Disclaimer: The Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke and I will be forever grateful to him for sharing them with us. I hope he doesn't mind me borrowing them from time to time; I promise to return them as I found them.
And I know the rule. If I break them, I buy them.
A/N: I had an idea somewhere around episode two or three. I've written it in my head a million times while walking my dogs; making adjustments here and there as we learned more about the Winchesters. I think it's a good idea, but I'm honestly not sure that I'm good enough to write it and do it justice. I'm finding I have no choice, though. It pops into my head at the most inopportune times so I decided if I start working on it, maybe it would leave me alone long enough to do school work and the work I get paid for.
I decided to do the story in a series of one-offs and here's the first installment. It's set early on in the series; definitely pre-"Home". Trust me, I do have a plan. I just hope you don't get too bored along the way. Since this is a series of one-offs, regular updates aren't promised, but I will try not to make you wait too long.
Reviews are appreciated – I'm addicted to feedback. Thanks to Kelli for her help.
Breakdown
Part One
"Why, Sam?"
Sam's eyes fluttered open. He waited to hear his brother stir; Dean almost always woke up when Sam had a nightmare, but then he remembered that Dean was probably still at the bar. Sam let his older brother talk him into hanging out and having a few beers. Exhausted, Sam wanted to go back to the motel room after only a few minutes. He struggled to control his breathing, acutely aware of how much he missed his brother's calming voice.
Sam threw off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. Night after night, he awoke from nightmares about Jessica's death. Sometimes there was another dream the he could never quite remember, but every night there was something to disturb his rest. Without regular sleep, Sam was always exhausted. It was getting harder and harder to hide it from his brother, but if he let himself think about it, he would realize there was nothing he could hide from Dean. They spent too much time together and Dean was too good at reading him. Besides, the dark circles under Sam's eyes and the irritability were pretty good clues.
He looked down at his hands. They were shaking and he couldn't make them stop. Afraid that Dean would walk in any minute, Sam made his way to the bathroom. He avoided his reflection in the mirror as he splashed cold water on his face.
He couldn't bear to see the fear and concern in his brother's eyes, but at the same time he wished Dean was there. Even as a child, Sam had been plagued by nightmares and back then it had only taken a few words from his brother to calm all his fears.
John Winchester wanted his children to be fully aware of the paranormal danger they faced; however, he didn't intentionally expose them to anything when they were too young to understand. Often though, Sam would sneak out of bed when John was on the phone with one of his contacts, or when one of them would visit and there was a conversation at the kitchen table after the boys were sent to bed. Too smart for his own good, but too afraid to talk about what he'd heard, he would internalize everything, only for it to manifest in nightmares. He was terrified every time his father left for a job because he knew what John would be facing. Sam would wake up, screaming from a nightmare, though every time, Dean was there to calm him.
Still shaking, Sam sat down on the closed toiler lid and rested his head in his hands. He knew he couldn't go on like this. He knew eventually the lack of sleep and the horror of seeing Jessica die over and over again would take its toll; it already was.
Soon after the brothers reunited, Dean proclaimed no chick flick moments, but yet he tried to encourage Sam to talk about the nightmares and about Jessica. Sam couldn't make himself do it. It was bad enough seeing it, and talking about it was too much.
He didn't know how long he sat in the bathroom, but sometime later, he heard the motel room door open and he knew Dean was back. He should have gone back to bed where he could pretend he was asleep; now he would have to face his brother. He was torn between relief that he wasn't alone anymore and the fear of what Dean would say to him.
OOOOOOOOOOO
Seeing Sam's empty and rumpled bed, Dean knew his brother had suffered another nightmare. He felt guilty for not being there when it happened, but at the same time he was a little relieved. Dean hadn't expected Sam to stay at the bar with him for very long and, truth be told, he was a little thankful when Sam left. The vacant look in his younger brother's eyes, the way he just seemed to float without really being where he was; these things disturbed Dean more than he could ever express.
Even though he was only four when Sam was born, Dean remembered being excited to finally meet his new little brother and the first time Mary put him in Dean's arms, he swore to himself that nothing bad would ever happen to him. But then there was the fire and John put Sam in Dean's arms, telling him to run. From that moment on, Sam was his responsibility.
