Lay Me to Sleep
Set after 2x04
Dean drove down the highway, heading for who knows where. He looked over to see Sam asleep, his head lolling onto the back of the seat. Dean smiled and looked back at the road. Sam had been asleep for the last five hours of their ten hour drive. They had stopped at a doctor's office to get his wrist checked out. That zombie had, indeed, broken Sam's right wrist, and a cast had been put on it.
Dean stared at the road, hating to turn on any music and waking up Sam. He felt the familiar clouds descending over his consciousness.
Oh, no! Not now! No!
Dean shook his head to fight it off. It could not happen right now. He sat up straighter in his seat, stretching his neck and back, doing anything to stop the darkness from taking him. His eyelids felt heavy, and no matter how many times he blinked or widened his eyes, it didn't work. He felt himself spacing, his consciousness wavering on the edge.
As the black darkness claimed him, he had one last thought.
I'm sorry, Sammy…
A horn blared from a car as it passed them, shaking Sam from his sleep. Someone was an angry driver. What was Dean doing to piss them off now? Sam looked over to see his brother slumped to the side, unconscious in his seat. The Impala was drifting into the oncoming traffic. Sam grabbed the wheel, yanking it to the right. The Impala swerved into the ditch, crashing into the guardrail. Sam's head whipped to the side, smashing into the door and knocking him out.
A jolt snapped through to Dean, and he looked up to see that the Impala had crashed into the guardrail. Smoke rose from the hood as Dean looked over at Sam. There was a gash across Sam's forehead, blood leaking down his face.
"Sammy!" Dean yelled as he scooted across the seat, placing his hands on Sam's shoulders. "Sam, wake up!" There was no reaction. "No, no, I'm so sorry! This is all my fault! Sammy, please!"
Dean pulled out his cell phone.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"I'm on Route 56 near the interstate. We crashed. My brother won't wake up!"
Dean sat by Sam's bedside, waiting for him to wake up. They said it was just a concussion. Sam shifted, bringing his hand to his head.
Dean jumped up. "Sammy?"
"Dean?" mumbled Sam. "Where am I?"
"Hospital," Dean answered. "We were in an accident. You have a concussion."
"Oh, yeah," said Sam. "What'd they say about you?"
"What do you mean?"
"About why you passed out."
Dean shifted and stared at his feet. "They didn't." Sam frowned at him. "I didn't get myself checked out."
"You what? Dean, you passed out at the wheel, and you're not gonna get yourself checked out? How could you—"
"I didn't get myself checked out because I already know what's wrong with me."
Sam stared at him. "You do?"
Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. "I have narcolepsy."
Sam stared at him. "Narcolepsy? Seriously?"
"Why do you think I blast my music and sing along?"
"To annoy me?"
Dean smiled. "True. But that's only part of the reason. It's to keep myself awake."
Sam nodded, taking it all in. "How long?"
"It started when I was about fifteen. They diagnosed me at twenty-one. Ever since then, I've come up with routines to keep me awake: sleep when I can, play my music real loud, sing along. I find that if I occupy my mind, I don't fall asleep. I guess I should have turned on the music this time."
Sam laughed a little. "Yeah, maybe." Sam frowned, thinking back to their prank war in Texas a couple months ago. "Is that why you stuck that spoon in my mouth while I was sleeping?"
"What?"
"You mentioned there wasn't a lot of scenery in Texas. Is that what you were doing? Keeping yourself awake?"
Dean laughed a little. "Yeah. Yeah, I was."
Sam thought for a moment. "Okay."
"Okay? What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I won't complain when you turn up your music…much."
Dean smiled. "Thanks, bitch."
"You're welcome, jerk."