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Summary: Tag to 6.03 (The Third Man). Sometimes you're afraid that a year apart can make all the familiar things seem strange.
Fragile Balance
Sam had been certain it would be weird.
And that was totally screwed up.
Because, really, what kind of crazy psycho did you have to be for it to feel weird to be in the one place that you had called home for your entire life, with the one person you cared about more than anyone else, more than Heaven, more than Hell, more than freaking Lucifer and his freaking twisted mind?
Right. That kind of psycho.
It was stupid, but Sam was scared. He had been doing a good job holding in his emotions and not letting memories of the Cage overwhelm him – or at least he had been managing – but he didn't think he could keep that up if he was around Dean all the time. His big brother knew him entirely too well. And if he let something slip, if Dean realized just how messed up Sam really was –
Sam sighed.
Nothing you can do about it. No point worrying about it.
Dean got into the driver's seat. The engine turned over and purred, and although Sam would have given himself to Lucifer again before admitting it, the sound was comforting. It was almost as comforting as –
"You look tired."
"I'm fine, Dean."
Sam didn't need to look to know that Dean was rolling his eyes, and he knew, down to the second, precisely when he would respond.
Right on cue, Dean said, "Yeah, sure you are. Get some sleep. We've got a long drive ahead of us, and I'm pretty sure you're not going to be up half the night angsting about whatever you're pretending didn't happen to you in Hell."
"Dean, I'm fine."
"Shut up and go to sleep, Sam. I'll wake you up if you start having nightmares."
"I never said I was having nightmares."
"I just said I'd wake you up if you had any. Now go to sleep."
For the first half-hour Sam kept his eyes stubbornly open, occasionally remarking on passing scenery just to prove that he wasn't asleep. Dean ignored him, twiddled the knobs on the radio, and hummed Metallica under his breath. And Sam, just like he'd done for years, eventually dozed off to the sound of his brother's soft laughter.
"Do you think I'm going to hurt you, Sam?" Lucifer wasn't in his body, but Sam could feel his voice – that was the only way to describe the words that found their way straight to his brain without having to go through his ears. "I won't have to. You're in Hell in your body – your physical body. That doesn't happen often."
Sam tried to glare, but without a place to focus his anger, he couldn't pull it off. He contented himself with flipping a finger in the general direction of up.
"Are you sure it's wise to piss me off? I'm the one who decides whether you're going to spend your time being hacked to pieces everyday or wishing you were being hacked to pieces everyday. For the rest of eternity." A pause, a heartbeat. "Never going to see your big brother again, Sammy. Have you thought about that? He's going upstairs, and you are staying here."
Sam's breath caught, and Lucifer chuckled.
"I felt the same way, you know, when my father cast me down. In the beginning I actually kind of missed Michael and Gabriel. Of course, when I realized that Michael was actually happy that I was gone... Well, things changed. They're very similar, you know, Michael and your brother Dean – far more similar than you and I are. Both self-righteous morons who think they get to decide what's good and what's evil."
"Shut up."
"So the little viper does have fangs. I was wondering. Well, deny it all you like, Sam. It's still true."
"Shut up."
"All Dean needed was someone to reaffirm his belief in his own infallibility. Castiel did it for him. How long after he first met Castiel did your brother stop trusting you, Sam?" This time Sam managed to glare. "Still, that doesn't matter to you, does it? Nothing matters as long as Dean's OK." There was a shift in the air, almost as though someone was sitting on the ground next to him. "How long do you think it'll take him to forget you, Sam? He's young. In a few years you'll be just a vague memory. In a few more, not even that."
Sam shut his eyes.
"Oh, Sam, you don't look like you're enjoying yourself. I'm sorry. I'm being a bad host. I shouldn't be encouraging your unhappiest thoughts. I should be distracting you from them." Sam shivered. "Of course, the distraction will be unpleasant too. Brace yourself."
Sam screamed.
Sam woke up.
There was no screaming, no unending cacophony of darkness and light, no celestial voice vibrating in his skull. Only Dean's breathing and a hand on his knee.
Sam looked around. Dean had pulled over onto a gravel shoulder. The road was deserted. From the angle of the shadows, he'd been asleep less than half an hour. Sam shivered, and felt the hand on his knee squeeze lightly before it was lifted off.
"Nightmare, Sam."
"Thanks."
"I'm an awesome brother."
Sam smiled.
It was close to midnight when they finally pulled up outside a motel. Sam waited outside while Dean went into the main cabin to get them a room. A few minutes later he came back, twirling the keys in his hand. He tossed them to Sam.
"Got the bags? Let's go. Last cabin at the end. I swear, Sammy, next time I'm going to tell them we want a king-sized bed just to see if they're willing to believe that."
"Dean!"
"What? I'm just curious. I mean, everyone always assumes we're gay. I can hardly make it worse."
"Dean."
"Sam."
"You're a jerk."
"Bitch."
"Soccer mom."
"Just for that, I get first shower."
An hour later, Sam towelled his hair dry as he slipped out of the bathroom. It had been months – years, if you counted his time in that place – since he'd shared a bedroom with anyone... Sure, there had been the occasional girl, but they'd been transient, brief and gone in the morning.
Sam knew it should feel weird to walk into a dark room to the sound of even breathing and the sight of a sleeping form in the bed near the door. He knew he should be worried, because it would be difficult to keep pretending he was unaffected by the Cage if Dean witnessed his nightmares. He knew he couldn't keep up the act, not with Dean, not for long, and he knew he should be concerned.
