"Where I Cannot Stand"
"Take my love,
Take my land,
Take me where I cannot stand."
"Ballad of Serenity" by Joss Whedon
5:25 AM
The red numbers blinked on the digital clock as Sam watched the minutes pass. He was dead tired, and he felt like he hadn't slept in days, which was probably true. Just like the year before, his nightmares were keeping him awake. Except this time, the nightmare wasn't Jessica, burning on the ceiling. It was always him, walking down a dark hallway, or maybe in a moon-lit field. He was always hunting: a demon, or a ghost, or maybe some boogeyman. And he was always, always alone.
Sam looked over at the bed beside him where Dean was fast asleep, snoring softly. He had kicked the covers down to the foot of the bed and had his arms behind his head, under his pillow. Sam suddenly realized how small he looked, and how innocent. Like a little boy, one who hadn't seen all the horrors that the Winchesters had. He looked peaceful.
Sam rose quietly from where he sat at the edge of his own bed, and leaned over to pull the blankets up to Dean's chin, lightly tucking him in. Dean muttered something in his sleep, and then rolled over onto his side. Sam smiled to himself.
He moved away to the small kitchenette in the corner of the room and looked suspiciously at the tiny coffee-maker in the corner. He was very doubtful about the quality of the instant coffee provided by the motel, and he knew Dean would probably complain. Still, he didn't want to go out and have Dean wake while he was gone. Sam had been out walking the second morning after the whole gate-to-hell fiasco and Dean had awoken to an empty motel room. Sam knew it had shaken him, though Dean tried not to show it. Dean woke up every morning unsure if Sam was alive or whether that part was all a dream, even months later. Sam could only begin to imagine how Dean had felt while he was dead. Then again, he didn't have long to wait and find out.
The coffee-maker dinged, and Sam poured out the dark liquid into the Styrofoam cups that stood nearby. Then, he went to Dean's bed, touching him on the shoulder.
"Dean? Dean!"
Dean rolled over onto his back, eyes still closed. "Five more minutes," he muttered, his voice rough with sleep.
Sam took a step back, sitting down on his bed and watching as Dean burrowed into his pillow. Five more minutes. That's what he wanted to say: just five more minutes, days, years… he needed more time. A year wasn't nearly enough. He had 1739 hours left: Sam had counted. And he still counted, watching the clock in the Impala, or in whatever crappy motel room they were in at the time. Sam knew if he told Dean, he'd just laugh and say Sam was being morbid. But he couldn't help it. Somehow, he needed to know. And the way the time was racing by scared the hell out of him: it had been almost two months. That was one sixth of what his brother had left to live. He stared at Dean, unable to imagine not having him right there, not being able to see him again. Even when Sam was at Stanford, Dean was always only a phone call away, no matter what.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Dean murmured, not opening his eyes.
Sam blinked for a moment, then laughed. "How about you get me a camera for my birthday, then?"
Dean let out a rough bark of laughter. "What, and have you waking me up every morning with the stupid flash? Sure."
Sam stood and kicked the leg of the bed, making it shake. "Coffee's getting cold."
Dean opened his eyes, propping himself up on one elbow. "Where'd you get coffee from?"
Sam gestured at the kitchenette, setting a cup on the table beside Dean.
"Oh." Dean took a sip and made a face, "Disgusting. No Starbucks nearby?"
Sam just shrugged, knowing Dean understood. "Didn't feel like going out."
Dean took another sip and then looked Sam over, head to toe. "Sleep at all?" he asked seriously, raising an eyebrow.
Sam shrugged. "A little. I wasn't really tired."
Dean didn't say anything, but he did give Sam a hard look, obviously not buying the lie.
Sam rolled his eyes, turning away. "Look, I'm fine, ok? I'm a big boy. I don't need someone telling me when and how much I should sleep."
"Hey, hey, fine. I was just asking!" Dean raised his hands up, shrugging.
Sam sighed, "I just… I'm fine."
Dean gave Sam a quick searching look, but then nodded. "Well," he said, draining the cup with another grimace. "I'm hitting the showers." He jumped from the bed, and went straight to the tiny bathroom, locking the door.
Sam finished his coffee, and poured another cup. The last time he had slept had been in the car, the day before. He woke up after about two hours, drenched in sweat. Dean had been worried. He'd asked what was wrong. Sam had shrugged it off, told him it was just hot in the car and why were the windows closed. Dean dropped the subject, but he had been watching Sam even more closely ever since, which was saying something.
The fact was, that day almost a year ago, Sam had told Sarah the truth. He had lost Mary and Jessica. He didn't know if he could live through losing someone else. But even then, he didn't think the one could be Dean. Dean was his big brother. He had always been there, and he would always be there, or Sam had thought. When his dad had died, it had hurt. But Dean had been there, and that made it bearable. What about when Dean was gone? What was Sam supposed to do? When he was younger, longing to get away, to go to college, Sam had thought he didn't need his family. Not Dad, not Pastor Jim (who the boys stayed with enough to consider a member of the family), and not even Dean. Now he knew that had never been true. Even when they weren't talking, his family had always been there. Soon, no one would be.
Sam walked to the window, looking out. The view wasn't much: just the parking lot and the back of some crummy diner. Sam could see the Impala parked just under the window. Staring out at it, Sam imagined driving it by himself, hunting some monster or other. He couldn't. Whenever he tried, Dean was always beside him, sleeping in the passenger seat or driving the car himself, telling Sam he couldn't be trusted to drive his baby.
Dean couldn't die. Not a year from now. Sam wasn't ready to lose his big brother. So Sam only had one other option. Going to the bed, he heaved his laptop out from behind it, collapsing into a chair. He pulled it open, instantly heading to one of his favorite research sites. He had checked all these before, of course, but he may have missed something. Anything was possible, Sam knew. Even escaping death. And if anyone could do it, it would be Dean… with a little help, of course.