had lead him to sell his soul in the first place.
Yet Dean never let on.
As he gave Sam a quick once over to determine his state of health, he never said anything to indicate that what had just happened had been hard on him. He went about his usual business calmly, and if Sam hadn't heard him saying those things, he never would have known his brother had been so bothered by it at all.
Sam suddenly wondered what else he had missed over the years. How many other times had Dean suffered and never said a word?
Then there was the ever looming deadline of Dean's deal to worry about.
How could Sam let this man who had clearly been through so much to help make things easier for the people in his life just go to Hell? The answer was easier said than done.
He couldn't let that happen.
Unlike Dean, Sam couldn't draw comfort from twiddling his thumbs. He had always needed to actively do something, and that had never been more true than now.
He needed to save his brother, because for once, someone needed to look out for Dean.
Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated. :)