Dream Brother, with your tears scattered 'round the world. ~Dream Brother by Jeff Buckley


When Dean wakes up he finds that somehow his 6'4" brother has managed to curl himself completely into his side, tucking his hands up between their chests and resting his head in the crook where his neck meets his shoulder. It reminds him of a time when they were younger, when Sam still loved to be held and Dean still loved to hold him. He sighs.

Upon feeling Sam's forehead, Dean is pleased to find that his little brother's fever has gone down considerably, so he decides that it's time to get the kid to eat something.

"Sammy," he says, shaking the younger man gently. "Sammy. Come on, Sleeping Beauty, time to wake up."

Sam's eyelids flutter and soon he's blinking sleepily up at Dean, looking confused and like he's all of five years old. Dean chuckles.

And then Sam's eyes fill with tears.

"Hey! Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's the matter?" Dean backtracks, trying to think of anything he could have possibly said to upset his brother in the past five minutes. Something like panic settles in his gut as he comes up blank. "What hurts, Sammy? Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

"No, it's nothing, I'm just—" Sam swipes at his eyes and laughs quietly. "Just having a bit of a hard time controlling my tear ducts. Sorry."

Dean's expression softens and he frowns. "It's fine, Sammy," he assures. "You've just been tortured for a week. I can understand a little extra waterworks."

Sam smiles at him gratefully and moves to sit at the edge of the bed before standing up and heading for the bathroom. His hands shake as he reaches for the doorknob. Dean doesn't understand Sam's sudden hesitation, but then the door is opening with a creak and Sam's flinching just a little bit, and then Dean gets it. The door to the basement of that warehouse was creaky.

He grits his teeth against the rage that rushes through his body, regretting not for the first time killing those sons of bitches so quickly.

After both of them are done in the bathroom, Dean gets Sam a bowl of the chicken-noodle soup that Cas brought and some cereal for himself and then they sit down to eat. Except that when Dean looks up at his brother, he realises that he's the only one actually doing the eating.

"You gotta eat, Sam," he says, because the younger man is just holding his spoon in one hand and staring blankly at the soup in front of him. "It's not that hard. Just dip the spoon into the bowl, then raise it to your mouth..."

Goddammit, Dean thinks as Sam's expression twists in remorse and his eyes become wet. He puts his own spoon down. "Sam, what's wrong?" he asks desperately, because this is the second time in an hour.

"Nothing, just—fuck—" Sam scrubs angrily at his eyes. "It's just—everything they said, it was all true and now—I can't—I just—fuck—"

"Okay, Sammy, let's back up for a minute," Dean interrupts. He leans across the table toward his brother. "Look, I don't know what kind of bullshit they were spewing," he says lowly, "about the Apocalypse or the demon blood or whatever, but I do know that none of it—none of it—was true. You are a good person, Sam. You have to believe me. I know I've said—some pretty harsh stuff, but... Man, I didn't mean it. Maybe some of it, but I was just pissed, okay? We're stronger together. I know that. And you're still my brother. I still—" love you, "—need you, just like you need me."

Sam nods and looks down at his soup before smirking up at Dean. He makes a show of very slowly dipping his spoon in and then raising it to his mouth, and when he gets there he asks, "What do I do now?"

Dean rolls his eyes, leans back. "Shove it up your nose, bitch."

Sam swallows the spoonful, still smirking. "Jerk."

And Dean thinks that maybe, at least for now, they'll be okay.


Sam eats slowly because his appetite is iffy at best, so Dean clears his place and then sits at the table studying his little brother carefully, and when Sam is done—though not quite as done as Dean would like, with two-thirds of the soup still in the bowl—he clears Sam's place too before taking the younger man's temperature.

"Your fever's up again," Dean says, frowning. Sam responds with a light hum, not looking at his brother. "You hurt anywhere? Need some heavy-duty stuff?" Deans asks. Sam shakes his head. Dean takes a bottle of Tylenol from the kit and shakes out two pills, handing them to his brother along with a glass of water.

"You wanna go out for a drive, kiddo?" Dean inquires softly, because Sam used to like to do that when he was younger and sick.

Sam opens his mouth like he's going to agree, then closes it and swallows before shaking his head. "I'm a little tired," he says. "You should go out though. Have fun."

"Sam..."

But Sam is already shuffling back towards the bed and burying himself under the blankets, on his side facing away from Dean.

Dean sighs quietly and gathers his keys and wallet, murmuring, "Sleep well, Sammy," before slipping outside and shutting the door softly behind him. As much as he hates to do it, he understands that sometimes his brother needs to be alone.


As soon as the door closes, Sam comes undone. He muffles the harsh sobs into the pillow, letting the tears flow freely now that Dean isn't here to watch him break. He hates it, this weakness, but he can't stop once he starts and the tears just keep coming.

Worthless, a voice hisses in his head. Evil.

Sam shudders violently, suddenly feeling cold right down to his bones. Harsh coughing begins to accompany the sobs that shake his entire frame, and despair creeps across his mind like a shadow until everything is covered.

