Aftermath
Disclaimer - It doesn't matter how hard I wish, they aren't mine, for all ownership rights see E Kripke and CW. I don't make any money from this and don't have any to speak of so don't waste your money by coming to look for me
Summary - This is set in the 'future' - after the boys have dealt the final blow to the demon we all love to hate. Dean is injured and on a rocky road to recovery but thankfully Sam and some other friends are there to help.
Author's Note - there is some reference to violence throughout the story and at times bad language
Author's thanks - to the ever patient and encouraging Rae Artemis for everything she does and puts up with (way more than the average beta!) Thanks also to anyone who takes the time to read this, and everyone who reviews. Best wishes to you all.
Chapter 3 - It's going to take time
They don't make it outside but they make it to the door and they sit with the door open for a while and Dean breathes deeply of the fresh air that is carried in on a breeze and Sam is so proud of Dean, he thinks he could burst.
They stay there for about fifteen minutes before Dean can't handle it anymore and Sam takes him back to the room. Sam wonders if he's done the right thing when Dean still seems upset after they get back.
He stops by the chair and goes to sit there so they are comfortably at the same height. "Dean?" Sam wants to reach out and touch him, reassure him that everything is good, they're fine but he knows Dean probably can't handle anymore right now. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees and sighs before he can stop himself. The sigh is not exasperation or annoyance at the fact they didn't actually get outside, it's that he can't make this easier for Dean and he wants to.
He feels a light touch graze across his hand and looks up into Dean's sorrow-filled eyes. "S-S-Sorry."
Sam shakes his head and wonders when Dean developed the stutter. Is it because of the damage done or is it because Dean hasn't spoken in so long? Sam turns his hand over and watches as Dean gently traces patterns on his palm, vaguely remembers Dean doing this when they were young, remembers they used to play a game in the back of the car, writing messages on each other's palms, watches in case that is what Dean is doing now. It isn't.
"Do you remember doing this when we were kids? You used to write messages on my palm then, Dean."
Dean nods. Sam smiles at him.
"You did well today, Dean. I'm proud of you."
"N-No. N-N-Not outside."
"Doesn't matter. Next time maybe."
Sam sees a flash of hope flicker through Dean's eyes, before he says, "T-t-tomorrow."
"Sure. Tomorrow. We'll go tomorrow... maybe... if you feel like it then." Sam wants to run and jump and shout, tell the world that Dean is mending, Dean is coming back and everything is going to be okay, but instead he smiles and nods and takes Dean's hand, turning it over gently. He begins to trace letters on Dean's palm. "D" he traces slowly, "O" knowing Dean is watching, "N" he leaves it light, "E" if Dean wants to pull away he can, "G" but he wants Dean to know, "O" just how hard he knows this is, "O" just how pleased he is, "D" it isn't poetry, but it's a start.
Dean waits until Sam lets go, his breathing still calm and even, then he turns Sam's hand and traces, "S A M". It's enough. Sam knows this and smiles.
Sam stands. "I have to go now, but I'll be here same time tomorrow. Jerry will be in soon."
Dean nods and turns back to the fish. Sam doesn't want to go, doesn't want to leave Dean like this but... Sam knows he's worrying, he's dreading coming back tomorrow and finding today didn't happen, the progress was all in his imagination.
"Tomorrow, Dean," he says as he leaves.
