Sam swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember exactly what it was that had filled him with such terror only a moment ago. Part of it was clear as day, a part he didn't want to think about again, and he hoped Dean wouldn't ask him. But part of it wasn't. Part of what had flashed through his mind he couldn't quite grasp, like a dream that danced just on the edge of his subconscious, flirting with memory, but never stepping close enough to be touched.
He let his brother hold him up, his arm warm and safe across Sam's back. Dean lead them into the bathroom where steam was rising out of a big white clawfoot tub, and fluffy, white towels were stacked in neat piles on a small shelf beside the sink. The rustic style of the main living area continued into the bathroom- lots of stone and wood and natural elements. A style that was beautiful, clean and inviting, and had most likely been created by a person whose idea of a nature walk was going from a detached garage to the house. The bathroom was cloaked in a comfortable darkness, deepened by the gray slate floor and the cedar walls. Dean had left all the lights off except a small lantern-like light fixture that was releasing a soft yellow glow on the wall above the tub. Sam felt the terror recede slightly. Even though Dean had mentioned the bubbles, Sam was surprised to see them. He tried to be annoyed, but he was so cold and so tired that he couldn't imagine anything in the world looking more inviting than that tub full of soapy, hot water. So instead of bitching, he opted for sarcasm. "Why didn't you light the candles?"
Dean stopped in mid stride, and Sam almost lost his balance at the sudden halt. "Dude, that is the kind of dumb ass thing you always say that makes people think we're gay," he scolded, annoyed.
Bullseye. Sam let out a weak laugh.
Another few steps then and Dean eased him down on a chair that sat in the corner of the bathroom. He reached over and shut off the faucet and tested the temperature of the water in the tub. Satisfied, he turned to Sam. He was working on his poker face, but his brows were still knitted together in worry. "You doin' ok? Still with me?"
Sam nodded, avoiding Dean's gaze.
"All right, can you handle getting in the tub by your-"
Sam glared at him. "Get out."
Dean put up his hands. "Going. I'll go get your stuff out of the car and bring you some clean clothes. And I'd probably better give Jody an update. I'll be a couple minutes, tops. Ok?"
"Dean..." Sam closed his eyes in exasperation.
"Ok, ok." Dean said, backing away. He paused briefly on his way out and snickered as he pulled the lighter from his pocket, flicked it open and lit one of the candles.
"Dean!"
The door slammed shut and Sam was left alone. And the minute Dean left his sight, the fear crept up his chest, constricted his throat and stole his breath.
No! Sam thought angrily. No. I am fine. This is all in my head. He rubbed his eyes and took a breath, but the sound of the slamming door was ringing in his ears. He stared at the knob, willing himself to believe it would open if he needed it to. It had to. The door locked from the inside. And there was no reason, even if it didn't, that Dean would have locked him in the room. But still, he had to know. His heart was pounding in his chest now as he shakily lifted himself out of the chair and made his way across the small space. He bit his lip as he reached for the door knob, and blew out his breath as it turned easily in his hand.
Of course it's open, you idiot, he thought, shaking his head as he leaned, panting, against the door. He took a moment to steady his breathing and then walked back over to the chair and sat down. He was oddly grateful to Dean for thinking to put a towel down to protect the fabric from his mud soaked jeans. Who the hell keeps an upholstered chair in their bathroom, he wondered, trying to distract his thoughts from wandering back into the darkness. He concentrated for a moment on the swirling patterns of the steam rising up in complicated spirals from the tub. He looked at the flickering candle reflection in the dark window and watched the occasional burst of snow exploding up against the panes of glass.
Finally, he was able to push back the fear and gather his strength. He was relieved that Dean had had the foresight to get his boots off beforehand because the energy it took to get the rest of his wet clothes off was unbelievable. He bit down to stop his teeth from chattering as he peeled off his soaked t-shirt. He barely had the strength to climb into the tub when he was finally finished getting undressed. Fortunately, the need to get warm coupled with the knowledge that it was do it alone or ask Dean for help was good incentive to muster just enough energy. He took a few deep breaths and then slowly and carefully he got up and lowered himself into the bathtub. And for a moment, all of his problems disappeared in a steam-filled cloud of pure bliss. He was finally, finally warm. His tense muscles loosened and he started feeling cleaner. He was torn between the desire to really scrub the grime off of his body and the exhaustion that beckoned him to just lie back and soak. He finally decided, more out of necessity than anything else, to just relax for a moment. He leaned back and returned his gaze to the window where steam now obscured most of his view of the snow. He could still hear the howling wind though, and he wondered how Dean could stand to go back out in this.
In the quiet solitude of the little room, he thought about Dean outside in the snow, Dean going out to get dry clothes for him so he wouldn't have to, Dean unlocking the trunk of the car... but then walking up front and sitting in the driver's seat... starting the engine...
The room, which only moments ago had seemed warm and inviting, slowly grew unsettlingly still. The dread crept back in like a thick, dark ooze, leaking in and filling his every thought.
How long had Dean been gone? He'd said he would be only a couple minutes. Was he still out there? Had he decided to leave? Was that door locked even though he'd checked it moments ago?