Dean comes back sooner than expected, before Sam can get a hold of himself, and is alarmed by the intensity of Sam's anguish as he pulls Sam flush against his chest and rocks them gently, whispering reassuringly and stroking Sam's hair. Even Sam is kind of surprised.

It's like everything he's ever done, all the sadness he's ever felt, is trying to drown him at this very moment and he can't stop it. Not even Dean is able to pull his head above water because there's just so much of it. He'll never be happy again. He doesn't deserve to be happy because this, all of it, is his fault.

"Shh, Sammy, don't cry," Dean begs, carding his fingers through the younger man's hair. "It's okay. It's okay. Don't cry."

Sam clings to him even though he doesn't deserve it, asks if they can leave soon. Dean promises that they'll leave first thing in the morning.

Sam is grateful to get out of there, but he knows that no matter where he runs, he can never get away from himself.


As promised, they pack up and go the next morning, and Sam doesn't say much on the car ride. It'll take a few days to get to Bobby's place, but Dean is starting to get really fucking worried. Coming back to the motel yesterday was... well, it was... Dean swallows hard against the memory.

He glances over at his silent brother, takes in the slight flush of his cheeks and the tiredness of his eyes, and frowns. The kid hadn't eaten much the whole day, or yesterday for that matter, because he didn't really get out of bed after the morning.

"You hungry, Sam?" Dean asks. Sam shakes his head. "You need some meds? Got a headache?" Sam shakes his head. "You wanna talk about it?" Sam shakes his head. "Want me to put on some of that girly crap you like to listen to?" Sam shakes his head. Dean blows out a frustrated breath. "C'mon, Sam, work with me here."

"Sorry," Sam apologises quietly, and Dean sighs because that isn't what he had been going for.

"There's nothing to apologise for, Sammy," Dean murmurs. He throws his brother a sideways glance. "You sure you're not hungry?"

Sam shakes his head.

Dean sighs again.

Sam jumps when Dean's phone rings, and Dean grits his teeth as he pulls it out of his pocket. It's Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby."

"You find Sam yet?" Bobby asks, not bothering with the formalities.

Dean glances toward his brother and then up at the rear view mirror as he pulls into another lane. "Yeah, I got 'im. Found him two days ago in some warehouse in Nebraska."

"Boy, didn't I tell you to call me as soon as you found him?"

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean apologises, "I forgot. I kinda had my hands full."

There's a pause.

"He okay?"

"Uhm..." Dean bites his lip. "We're on our way to your place, okay? Should be there in about two days." He doesn't like the idea of discussing Sam's condition with Sam right there next to him, even though if he talks quietly enough Sam won't be able to hear him anymore anyway.

Bobby understands immediately. "Alright, and you'd better tell me everything or so help me I will kick your ass nine ways to Sunday."

Dean smirks. "You know I will, Bobby."

"Yeah, yeah," the older man grumbles before hanging up.

Dean slides his phone into his pocket and turns up the music, almost hoping that Sam will yell at him to turn it down. He doesn't, but Dean turns it back down anyway because he knows his brother.

It gets dark fast so they stop for the night and Dean leaves Sam alone for a while, even pretends he doesn't hear the younger man trying to muffle the tears in his pillow, but when the nightmares get bad and Sam starts screaming, he slides into the bed next to his brother and runs his finger through his hair, and soon enough Sam's breathing deep and even and he's able to fall asleep himself.

When Dean wakes up the next morning Sam is gone. Panic sits him bolt upright, but a quick observation of the room reveals the bathroom occupied and breakfast on the TV stand. Dean smiles and stretches. But then he notices that all Sam got for himself is a cup of coffee.

The car ride to Bobby's is just as quiet as it was yesterday, and Sam is eating just as little. Dean is getting really concerned about just what it was that broke inside of his baby brother. Sam is obviously not okay, no matter what he tries to convince Dean otherwise.

It's past eleven by the time they get to Bobby's and Sam's due for some more meds and a nap. So Dean gives him two Tylenol and settles him on the couch because he wants to be able to keep an eye on him, and then he runs his fingers through his little brother's hair until he falls asleep.

"So you two gettin' better?" Bobby asks, nodding to Dean's hand on Sam's head.

"Yeah," Dean sighs. "I just wish it were under better circumstances."

Bobby glares at him. "Alright, yah idjit, now would be the time to start explainin'."

Dean tells him about how when he went to Oklahoma some girl named at a bar had told him about how "Keith" was attacks by two guys who tried to shove something that looked like blood down his throat and that she hadn't seen him since then. Then when he went to Sam's hotel room the lock was broken and Sam had been nowhere to be found, even though all his stuff was still there. Dean had packed up Sam's belongings and headed out in search of his brother, and it took him and Cas five days to find the younger Winchester.

He tells Bobby about Mike and Jerry and how he had shot them immediately after hearing them laughing about what they'd done to Sam, and he tells him about the horrific moment of finding his brother chained up in the basement, burning with fever and barely lucid enough to talk. He explains how Cas heals most of his injuries, leaving behind only the fever and the loss of hearing in his left ear.

