Disclaimer: All characters appearing in Supernatural are copyright Kripke/CW/WB etc. No infringement of these copyrights is intended. This fanfic is my original work of fiction based on those characters/that universe. No Beta's were harmed (or consulted) during the writing of this fic.
A/N: No spoilers. A genuine thank you to all the anonymous readers, reviewers etc. who I can't thank in person or via PM etc.
Refrain.
Sam remembers.
He remembers…
being in the house with those things rushing towards him;
being flat on his back with amnesia as to how he got there;
being slapped in the face by Dean, a not-so-thin line of blood trickling from his brother's temple, face looking frantic as he calls his name;
being dragged towards the Impala (he doesn't remember coming down the flight of stairs, or walking down the drive);
being jostled as the car goes over a pothole because they're driving already (he doesn't remember getting into the car, even though he's leaning against the window as the world beyond is passing by in a blur, hurtling past far too quickly);
And then it's now, standing, leaning, slouching in the bathroom (he can't remember at all getting out from the Impala let alone getting back to the motel room).
Dean's voice comes through as if from far, far away, penetrating some kind of invisible fog that seems to have settled in Sam's ears, clogging his senses.
He tries to focus on Dean, tries to understand why his brother is looking so damn frantic and panicked. He's getting angry, pointing at something, pointing at Sam, then pointing at the bathtub. When (how?) did he get in the bathroom? Why is he in the bathroom with Dean?
It feels as if Dean is running on the wrong speed, flowing to a different timestamp than the one Sam's world is currently occupying, but he's tugging at Sam, dragging and pulling him towards the bathtub, pulling at his clothes, trying to get them off. Sam tries to bat his brother's hands away, obviously, but succeeds in only once or twice swat-slapping Dean in the face, and the rest of the time misses him and everything else entirely, making endless contact with nothing but air, other than when he's getting his arms tangled up in his own shirt, the one that Dean's pulling off his back even as Sam's resisting.
Next thing he knows, he's in the bath, the tub already filling up with water, and he's butt naked save for his underpants. He doesn't understand why he's still got those on if he's having a bath, or why he's decided to have a bath in the first place really. But what he really doesn't understand is why Dean is in the room with him, sitting on the toilet seat holding his head in his hands.
When Sam tries to say his name, to tell him to get the hell out, he's not entirely sure it's words he's managed to cobble together and emit out into the world. And it feels like he only blinked for a split second, but in that time, Dean's all up close and personal again, invading his personal space, as if he teleported those couple of steps to reach him at the head of the tub.
Sam thinks Dean looks terrible; he's pale, there's a nasty large cut on his head that Sam doesn't know how his brother got, it's bleeding a fair bit, mingling with the smear of dirt or soot, something black at any rate that's on his brothers cheek, and he looks completely haggard. It makes the annoyance in Sam drain away instantly, leaving him instead feeling immensely guilty for taking a bath, for hogging the bathroom, when his brother so obviously hasn't even had time to freshen up yet. He tries to say as much, tries to get up but Dean pushes him back, holds him down forcefully, looking tired and scared, but assertive all he same. Bullying Sam with brute force, and all measures of compassion towards Dean leave Sam as quickly as they entered.
The very last thing Sam remembers before he knows for certain that he's about to black out, is huffing in annoyance at Dean.
-oOo-
Sam remembers… a tune.
Whatever else Sam thinks he knows about what's going on, he feels he's pretty sure about that tune. Pretty sure he's heard that melody before.
That's what seems to be filling up his mind, what seems to be an almost all consuming part of his existence sometimes, even if he's not really aware or conscious or even sure anymore if he's even alive.
That tune.
And the desire to bury himself, to actually completely and entirely bury himself as though he were dead.
It's those two things that keep resurfacing and wrestling within him. Both wants pulling at him from two opposite ends of a rope, with him tied somewhere in the middle, both trying to reel him towards two opposing directions, two conflicting fates.