Sam wriggled into boxers and a t-shirt, and because the lights were out and the blinds drawn and his bedcover pulled back invitingly, he decided to skip the research and try to get some sleep. He heard Dean laugh as he got into bed.
"Don't tell me big brothers don't know best."
"Shut up and go to sleep, jerk."
"Bitch."
"Dean."
"What, my name is an insult now? Nice, Sam."
Sam grunted, found a comfortable spot on his pillow, and shut his eyes, letting himself soak in the familiarity of the motel room and the smell of Dean's aftershave and the sound of his brother muttering something involving Sam and idiot.
Maybe it was like riding a bike. You never really forgot.
Dean had been certain it would be weird.
He was used to Lisa, to smelling her perfume, light and tangy, and the herbal aroma of her shampoo. He'd spent a year persuading himself that listening to her soft breathing at night wasn't an insult to Sam's memory. He had been sleeping in a familiar bed, in a home, and...
Well, it was bound to be a little weird.
Dean turned out the light and pulled Sam's bedcovers back while his brother was in the shower. He was damned if he was going to let Sam add to the weirdness with his insomnia. It had been a long day and a long drive and sleep was going to happen, whether Sam liked it or not.
Dean shut his eyes, but he didn't go to sleep.
He heard the bathroom door open and the soft padding of Sam's footsteps. He half-expected to have to suppress a reflexive urge to grab the knife under his pillow, but instead he found himself relaxing even more as he heard Sam moving around getting dressed. There was a pause, a change in Sammy's breathing that meant he was thinking, and then the creak of the next bed and the soft rustle of the bedcovers being drawn up.
It was so not weird that Dean couldn't help laughing.
"Don't tell me big brothers don't know best."
"Shut up and go to sleep, jerk."
"Bitch."
"Dean."
That response was so exasperated, so Sammy, that Dean almost laughed again. "What, my name is an insult now? Nice, Sam."
Sam's breathing evened out fairly quickly. Dean, prepared to have to shake his brother awake if he started to dream of all the things that he claimed weren't bothering him at all, tried not to doze off. Normally he wouldn't have worried – his sixth sense always woke him when Sam was in trouble. But it had been over a year, and you couldn't be too careful. Not with Sam.
Sam was different, but that wasn't what bothered Dean. I mean, obviously the kid was different. He'd spent time in Lucifer's freaking Cage with the Devil himself. Dean would have been more concerned if he'd come back from that completely unchanged.
No, what bothered Dean was the game face Sam was putting up. Dean knew his brother, had known him all his life. Sam wasn't made for game faces: he was too gentle, too conscientious, and that part of his nature ran too deep for it to have changed just because of a year spent hunting on his own.
Yeah, tell me another one, Sam.
Sam had never been good at bottling up his emotions. It had been the Winchester way, but not Sam's way. Sam had always had to talk, argue, yell, storm off, come back, wake Dean up to pour out his heart in the middle of night: that was Sam.
This new thing, claiming that nothing was bothering him and he hadn't been affected by Hell? The only reason Dean hadn't already called bullshit was that he wanted Sam to open up on his own. He was traumatized, probably more scared than he wanted to admit, and nothing was going to be gained by pushing him before he was ready. Sam needed time, and space, and the knowledge that when he did need to spill, Dean would be right there waiting to listen.
Until then, Dean would just have to live with the new badass hunter who'd taken his brother's place. He wasn't exactly complaining, because seeing doors kicked in was a lot more awesome to watch when the kicker was twelve feet tall, but he kind of missed his little brother.
Dean had had his own difficulties in the past few years: not trusting Sam had been so much worse than not trusting his brother. It had been not trusting his conscience. He had hated that, and he had taken it out on Sam, angry with Sam for putting him in that position, angry with himself for letting it happen.
It didn't matter. It was over. Maybe he'd have to endure Hunter Extraordinaire Winchester for a few days – or weeks – but Sammy was there underneath it. Dean had no doubt about that.
Dean fell asleep.
He woke to sunlight streaming through the window, vaguely aware of having had a disturbed night. His Sammy-sense had been as accurate as ever, and at least four times he had jerked awake in time to hear Sam tossing restlessly. He had prodded Sam awake each time and assured him that it was only a dream and he was safe. He didn't know how much of it Sam remembered: his brother had never woken fully, just roused enough to slur Dean's name, mumble something unintelligible, and doze off again.
But Sam seemed to be up now: the bed next to Dean's was empty.
Dean stretched and sat up just as the door opened. Sam came in carrying a paper bag and two cups of coffee.
"Doughnuts?" Dean asked, not really hopeful. With his luck this new Sam would give him a lecture about food groups and make him eat shredded lettuce or something like that. He should probably be grateful that he was even getting coffee.
"Jelly." Sam tossed the bag into Dean's lap, making a face that was more amusement than irritation. "Your arteries are going to clog up."
"Bite me." Dean pulled out a doughnut, not even attempting to keep the jelly off his fingers, and ripped into it.
Weird? This? Waking up to Sam giving him doughnuts and a bitchface and a warning about how his eating habits were going to lead him to an early grave?
Dean chewed, watching Sam sip his latte and pore over a book. He wouldn't have exchanged this for all the barbecues and high-school football games in the entire country. This was normal. This was perfect.
I just had to give the boys a moment. ;-) What did you think? Please review.
