Title: Offering Comfort
Summary: Season 4 Episode 16 "On the Head of a Pin" tag: Just a little something my brain cooked up. Enjoy!
Rating: K
Words: 1858
Notes: This story is set after the events of Supernatural season 4 episode 16 "On the Head of a Pin" and is kinda as fluffy as I could make it in my condition at that time.
Sam dragged a nearly catatonic, barely on his feet Dean into the newest motel room. Dean just stared blankly at the wall, unseeing. Sam sighed, feeling a wave of sadness wash over him. He took Dean's arm and gently pulled him to the bed closest to the door. Decidedly screwing showers, Sam helped his brother dress into slightly more comfortable sleeping clothes, leaving him standing torpidly just long enough to pull the covers back and settle Dean in them and then pulled them back over him. Dean still remained motionless, for all intents and purposes not even present in the room. Sam exhaled in frustration. His usually restless brother wasn't supposed to stay this still. It wasn't natural, dammit. He sat next to Dean's torso, facing Dean's back, reached out and stroked Dean's hair slowly, carding his fingers gently through the short hairs, feeling Dean respond by leaning in slightly, probably involuntarily.
Sam relaxed, realizing only then that his body had been wound tighter than a drum. The fact that Dean responded was, simply put, amazing. The older man had spent all the time in the hospital refusing meals and comfort and being overall unresponsive to all external stimuli except Sam's pleading and, occasionally, flat out begging. Apparently the distress of his little brother could penetrate the haze of crushing depression that had enveloped his brother where nothing else could. This both gratified and frustrated Sam. So, Sam pleaded and begged as much as he possibly could and managed to help Dean heal enough to be discharged. Hospitals were never a good place for a Winchester to be and Sam didn't like how pale his brother looked in his drab surroundings, so, he figured that a change in scenery might be better for Dean, hence the motel room. And now that Dean was responding to touch... it was more than Sam dared hope for. It meant Dean was still in there, still fighting to get back to his brother, but was being hindered by his mask being torn away leaving a vulnerable man - a small boy, if you would - who'd had everything he'd loved, everything he was familiar with ripped from his grasp, repeatedly. But Dean was trying and, really, that was all that mattered wasn't it?
Sam continued the soothing movement absently staring at his brother's form, thinking deeply. After what could've been anything from five minutes to an hour, Sam came out of his reverie and realized with a start that Dean was sleeping. Sam smiled softly, fondly, at his brother's' innocence. Focused so thoroughly on his thoughts, Sam stopped the carding, resulting in Dean letting out a sound that was suspiciously akin to a whimper and felt a wide smile spread on his face. He settled himself under the covers and figured that Dean wouldn't mind if they shared a bed, knowing they both slept better that way. Sam chanced a move: he moved closer, pressing his chest against his brother's back, then slipped his arm over Dean, wrapping Dean's torso in his arm, pulling him in comfortably against himself. He would protect Dean. This would never ever happen again, he'd make sure of that.
Dean shifted uncomfortably under his arm, making Sam worry. Maybe Sam had been wrong and Dean didn't want this. Maybe Sam should just go to his own bed and give Dean his space, after all, he was still recovering from Alistair's attack. Yeah, maybe that was the best move. Sam started to slowly hoist himself up only to be pulled down again with surprising strength and wrapped in arms that were not only warm and made Sam slightly teary-eyed, but were also confident in their movements like they hadn't been since the attack.
Sam found himself completely wrapped in Dean's arms with his head resting in the place where Dean's neck and shoulder met. Suddenly hesitant, Sam began to wonder how to get himself out of Dean's embrace without waking said man, when a sound emanating from Dean's throat destroyed that thread of thought and indeed any other that included leaving the bed and Dean. Smiling in fond exasperation and being extremely careful of not jostling his brother's still-mending injuries, Sam pulled out an arm and restarted caressing Dean's hair, moving slowly. Dean sighed contentedly and relaxed involuntarily, like his subconscious knew Sam was there – and considering the fact that it was Dean, that Sam was safe – and that he could let his guard down, at least for a little while. Sam's smile turned sad. His brother loved human contact as much as he did, probably even more. Right now (and maybe since a long time) he needed it, needed gentle touches and warm caresses and yet the only contact he was used to was slamming into walls or getting into a fight or… other things Sam didn't really want to think about right then. Point was, Dean wasn't used to gentle; he hadn't exactly been coddled by their father and then, after growing up, he'd adapted to the violence he couldn't avoid. He'd change that too.