He want's so desperately to bury himself, wants so, so, so damned desperately to give in to that desire, that it's verging on unbearable. And maybe on some level he knows it's not normal to want to do something like that, but he just can't help it and he just wants it to happen. Just wants to lie down and cover himself with dirt and stones and rocks till he won't be able to breathe and then it would all be all right. And even though all there is right now is water, that's fine too. He just wants to go under because it'll make the pain go away. He knows that, believes that with an unquestioning certainty.
And it's dark when he thinks that. Wherever he is, dead or alive, it's some indescribably dark, empty, lonely place. He's not even sure if his eyes are open, not even sure he has eyes anymore.
And that want, that desire, it grows and grows till it's almost all consuming and he's ready to let his head submerge completely.
But just when he thinks he can't bear it, thinks he'll give in to it, those notes, that tune, they drift into his consciousness and distract him. Derail him. Divert his attention away and pull him back from that precipice, as if the notes are actually something real and physical, pulling him back up. The urge, the instinct, the longing to curl into that melody, it's primal, childish. It's as strong as the desire to be buried. Perhaps it's stronger. It must be, if he's fighting self-interment, the tune tugging at some deep, integral part of him that he simply can't resist.
So he keeps swinging between the two desires, as if he has no self-control or will of his own anymore.
The other things that Sam remembers are only what he's pieced together from bleary images that have filtered through after god only knows how long. Memory fragments that he's tacked together to create a timeline, like incomplete bits of a photo, held together with yellowing tape, just enough of the whole picture to almost make sense. Those snippets he's caught between intervals which felt like mere seconds to him, but in which too much seemed to keep changing, are just enough to let him know on some level, that there's something not right with this picture.
The next time Sam opens his eyes, at least he's not as surprised as he's been before that substantial time has passed since he was last conscious. While he doesn't know how long exactly, he knows it must be a fair while. For one thing, Dean's patched himself up already, the stitching on his temple as invariably neat and even as it always is, the wound that stretches from his hairline and glances his forehead as inevitably red and angry as their post-hunt wounds always are.
Sam doesn't remember the last time they were on a hunt.
As he tries to recall the last thing he remembers it's so fleeting, it's already receding from his awareness. Some discordant notes… a tune?...
But it's gone.
Perhaps it was never there.
He can't tell.
Dean's sat on the floor near the foot of the tub, back against the wall, elbows resting on bent knees, and head bent back, eyes closed. Sam can't tell if he's sleeping. He also can't tell why he's in there with him. He tries to say something again, but again, his own voice seems garbled and incoherent to him.
Dean's there next to him in an instant and Sam actually manages to see Dean move this time. Obtusely, in an almost detached way, Sam's brain quietly marvels at how light-footed and swift Dean can be when he wants to be. Reflexes like a cat, and suddenly he's overcome with the urge to tell his brother this, feeling like it's the most imperative, most important piece of information in the world, something urgent and lifesaving that he absolutely must share with his brother before it's too late. Again he tries to get up, but again, Dean's pushing him back, admittedly less aggressively than before, but just as assertively and it still chafes at Sam's ego and pride.
And after a moments more worth of struggling, Sam suddenly realises he's in a bathtub full of water and he doesn't know why; why he's there or how he got there, why he's got his underpants on if he's taking a bath or why Dean's got his hands on him, why he was sat there on the floor in the first place, watching him bathe.
"Easy, easy…. Just relax Sammy…. Gotta stay put…."
Dean's words filter slowly through the fog that seems to be a permanent fixture around Sam's brain, but even then, it's like some kind of badly synched time-lapse; his mouth having stopped moving about a minute before his words seem to make it through to Sam.
When they finally do, Sam's annoyed.
"M'clean Dean!" And this time Sam's pretty sure he managed to say the words he meant to, even if they do seem to be repeating and ringing in his own ears like some kind of absurd childish jingle; Clean Dean, Clean Dean, McClean Dean, Clean Dean.