And then a strange thought, or perhaps more of a voice crept into his head, "...gonna lock you up...and leave you all alone..."
Sam swallowed. Is this what it feels like, he wondered, to be going crazy? But something inside was becoming convinced that Dean had left him.
The gears turning in Sam's mind ground to a sudden, albeit brief halt then. This was ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous for more reasons than just the obvious one that Dean couldn't leave. Somehow, even though Sam knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything causing his panic right now was absurd, he couldn't shake the feeling of terror and despair that it had possibly happened. The longer he sat there, the more certain he became that he was truly alone and trapped. Dean had locked the door and left him. The door across the room stood taunting him again... a tall, impenetrable, metal door, locked on the other side-
And then all around him, a stillness hung in the air, as though quiet were something that could be felt. The chill ran through his bones and he heard a voice whispering from what seemed like all around him.
Sam jerked his head to one side and then the other, but there was no direction from which the voice was coming from.
"He's not coming back... Why would he? After what you did...He's the one who threw away the key..."
Sam ran the cold water for a moment and splashed some on his face. He looked back across the room at the simple wooden door with the fluffy, white terry cloth robe hanging from a hook near the top. It was not locked. Sam had checked. But oh, how he wished he'd just left the door ajar.
By the time Dean knocked on the door, Sam was only too relieved to invite him to come in.
"I'll just leave these here for you," Dean said, setting an armful of clothes on the edge of the sink. "And I know, I know- you can do it all yourself, but if you need-" he stopped then, noticing Sam's expression. The color had drained from his face and his eyes were wide and pleading, almost desperate looking. His breathing was off. It was rapid, almost panting. He was clutching the edge of the bathtub with a white-knuckled death grip.
"Sammy? You ok?" Even as the words left his mouth, Dean knew he was not at all ok..
Sam's expression didn't change as he tried and failed to answer his brother's question. Dean could practically see the words "I'm fine" sitting there on Sam's lips, but Sam couldn't get himself to actually say them. All he could get out was a soft little sound of distress as he swallowed back what fear he could.
"Hey," Dean stepped closer and knelt down beside the tub.
Sam looked away, ashamed and afraid, the tears on the verge of tumbling over the edges of his eye lids. He knew he needed to pull himself together, but he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his fingers around Dean's wrist, desperate to communicate to his brother that he needed him here. Please don't leave me!
"Hey-hey-hey, c'mon, I'm here, I'm right here- oh, Sam...what's all this, huh?" Dean asked softly gripping the back of Sam's neck. "Sammy? Look at me." He took Sam's chin gently with his other hand, but didn't force anything.
Sam turned his head back towards Dean, but kept his eyes down cast.
"What's wrong?" Dean was murmuring questions he didn't really expect answers to, just to be saying something... just to let Sam hear his voice. He moved his hand to the side of Sam's face, pushing back the hair falling into his eyes with the other, and waiting patiently for Sam to calm down. "I'm here, buddy... Getting bad again, huh?"
Sam just nodded sullenly.
"Ok, ok... we'll take this as it comes, right? So, let's just settle down a little, ok? Take a couple deep breaths..." Dean had found a washcloth within reach and he dipped it into the water. "Let's get some more of this stuff off of your face. C'mon, look this way for a minute," he said when Sam looked away from him again.
Even with the desperate need to have Dean close by, Sam wanted to glower at him because part of him just felt so completely mortified. But the gentle tone of his brother's voice brought almost instant calm, and the warm, damp cloth against his face felt so good. Much to his own dismay, he felt himself pressing into it, trying to get closer to the warmth rather than pulling away. He wanted to be angry, but he could tell Dean was making an effort not to make him feel any more vulnerable than he already was. Warm water trickled down the side of his face, tiny bubbles made a soft crackling sound as they popped, and familiar, comforting hands wiped away tears and dirt from his eyes.
"Yeah... that's better, huh?" Dean whispered soothingly, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched his little brother's eyelids droop.
And then for some reason, even though the fear was receding, being replaced slowly and steadily by the comfort of his brother's voice, the minute he made eye contact with Dean, the tears just started up again. Whether it was out of relief, embarrassment or just some psychosomatic side effect of whatever was happening to him, Sam wasn't sure. He was flooded with emotions that he couldn't sort out. He turned his head back down, narrowly missing getting a face full of the bubbles which still filled the tub, blanketing him to the point of spilling over the side.
But he hadn't turned away in time for Dean to miss the sudden welling in his eyes.
"Dude, hey..." Dean whispered as moved his hand back up to the back of Sam's neck. "Sammy, it's all right, buddy. We're gonna figure this out, you know that, right? It's ok... c'mon, talk to me. Tell me what's going on in that head of yours... let me help." Dean's voice was quiet and calm, steadying him.
Sam swallowed back a sob.
Dean wet the cloth again and wiped it over Sam's eyes and across his forehead. Sam was shaking again and with the temperature of the water, Dean was quite certain it wasn't from cold. "It's ok," he kept whispering. "I'm here."
"S-sorry, 'm sorry, Dean..." Sam whispered, sniffing back tears.