Dean pulled him closer, almost snuggling into him, clearly enjoying the touch. Sam's smile, previously sad, turned joyful to elated to slightly amused. His brother was probably a very soft person underneath that tough-guy veneer, and without the mask in place anybody would have to be blind to miss it. Sam felt another stab of anger at his late father for letting Dean, hell, probably forcing him, through training, put defenses like these in place, defenses that didn't go down even when he was sound asleep. Abruptly, Sam wondered for whose safety exactly the mask was in place: Dean had relaxed when Sam was close by and nobody could hurt Sam if he was shielded in Dean's arms… Sam sighed. His father had some serious issues and it was understandable why, but surely, even John Winchester must have known how dangerous it would be for his eldest to have it drilled in his head that Sam was to be protected at all costs. Surely-
Sam's preoccupation with his thoughts was interrupted by two things: a sudden yawn, which was a bit predictable bearing in mind the lateness of the hour, and a completely unexpected and extremely unpredictable, gentle cuff to the head. Then he heard the voice he'd been dying to for two weeks. "Sam, go to sleep, I can hear you thinking," Dean said, voice hoarse from not being used in awhile.
He'd woken up the moment he'd felt Sam rise to leave the bed. Panicking, he'd grabbed his younger brother, begging silently, asking him to stay. Then, working his mind in a way he hadn't since things had gone wrong in that warehouse, he'd gotten his brother to give him the touch he hadn't felt since Mary Winchester had passed away. He was settling himself to go through a night full of nothing but the close proximity of his brother, when he suddenly felt Sam tense in a way that told Dean (who could read his little brother like an open book he had learnt by-heart years ago) his brother's thoughts were going in a direction he didn't want them to, at least for tonight. Altering his plan just a little bit, Dean gave his brother the best thing he could right then: his return. Or, at least the news of his accelerating recovery.
Sam's utter jubilation gave way to an ecstatic need to banter with his returning brother. "It's not possible to hear me think, Dean." It was purely for show, however. Right now, Dean could've told him they were going to go live on Mars and Sam would've believed him.
Dean snorted. "Yeah, I know, Sherlock. It was a figure of speech."
Sam huffed, pretending to be aggravated but not even bothering to hide his huge, delighted grin. "Whatever. Jerk."
Dean inched his head up, mindful of his injuries, and looked Sam straight in the eye, communicating without words that everything was going to turn out just fine, starting with them. "Bitch."
Dean took in his little brother's happiness and felt a small twinge of guilt and shame pass through him. He hadn't meant to lock himself up inside his head this deeply, but the longer he was being hurt by Alistair, the more memories of his time in hell returned, the deeper he buried himself in his own mind. He swore to himself, no matter what, he'd never let that happen again. He didn't come back from Hell to have Sam take care of a broken brother. His job was to protect Sam and he would damn well do his job, come, well, Hell or high water. Considering he'd already been through the first, he doubted the second would be too bad.
"Goodnight, Sammy."
Sam raised his face to look at Dean, tears of relief, of evaporating fear, falling down his face. "G'night, Dean," he said and proceeded to bury his face in his brother's shirt, like it could shield him from his fears, hating himself as he did for thinking so. But deeply ingrained instincts are called that for a reason and Sam had it ingrained in him root-deep that Dean could make everything better.
Dean smiled sadly, and lifting his brother's chin, wiped the tears off his plainly exhausted face. Pulling Sam so close to himself that there wasn't an inch left between the two brothers, Dean stroked Sam's hair, knowing it would lull him to sleep like nothing else. Sure enough, within seconds Sam, already weary and bone-tired, started to drift off. When Sam reached the point where he was just on the edge of sleep, he felt his brother's soft lips kiss his temple and whisper "Love you, Sammy," before Sam was gone, just barely managing to register his indignance at not getting a chance to give an answer, when he figured with a mental shrug (as much as he was capable of just then) that Dean knew anyway.
END
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Right, so, first story and I am absolutely stoked! Um, this takes place after the episode mentioned in the first note and just because I didn't like that bit very much, demonblood!Sam doesn't exist. Don't hate on me, I just didn't like how it strained the brothers' relationship and, well, here's my solution.