But Dean's not heard it or if he has, he's continuing to ignore it because he's shaking his head, hands still firmly holding Sam in place.
"We've been over this Sam. Gotta wash it off." And his voice, while gentler than before, is still not giving an inch.
"Gedoff me Dean! Said I'm clean already!"
And he can tell Dean's annoyed and getting angry, but he doesn't care and he doesn't give a damn because all he wants to do,
All.
He.
Wants.
To.
Do.
is get the hell out of that damned bath, if his brother won't let him drown in it, then he needs to get the hell out of the damned water, and go climb into a hole in the ground somewhere where no one will ever find him and cover himself with dirt and earth and mud and rocks, and just lie there, just never wake up. He doesn't think that's an exaggeration, in fact he's pretty damned sure that's exactly what he's gonna do if only his stupid bull-headed jerk of a brother would just get the hell away from him and let him do whatever the hell he damn well wants to do with his own god damned life.
"Dammit Sam! Look at yourself!" Dean shouts, pointing at the water, anger not even hidden anymore and voice harsh and fierce. "That look clean to you, huh?!"
So Sam scoffs, moves his head to see, and he's pretty damned sure the water in the tub's gonna be crystal when he looks.
But it's not.
It's not at all.
The water's black.
-oOo-
The water's black.
Well, not black entirely, but blacker than it should be. And the black seems to be seeping out from Sam's body, from his pores, and he's pretty sure that's not normal, pretty sure he's not got any cuts on him.
Pretty sure even if he did the water would've been pink, red even.
But not black.
He starts to panic.
"Okay. Easy, Sammy easy, I got you, it's okay. We've been through this remember? Just relax, it's okay."
Okay? Okay?! How is this, any of this, okay! Sam's panicking, he can feel his heart hammering, pretty sure the vibrations are causing the water surface to ripple as if there's a T-Rex stomping around the neighbourhood. He doesn't remember and he's certainly damned as hell sure this is not okay even if he could. It's pretty freaking far from being anywhere near 'okay'. He wants out of that bath, out of that water, and he doesn't understand why he can't get up till he realises it's because Dean's still holding him down.
Sam starts to hyperventilate. He starts to choke.
He can't breathe.
"Woah! Woah, easy there Sammy. Easy…. Look at me… Sam… Sam! Look at me…. That's it. Look at me… Breathe…. Come on, just like before, nice and slow… In…. Out… In… Out… That's it, that's it, I got you. Nice and slow…. You got it…. You got it…. Just relax."
It's working. He still doesn't want to stay there, still wants to get out and run, but he trusts Dean. There's something in Dean's voice that almost seems to reach right inside of Sam, reach all the way in to his chest and clamp around his heart, as if Dean's hands are somehow holding Sam's heart in place, holding it together, stopping it from hammering itself apart, and Sam gives himself over completely to that thought. He's so batcrap scared that he can't really seem to think about anything much else right then, can't seem to figure anything out. He doesn't know what else to do or what he can trust.
But he trusts Dean. Something in that voice tells him, innately, that he can trust to do what it's saying, and that's all he wants to focus on right then, all he wants to cling to. It's all he really needs; a harbour amidst the blackening tide, a safe haven against the tidal wave that's suddenly surging up from that impenetrably dark ocean and bearing down to engulf him completely.
Something in Dean's voice seems to stave off his panic and fear, something that's stirring a memory in him. And this, all of this, it all feels so familiar, this whole situation with him sitting in a bath with Dean being right there. And he knows it shouldn't, he's a grown man after all and Dean doesn't bathe him, so he knows he's possibly dying or worse, losing his mind. But he's sure he's been here before. And he's sure, without any hesitation, that the last time he was, Dean made all the bad things go away, Dean made it all better.