"But there's something wrong with him, Bobby," Dean admits, biting his lip. "I don't know what they said to him in there, but... When I found him, the first thing he said to me was, "I want to be good, Dean. I want to be a good person." And now he's crying all the time and not eating and not talking..." Dean looks down at his sleeping younger brother worriedly.

"Aw, Sam," Bobby says softly, laying a gentle hand on the younger man's forehead. He exhales slowly, then looks up at Dean. "Just give him some time, Dean," he offers. "He'll come around eventually. So long as you remind how much you really care for him."

Dean lets out a short breath. "Yeah. 'Cause I've been doing so much of that lately."

"You were angry," Bobby says. "Yeah, you made some pretty stupid ass decisions, and I wouldn't have done the same by a long shot, but I can kinda understand where you were comin' from."

Dean sighs and leans back in the chair he's sitting in, closes his eyes. He thinks that maybe someday, they'll be okay again.


Dean thought they'd be okay. Oh, how very, very wrong he was.

Over the past few weeks, Sam has gotten steadily worse, fading until he's barely a shell of the little brother Dean used to know. He hardly talks at all, and the closest they've come to a conversation in days are Dean's constant intercessions of, "Sammy, please get up," and "Please eat, Sammy, please," and "God, Sammy, talk to me."

He's gotten Sam antidepressants that he was surprised Sam actually swallowed, and even though they took the despair from his eyes and made the tears stop, it was like the lights were on but no one was home, and in a way, that was worse. Dean doesn't know what the hell to do, but he's starting to really get scared that if he doesn't do something soon, he's going to lose his brother forever.

"What do we do, Bobby?" Dean asks despairingly one morning when Sam's gone out for one of the walks he's become so fond of lately. "We can't just let him waste away in his own head."

"You think I don't know that?" the older man snaps. He takes a deep breath and braces himself against the kitchen table that Dean's currently sitting at. "I'm worried too, Dean. Hell, I'm startin' to get downright scared. This ain't like your brother. Somethin' in that kid is broken."

"I know, Bobby, I know," Dean moans into his hands. "But I don't know how to fix it. I'm worried that he's gonna—do something stupid." Hurt himself. Decide that there's nothing left here to live for. Dean can't bring himself to say it.

Bobby swallows roughly. "I know, kid, I know," he says.

"How could I have let this happen?" Dean whispers. "I pushed him away, and some fucked up pricks broke him like a toothpick."

Bobby opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by a voice behind him. "Dean."

Both hunters jump. Bobby swears.

"Jesus, Cas," Dean says. "Don't do that!"

"I am sorry," the angel apologises, and then looks around the room. "Where is Sam?"

"He's taking a walk," Dean sighs, and runs a hand through his hair.

Cas looks at him sceptically. "You do not sound happy. I thought he was doing better."

"Me too," Dean mutters under his breath.

"Sam is a little... depressed right now," Bobby explains. "Those assholes did a real number on that boy's self-worth."

"I see," Cas says, frowning thoughtfully. "And it is not going away?"

Dean shakes his head where it rests in his arms on the table.

"Hmm." The angel ponders for a moment. "Maybe it would help for him to do something familiar. Like hunting."

Dean brings his head up at the suggestion. "Uh-uh. No way in hell am I letting Sam hunt in this condition," he says.

But Bobby is looking thoughtful as well. "He kinda has a point, Dean," he agrees slowly, rubbing a hand over his chin. "Maybe rememberin' what huntin' with you is like would do him some good."

Dean stares incredulously between the two. "You can't be serious."

"Why not, Dean?" Cas asks.

Anger surges through Dean suddenly and he stands up. "Oh I can think of a few reasons," he snaps. "The main one being the fact that he'll get himself fucking killed. On purpose. Because that's just the way he's been fucking acting lately, like some suicidal emo freak."

"You'd best shut your goddamn mouth before I shut it for you," Bobby growls. "You ain't got half a mind to what that boy's been through."

The anger depletes just as quickly as it had come and Dean sinks back into his chair. "I know, Bobby. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just—so fucking scared that I'm gonna lose him..." Dean's voice breaks and he looks away.

"I know you are, Dean," Bobby replies gently. "But anger ain't gonna get you anywhere. I think you should try a hunt, just to see what it does for him. If it goes well, then you'll know. If it doesn't... well, then you'll know."

Dean lets out a breath and nods slowly. "Okay," he agrees. "But something easy. A poltergeist maybe. And if something goes wrong, we're not doing this again."

"I think you are making a good decision, Dean," Cas says. He looks at the older Winchester. "Would you like me to go find Sam?"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean says. "That'd be great. Thanks."

The angel nods and then is gone, and when he comes back it's five minutes later through the front door with a Sasquatch in tow.

"You wanted to see me, Dean?" Sam asks quietly. Dean nods.

"We're going hunting, Sammy."


So right now I'm really torn. Should this have a happy ending or a not-so-happy ending? Feedback is greatly appreciated. =)