Title: I held on as tightly as you held onto me
Author: emmajane14/foamskyandsea/emms14
Rating: PG-13
Fandom/Pairing: Supernatural, Dean/Sam (pre-slash I guess)
Summary: I was dead and I should've stayed dead. Tags to 2x04
A/N: There's actually something wrong with me. I do not need to be writing fic when I'm literally five seasons behind everyone else in the fandom and know nothing about anything. My mistakes are the only thing I own. Oh dear afjvgadfikvfsvwasox
"I was dead and I should've stayed dead."
It hurts to hear but Sam knows it probably doesn't hurt him nearly as much as it hurts Dean to say. To think.
There are stray tears rolling down Dean's cheeks and it hurts Sam like a punch to the gut that just knocks the wind out of you and leaves you gasping for air.
And the worst part is how right Dean is. There's nothing he can say, nothing in the world could possible make this alright. Dean is upset and Sam feels like that lost little boy he's always been. Too young and useless to help his brother.
They're sitting on the hood of the Impala in the middle of fuck only knows where and Dean looks devastated.
"Dean…" It comes out as a whisper and Sam doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know what to say.
Sam scoots over a bit on the hood. Just close enough to Dean that their knees are bumping. Dean lets it go for a few minutes as he's staring at the grass quietly. Then he's grumbling and spitting at the ground.
"Alright, enough of this chick-flick crap, man. Get the fuck off me."
The low hum of the radio is the only noise in the Impala on the way to their next motel and Sam can't bring himself to break the silence. He wants desperately to slide over on the bench seat and press his shoulder into Dean's. Wants some physical form of comfort. Wants to give Dean some physical form of comfort.
But the radio in on low and Dean isn't singing along. His hands are tight around the steering wheel and Sam stares at them until his head starts to hurt.
His head hurts and so does everything else. He's just so tired of this. It seems like all they ever do anymore is fight and hurt each other.
It feels like they're on this huge losing streak and Sam doesn't know how to stop it. Can't make anything better.
Sam gives Dean the first shower and spends the whole time staring at the black emptiness of the shut off television. He doesn't even realize it's his turn until Dean is throwing a damp towel at his face. Sam doesn't catch it.
"Hey spacey, it's your turn to shower." Dean is trying to keep the mood light and Sam is glad he's trying but it's not nearly enough.
No matter which way he turns the handle, the shower refuses to rain down anything but painfully hot water. It's scalding his skin and he showers as fast as he can.
The weariness hits him like a giant smack in the face as he's drying off. Between the overbearing heat from the shower and the weight of the day, Sam has to wage war against his eyelids just to make it out of the bathroom awake.
Sam finds the room dark and from the looks of it, Dean has already settled into the bed closest to the door. Dean is on his side facing away from him and Sam wants to call his name just to see his face.
He can't stop himself when he sits on the edge of Dean's bed. Dean rolls over to look at him but keeps quiet as Sam slides into the bed next to him.
The bed is way too small for them both and this isn't what they do. They haven't shared a bed since they were kids.
When Dean finally speaks, it's low and a little broken. He sounds tired. "Sam, you gotta be fuckin—"
Sam cuts him off with a whisper and it's like someone suddenly sucked all the air from the room. "Please Dean,"
Dean doesn't answer, just rolls back over in the bed so all Sam has is his back. There's a moment of complete terror and hesitation where Sam lies deathly still before he settles into the bed curving his body around the back of Dean's. Sam slides a leg between Dean's legs and drags Dean's torso tightly back against his.
"Dude, you're really supposed to buy me dinner first. Didn't you know?"
It's not all that funny but when Sam whispers teasingly for Dean to shut up, it's breathed into the soft hairs on the back of his neck.
"Maybe tomorrow."