He's not sure when he loses consciousness again, and there's a moment of panic as he faces the inescapable darkness of it, like he's been cut loose and is free falling. But then the notes, disjointed though they are, filter through again, those skeletal renderings of a tune, fragmented and incomplete, teasing the air like sparsely hung wind chimes that somehow still all flow together, even if they're broken and out of tempo. It's a melody that's vaguely familiar, but he'll lose the memory completely the instant he tries to remember.
He doesn't try anymore, just lets himself be carried by the notes.
They wind their way around his mind, seem to tangle up into his thoughts like roots curling over rocks on a forest floor, and they keep him grounded. They keep him in place, keep him pulled towards them, away from the desire to bury himself, as if they're wrapping him in their arms and holding him tight, and he can't help but give into them, no matter how much he wants to bury himself.
The last thing he remembers clinging to this time are those disjointed notes, tolling out across the darkness, grounding him like an anchor, safely mooring him in place against the rising storms.
-oOo-
Every time he wakes up, Dean is there.
Consciousness returns sporadically, and Sam's given up trying to keep track of anything. Sometimes it happens all over again, the shock and surprise and confusion about where he is and why. The panic and fear that rises afresh whenever he looks down at the water and sees nothing but black. The desire to either go under or else get out and bury himself in the ground is overwhelming then, and he's sure he would obey it completely and without resistance, were it not for Dean holding him in place and forcing him to stay put.
Other times he remembers everything, not clearly, but well enough to know that Dean seems to be aware of the situation and is taking care of things, like always. That curtails the panic and confusion a little.
And Dean's always there, sometimes holding him down, sometimes reminding him to breath, sometimes just sitting on the floor, looking tired and like he hasn't eaten or slept in days.
Sometimes Sam catches him pottering around, fiddling with the taps, pouring something into the tub. Sam thinks it might be salt, but he's not sure and he keeps forgetting to ask.
Sometimes Dean's feeding Sam, which in itself is a bit strange, since Sam's pretty sure he still has use of his arms and hands. But he's given up resisting. All he wants to do, apart from escape or drown, is to sleep, so he lets Dean force-feed him soup, if it means he can close his eyes again.
And through it all, through all his black-outs and coming-to's, his panic and fear, Sam keeps hearing those notes, keeps hearing that tune. A reminder of something that tugs at his insides in a way he can't describe. But it sounds so familiar whatever it is, and it makes him feel completely safe. So he keeps trying to hold on to it, even if it evaporates the moment he tries.
Until he finally realises the source.
It's Dean.
The sound, the tune, the melody he's been trying to pin down. It's coming from Dean.
Sam first makes this realisation when Dean is again changing the water in the tub and is again pouring something into the water (Sam's pretty certain by now it's salt).
At first Sam doesn't quite hear it, or if he does, he thinks it's just his ears ringing from some dream. He closes his eyes just for a moment as he tries to focus on it, fearing it will disappear again like it has every time before. And he doesn't know if he's blacked out again, but the next time he opens his eyes, the lighting has changed and the water seems less black.
And the melody doesn't disappear. He can still hear it as his eyes adjust to the light, as if it's somehow transmuted itself into the real world, and he wonders if he's truly gone mad.
It takes him a full ten minutes to realise it's coming from Dean, who's now sat back down in what's become his customary spot on the floor at the foot of the tub.
Dean's got his eyes closed and his head bent forward this time, so Sam can't be a hundred per cent sure, but he's pretty certain.
Dean's not humming the tune in its entirety, Sam's pretty sure of that. And he's not humming all the notes, Sam's sure of that too. But he's picking up enough of the notes (albeit at varying tempos) for Sam to know it's the same refrain that's been keeping him afloat in his stupor. For a while he's mesmerised, and he's too scared to say anything for fear that Dean will stop. But then it seems Dean has stopped of his own accord, possibly because he's fallen asleep, so Sam has no choice but to prod him for details.
