Title: Hope is the Thing With feathers
Author: dreamlitnight
Genre/pairing: Supernatural, hurt/comfort
Characters: Dean W. and Sam W. and Bobby
Rating: G
Word-count: approx. 1,300
Summary: Dean is ill, and Sam needs help and maybe some hope.
Spoilers: Possibly, if you haven't seen the end of season three or beyond.
Warnings: Talk of psychological damage and broken Dean.
Disclaimer: Neither the Winchesters, nor Bobby are mine. The title isn't mine either, it belongs to Emily Dickinson. I am only borrowing all of them for a bit.
Written for the tags prompt at hoodietime – I chose the # psychological damage/broken!dean tag.
A/N: This did not turn out at all like I intended. Bobby came along and insisted that I write it from his point of view... I couldn't say no. So, I hope some of you will find it acceptable and enjoy the hurt/comfort of it. Thanks.
'Hope' is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -...
~ Emily Dickinson
"Hope is the Thing With Feathers"
Bobby wasn't sure how much longer Sam could endure the tortured screams of his brother. Dean had been begging, and crying, and yelling as if he were being torn apart (which in his delirium was probably what he was experiencing) for the the past two days. He had passed out a few times in between the madness, but for the most part, it had been nonstop for hours. They had had to tie him to the bed at one point to keep him from hurting himself. Sam, of course, had released him as soon as Dean had worn himself out, barely struggle anymore and no longer a threat to himself.
The stupid fever though, would not break and as long as it had Dean in its grip, then the flashbacks of hell and who knew what, held him prisoner. In fact, it held them all prisoner, because neither he nor Sam was going to leave Dean alone to fight this battle. This battle that couldn't really be won, this battle that might only be endured, but endure it together they would.
Sam looked exhausted, as he sat on the bed, wiping down his panting brother with a cool cloth. Dean was mumbling and moaning, the screams muffled for the moment, maybe even finished because his voice was mostly gone. He sounded like a chain smoker with a cold, voice squeaking and breaking off in the middle of his ramblings. It was heart wrenching to listen to and also to watch, as Sam tried to be stoic, taking care of his damaged brother. Bobby was no longer surprised at the bond these two shared or what they were willing to go through for the sake of the other. It did, however, make him want to keep them safe and make everything all right for them. That, he knew, was impossible so he did what he could to make things a little easier and right now that meant restocking their depleted resources. He had decided that he would go on a quick supply run. They were out of everything. When he mentioned this to Sam, Sam barely acknowledged him as he told him he would be back soon. Bobby left, hoping the situation would improve shortly.
When Bobby returned it was eerily quiet in the house. The silence unnerved him instead of reassuring him. He set his bags down where he stood and made his way quickly up the stairs. Stepping into the dim room, he found the boys in almost the same position he as when he had left earlier. The main difference being, there was not even any sniffling or murmuring, or any sound coming from the pair of them that he could hear. He didn't want to disturb the boys if they were both settled, but he needed to make sure they were better and he wanted Sam to know he was back. Maybe he could even get him to take a break, although Sam's breaks had been few and far between the past week.
Bobby bumped the door, causing it to squeal as it swung open wider, he grimaced at the harshness of it.
Dean didn't move, but Sam lifted his head, slowly as if it were weighted down, "Fever broke, Bobby...", his voice sounded hoarse as if he had spent the time Bobby had been gone crying, which he probably had, knowing Sam.
"That's good." Bobby said with a hint of a tired smile, as he stepped farther into the room.
Sam didn't return the smile, staring intently up at the older hunter, "He's so messed up." He choked out, looking as if he were pleading for Bobby to fix his brother, to make things right.
Bobby answered reassuredly, "He's gonna be fine."
"He's broken and... I need him to be okay again... I... just need him." Sam spoke shakily, bottom lip trembling, eyes bloodshot and brimming with tears.
"Sam." Bobby shook his head, he knew there was no easy answer this time. He knew Sam was not talking about the fever and how sick Dean had been, he was talking about the memories Dean was trying to ignore, but they kept breaking open every time Dean was at his most vulnerable. Sighing, he answered, "This kind of broken, sometimes can't be mended."
"No Bobby. No. He's gonna be okay. Right?" He asked, begging for hope, Something that seemed in short supply lately.
Bobby sighed in resignation. Hope wasn't always truth, it was a wish you desired and cherished and it was the thing you held onto when everything else was gone. Well Bobby might be honest to a fault, but he was also a stand in dad to these two knuckleheads and parents sometimes fudged the truth to help ease a child's pain. Bobby could do that, he could offer hope. Sam needed something to hold onto and by golly Bobby was going to give it to him. They weren't going to give up on Dean. They would get him through this. He might not ever be the strong, take charge older brother and gung-ho hunter he had been before, but they would take him however they could have him at this point. They just wanted Dean. So, Bobby gave Sam the encouragement he needed to keep going. "Yeah. Dean's tough. We're gonna get him back on his feet in no time. He'll be griping, and mouthin', and raring to get up and go." Bobby chuckled, thinking about the younger hunter's snarky-ness, then choked on a sob at the thought of never hearing that smart-alec nonsense again.
Sam seemed to shrink, becoming the little brother in not only age, but stature again as well. His shoulders hunched and he wrapped one arm around his middle and the other he curled over his still brother, who now only had a single quilt covering him as opposed to being practically buried under a mound of heavy quilts Sam had piled on him after he had whispered pitifully about how cold he was a few hours before. Sam stared up at Bobby waiting for Bobby to tell him what to do, to rescue them, because that was Bobby's job and he was good at it, "What do we do Bobby? I don't know what to do."
The tears finally overflowed, trailing wetly down pale cheeks and that just about finished Bobby off. You hurt these two and Bobby wanted to smash something, he hated it. Clearing his throat, he answered gruffly, working to keep his own tears in check and sound like he wasn't drowning in despair, "We keep him close son, and you just keep being here, being his brother, Sam. That's the only thing that will make a difference. He needs us and we're going to be right here until he's okay again. He's gonna be okay again, Sam." Bobby squeezed Sam's tense shoulder, holding his gaze until he gave a short nod and a huff of an "okay.".
Bobby nodded back, then he gave the huddled figure in the bed one more look before walking out of the room to find a private place to curse the angels and demons and anything else he could think of that had hurt his boys... and then he would mourn for the desecration that had been leveled against his little family.
~The End, Thank you for reading and reviewing if you have the time and inclination.