Dean sat down on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face with his hands. Sam was getting worse and still refused to talk to him about the nightmares. Almost every night, Dean woke to the sound of Sam's struggled breathing or calling out Jessica's name. Other nights, he woke up to find Sam on the computer or flipping through television channels. He didn't know what to do and that was not a feeling Dean Winchester was used to. He knew how to fight any number of supernatural entities, but he didn't know what to do for his little brother. Before Sam left for college, Dean had always known what to do to help him feel better, but now his brother was almost a stranger to him.
OOOOOOOOOOO
Sam couldn't wait any longer without making things worse. He still didn't feel very steady, but he knew he had to leave the bathroom. He stood at the door with his hand on the knob for several moments before he found the strength to turn it and push the door open.
"Hey." Sam said as he crawled back under the covers. "Good night?"
"I won five hundred dollars playing pool."
"Great." Sam stared at the ceiling.
"Sammy –" Dean hesitated. "Sam –"
"No." Sam whispered, so softly Dean wasn't sure he'd spoken at all. "No, Dean."
Dean leaned forward. "You have to talk to me, Sam. Before this kills you."
Sam said nothing; he only stared at the ceiling.
Dean rubbed his face again. He thought back to when they were children and it hurt to realize how far apart he and Sam had grown. Even though they were together again, looking for their father and fighting whatever evil things they found along the way, there was still a distance between them Dean had not been able to bridge.
Sam's life was perfect before his big brother showed up at his doorstep. Now his girlfriend was dead, killed by the same thing that killed their mother, he was a college drop-out and was back in a world he fought to escape. Dean was sure Sam blamed him and that was what kept him from opening up.
But Sam didn't blame Dean for anything. It wasn't Dean's fault that their father had decided to disappear without a word. It wasn't his fault that Sam had dreamed of Jessica's death for days before it happened and did nothing to stop it. The only thing he held against Dean was siding with their father when they'd fought after Sam announced he was going to college. And even that wasn't something he could entirely hold Dean responsible for. Dean was fiercely loyal to their father and Sam knew that his brother had no real choice when it came to following John Winchester.
Dean watched his brother for a moment, then sighed. He was sure he wouldn't get any communication from Sam tonight.
"You gonna be able to get some sleep?" he asked in resignation.
Sam said nothing, instead turning his back on Dean and closing his eyes. Dean almost resisted the temptation, but before crawling into bed himself, he smoothed the blanket across Sam's shoulder and whispered, "Goodnight, Sammy."
OOOOOOOOOOO
The same thing happened the next night. And the next. Then the following afternoon. Sam woke from horribly graphic dreams, reliving Jessica's death over and over again. He'd all but stopped eating, and Dean was putting off going on substantial hunts because he was afraid Sam's fatigue would put them in too much danger.
Dean felt so useless; like such a failure. His little brother was destroying himself and Dean hadn't found a way to help him. He wondered, briefly, if he was too afraid of the closeness they'd had before – so much had happened while Sam was away at school and Dean never thought he would come back. Was he afraid to be that close to his brother again? Afraid that if he let Sam all the way back in, that he would be more hurt when Sam finally left again?
OOOOOOOOOOO
"Why, Sam?"
Sam's eyes flew open, but he could still see the fire. He could almost even feel the heat. Jessica, pinned to the ceiling and asking him why? He sat up and looked around the room. The sun was shining through partially closed curtains and Dean was nowhere to be found. Then Sam remembered; they'd only checked in to the motel a little while ago and Dean had gone off to find them some food.
He stood up, but fell back to the bed. He was dizzy and his head was pounding. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten; he was pretty sure it was at Dean's insistence. He tried to get up, but realized he didn't want to. He didn't want to fight any more. He didn't want to pretend anymore. He wanted his life back. He wanted his father safe and hunting with Dean again. And more than anything else, he wanted Jessica back in his arms. He wanted to marry her, to have children with her, to grow old next to her. That wasn't going to happen now. Jessica was dead and John may as well be, for all the closer they'd come to finding him.
Sam was curled up on the bed, rocking back and forth when Dean walked in with fast food burgers a few minutes later. Tossing the bags onto the small desk, Dean sat on the bed behind his brother, hand on his shoulder. Sam was muttering something that Dean couldn't make out. He had no idea what to say to him, nothing could make things any better, so he simply held Sam as best he could just to let him know he wasn't alone.