'Please do elaborate to me the finer points of this pretty little harmony you were just humming there big brother' is the gist of what Sam wants to ask.
"Wh-ah….?" Is how his brain translates this request out loud.
Dean looks up, tired and worn, but there's a sliver of something else that passes over his features. Worry perhaps. Or is it fear? Sam can't tell. He tries again. What are you singing? What're you singing?
"Wha..t'r?" is all he manages and the rest of the words just won't come out and he's losing it, losing the memory, losing the notes.
Dean's gotten close in the time it took Sam to say that, he's got a glass of water which he offers up, and at first Sam shakes his head because that's not what he meant and it's not what he wants, but Dean tilts the glass into his mouth all the same and the instant the water hits Sam's tongue, he realises he's parched.
He drinks three more glasses.
Dean gives him a grin, looks relieved, and Sam tilts his head back against the tiles.
When he glances at the water in the tub, it's only slightly grey, as if someone dropped an inkwell in it.
"How you feelin'?" Dean asks, and Sam has to think about it. He thinks about it for so long that he forgets what he's thinking about. Dean doesn't seem to mind.
"Time to change the water. Don't freak out again, okay?" He smiles but Sam can sense there's a wariness in there somewhere. That sliver of fear he'd sensed before.
There's fresh water filling up the tub before Sam even notices the old water had already drained, and Dean's adding the salt, and the water turns oh so slightly black as it touches Sam, diluting to grey as the tub fills up.
Sam tries not to freak out.
He blacks out instead.
-oOo-
"Dude! Why're you watching me have a bath?"
"I'm not watching you have a bath!"
"Dude… I'm in the bath… You're in the bathroom while I'm in the bath… and you're watching me!"
"I'm not watching you!"
"Then get the hell out! I'm fine!"
"Fine?! Really? Like you haven't got black gunk oozing outta your pores? Like you don't wanna go share real estate with worms and corpses, or maybe do a nose dive into that puddle you're sat in?"
Well. He's got him with that one.
"Not so much anymore." And it's the truth, sort of. "Seriously dude, it's okay. I'm fine. You don't need to be in here." But he doesn't know why he bothers; they both know Dean won't leave his side any time soon.
Two more days of sitting in the bathtub, till his skin is more prune than human but the water's finally clear, and Dean wonders out loud why Aquaman's skin doesn't look more like a naked mole-rats, while Sam's just quietly wondering whether to be impressed or concerned that Dean knows what a naked mole-rat even looks like.
And it turns out it was some mutated poltergeist sickness. Not a ghost possession per se. More like ancient cursed spirits, whose graves had been desecrated a different lifetime ago, and who now as an act of revenge centuries later, infected victims with an unbearable urge to entomb themselves. Hence Sam's desire to bury himself and the spate of victims buried alive which had caught Sam's eye in a newsfeed and led them to the case in the first place.
Sam doesn't remember any of it, not the case, not the research, not anything of the hunt.
He doesn't remember most of the recovery either, just the tail end of it.
And he doesn't remember any tune.
They're packing up their gear (Sam's finally out of the bath) when Sam notices the scratches running the length of Dean's forearms, from what Sam can see, like Dean's gone mano a mano with a honey badger (and lost).
"Dude!" Sam's shocked, the red welts as angry and livid as anything a warewolf could do.
Dean follows his gaze and then, inexplicably, smirks. "You already got hair like a girls Sammy. Figure's you'd end up growing nails to match." And he's enjoying watching Sam redden and squirm.
That night Sam uses a hunting knife to trim and file his nails right down, almost till they bleed. It does nothing to kill his guilt though.
Six or seven months later and he's driving in the middle of the night.
The case is long forgotten, but he's kept his nails short.
It's one of those rare occasions when Dean's relinquished the keys, and Sam would enjoy it except he knows Dean's ribs are pretty badly banged up, courtesy of being smashed into a bureau on their latest hunt. Bruised at the very least, fractured most probably. It's why he agreed to let Sam drive.
He glances sidelong at his brother for a second, but Dean's fast asleep, and even just looking at him makes Sam yawn so he flicks the radio on, finds any random station, keeps the volume low.
It's another twenty miles before the song comes on.
When it does, it takes another minute before Sam remembers and almost swerves the car, stopping just short of ending up in a ditch.
It's not the main chorus, it's the start, and then the bit at the end. When Dean was humming it, it was slower, sadder. But it's the same tune, the same melody, all the notes, the ones that kept him this side of sane.
It all comes back to him then. Not just the time in the bathtub, but the time before that, decades ago. He remembers it now like a floodgate opening.
He was 4. Maybe 5. And he thought he was going to drown. He'd been in the bathtub, he'd somehow laid down while being left in the bath. God knows where John was. And he thought he was going to drown.
But Dean was there. Dean had pulled him right back up. And Dean had held him, tight, like he was pulling him back from the bad place, had rocked him while Sam cried.
And Dean had hummed that song.
Dean had hummed that song.
For the next few years, Dean had bathed him, or at the very least had sat in the room with him. And then as he'd grown, Dean had been just outside the door, humming that song.
Those same notes, the start and the end, missing some out so that Sam would hum them back and he'd know Sam was okay. Okay and still upright.
Sam remembers, now.
The last few notes of Hey Jude are just fading out as Dean opens his eyes to blearily blink out into the darkness.
"Dude, we home already?" He asks, still squinting.
But Sam can't answer. He's too emotional. He's too overwhelmed.
"Hey. Sammy?" And the worry is back in his brother's voice, the concern for Sam stealing all sleep and pain of broken ribs from him. "Hey? What's wrong?… Is Baby okay?" Well, maybe concerned not just for Sam.
Sam has to take a few shaky breaths before he can trust himself to speak. Before he can organise his emotions. And even then all he can manage makes no sense to Dean.
"I forgot." He tries to explain, even as Dean's shaking his head, uncomprehending. "I forgot about when you used to sing to me."
And the concern is replaced by instant indignation. "Dude I never sang to you."
But Sam can't let it go and he shakes his head. "Yeah. Yeah you did. When we were kids."
"Sam–"
"Don't you remember Dean? I thought I was gonna drown. And you used to have to sit in the bathroom with me coz I was too scared. Do you remember?"
And he can tell instantly by the way Dean darkens that Dean doesn't want to remember, but that he does all the same.
"Seriously? Out here? In the middle of nowhere, that's what you stopped the car for?"
Sam ignores him. "A few months back, remember when I got that not-ghost ghost sickness? When I was leaking black gunk?"
"Yeah. What about it?"
"You were humming it then too. You were, right? When I was in the tub, when I was unconscious, you were humming."
"I don't remember."
Dean looks irritated, as if annoyed that Sam is bringing it up, but Sam knows Dean well enough by now to know Dean's more embarrassed than anything else. He pushes.
"Dean–"
"Look dude, seriously I don't remember. And why are we talking about this now? What's it got to do with anything?"
"It's just…. I forgot about it Dean. When I was… sick. When I was in the tub, all I wanted to do was bury myself… or go under."
Dean scoffs. "Yeah, I know."
"But then I would hear these notes, and it would make me want to stop, you know? Like they kept me… I don't know. Safe or something. I can't explain it. But it was you, Dean. You were humming that tune, and it… it made me remember about before. About…"
But suddenly Sam can't say it, aware of feeling oddly embarrassed, even though it's near dark in the car. It was easier when they were young, and they didn't have this sense of refrain with each other. Well, not as much anyway. And all Sam really wants to tell his brother is how much he means to him. How much he keeps overlooking everything Dean's ever done for him. How Dean has always been his lifeline and his strength.
How much he loves him.
But none of that will come.
Dean sighs. He's tired, Sam can see that and it makes him feel guilty. It felt like such a big deal to Sam, to get it out, except that now he doesn't know what to do with the memory.
"I guess maybe I was." Dean allows, and Sam doesn't know if it's the pain medication or the pain itself, or maybe just his brother maturing, but whatever the reason, Dean seems willing to be open right then. "I mean I don't remember doing it, humming… but…" he sighs again. "It seems about right."
Sam nods, glad he's not going insane.
They sit in the dark.
"You know Mom used to sing it." Dean says after a while.
Sam knows that, only because Dean's mentioned it before. But in all honesty, its Deans version that holds any real meaning for him. Dean's version that makes him feel safe. He doesn't know how to say any of that to his brother. Doesn't know what to say at all, but he doesn't have to. Dean's talking.
"I remember that night… the night you almost drowned. You were so small. And you were so scared, and… I didn't know what to do. Hell! I was scared too."
Sam wants to ask where their father was but he doesn't want to start a fight and he doesn't want to break whatever fragile spell is making Dean open up like this.
"You were so small. I mean I only left you for a minute I swear, coz I forgot your towel, but when I got back…" He doesn't finish, not right away, his eyes taking on a distant, haunted look. "Anyway… you'd gone under and if I'd been any later…" He shudders and this isn't what Sam had intended, not at all. "And when I pulled you up, for a minute I thought you were dead but then you started crying. Screaming, and I was half scared the neighbours would rush in and half scared you were really badly hurt or something. I didn't know what to do, so…"
"… so you started humming the song you remembered Mom singing to you." Sam finishes for him. "Coz you wanted to make me feel better."
"I guess." Dean concedes, but he looks far from appeased or comforted and Sam frowns.
"Dude, it worked. Even now. You saved my life, again."
"No. I almost let you drown."
"You didn't let me drown."
"I said I almost did… God! I.. I haven't thought about that in years." He shudders again, then winces a little at the pain, although Sam isn't completely sure whether it's the physical or emotional that's caused it.
He's annoyed that it's gotten this messy, when all he wants is to tell his brother how grateful he is. Why is it always so hard?
"Dean. You saved my life." He repeats and Dean doesn't want to hear it of course but Sam needs to get this through to him. "No listen Dean, I mean it. When I was sick, after that hunt, I swear I would've died if it wasn't for you. When I… when I blacked out, I just... I wanted to let go man. I wanted to die. If I couldn't bury myself I wanted to drown myself. But every time I felt I couldn't hold on, I'd hear you humming… except I didn't know it was you… but I knew whatever it was, it was gonna keep me safe. I knew as long as I could keep hearing that, as long as I kept focusing on that instead of anything else, it'd be okay. Because I remembered…. I remembered how it saved me before… how you saved me before. You didn't let me drown Dean. You never have."
Dean's really squirming now, and it's doing nothing for his ribs, and Sam's half angry half amused and not sure which one to go with.
Dean finally looks at him though, and Sam can see the shame and guilt still dancing behind those eyes. He knows no matter what he says, it's something Dean has carried for too long to simply be discarded because of his words and it makes him feel useless.
But then, just as he's about to give up, just there on the edges, he sees it. Call it hope. Call it relief. Call it thinly veiled acceptance, call it a weight shifting oh so slightly. Whatever it is, he can tell that his brother has finally heard at least some of what Sam's been trying to say.
They sit there for a while. The radio's still playing, the stars above them are twinkling, and after a while Sam can't help humming to himself, even though Dean's already kind of drifted back to sleep.
When Sam misses out a note here and there though, Dean's voice comes through the darkness, even if it is a little late, filling in the gaps of the refrain, and it makes Sam's heart smile.
Sam's still humming as he starts up the engine and pulls back onto the road.
He's still humming when he looks over to check on Dean again.
And he's still humming when he sees Dean smiling in his sleep.
The end
Thank you for reading.
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