"Sam..." Dean did his best to steady his voice again. Sam was slipping back into whatever state of confusion he'd been in when Dean had found him in the forest. "Sammy, you didn't do anything wrong, ok? You've got nothing to be sorry for."
"..s.s..orry..."
"Stop," Dean whispered gently. He kept pushing back the hair from Sam's forehead and Sam's eyes drooped a bit as he leaned into his brother's touch. And then his eyes closed tightly for a moment, squeezing tears out as he let out a shaky breath. "I don't want you to..."
"What, buddy? You don't want me to what?" Dean cupped Sam's face in his hands and thumbed a tear off his cheek.
"Don't want you... to leave...m-me..."
"Oh, kiddo... You're all kinds of mixed up, aren't you?" Dean whispered sadly. Deciding to forgo asking permission, he reached for the bottle of shampoo and poured some into his palm. "I promise I'm not going to leave. I promise. I'm gonna stay right here with you, ok? You know that. We're gonna get you all cleaned up and then we're gonna go sit by the fireplace, ok? Get you under some nice, warm blankets and let you get some rest. And I'll be right there..." He gently rubbed the shampoo into Sam's hair, scrubbing out the blood and dirt.
Sam nodded, fighting to keep his eyes open as strong but gentle hands massaged his scalp.
Dean sighed a little as he watched Sam's eyelids getting heavy. "Don't fall asleep here, buddy. We gotta get you dried off first. Let's get this crap out of your hair... here, close your eyes, ok?" There was a small porcelain pitcher on a shelf above the tub. Dean turned on the water to fill it and poured it over Sam's head as he shielded his eyes. "There... one more time... ok. I think you're good."
Sam leaned back and rested his head against the edge of the tub. He pushed his hair back and rubbed his eyes. Dean was scared. Sam could tell. The usual cocky, smart-ass comments that he would make when he was on edge or nervous weren't coming out of his mouth. He was not just "on edge" now. He was full on afraid, which did little to ease Sam's own tension.
Dean grabbed hold of his hand then and pulled it to the side of the tub. "Let me take a look at those bruises..."
Sam knew his reaction to this should be annoyance- pull his hand away and make some snarky remark telling Dean to look at his own wrists or something. But there was nothing in him that wanted to react like that. It seemed neither one of them could quite muster the usual Winchester sass at the moment.
Dean was studying Sam's wrists closely and looking rather concerned. "Huh... maybe it was just dirt... those marks are gone."
Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise, but couldn't find the energy to pull his hand away from Dean to examine it for himself.
"I mean, the cuts are still there, but the bruising..." Dean mumbled, running his thumb gently across Sam's wrist. "It's totally gone."
Dean let go of him then, still looking perplexed.
Sam gazed sleepily at him.
Dean sighed and pushed a few stray strands of wet bangs off Sam's forehead. "You look like you're gonna fall asleep. You wanna soak a little more or are you ready to get dried off?"
Sam looked away from him and Dean recognized the look of embarrassment and shame written all over his face.
"What? You're not feeling all weird about this whole tub thing, are you?"
"Aren't you?" Sam shot back at him, sullenly.
"No, I'm not," Dean stated matter-of-factly. "Haven't we been through enough where this should be no big deal?"
Sam just stared at the bubbles. They both knew damn well that if the situation were reversed, Dean would have already drown himself in the bathtub rather than face this kind of humiliation. But, as much as Sam disliked the situation, Dean had a point. Considering everything Sam had experienced, this was really no more than a mildly embarrassing annoyance. He was more concerned at the moment with his erratic and uncontrollable emotional state. "It's not just that. I just...don't feel right."
"I know. We'll figure it out, ok?"
Sam just kept his head down and wouldn't look at him. Dean knew he would never get Sam to open up about what he was going through while he was sitting in a bathtub feeling awkward. And he needed to get the details or they might not figure this out.
Dean scooped up a handful of bubbles and put them on Sam's nose.
That got his attention. Sam scowled and splashed him.
Dean grinned. "There's the bitchface we've all come to know and love." He wiped the water off his face with the back of his sleeve and leaned on the edge of the tub. "Listen. You've had everything under the sun happen to you and still come out swingin'. This is not going to be the thing that takes you down, you hear me?"
Sam looked at him then. And gained just a shred of confidence that maybe...
"I know you like your independence, but you might have to let me help you through this a little bit, ok? I know you hate that, but-"
Sam's eyes softened a bit as he leaned back and laid his head against the tub. "I don't hate it."
"Right." Dean looked skeptical. Then he frowned, eyes narrowing. "Crap. There's still soap in that rat's nest you call hair. You gonna let me rinse that out, or are you back in DIY mode?"
Sam gave him a look, then closed his eyes and slid down under the water, scrubbed his hair a bit and popped back up.
"Ok, then," Dean said. "I'm going to go get the fire going and let you finish up." He pointed at the small table beside the tub. "Towel, clothes, you need anything else?"
"No, I'm good."
"Ok. I'll be right outside the door if you need anything. You call me if you need to, got it? No falling."
Sam continued to scowl at him as he left the room. But Dean kept talking from the other side of the closed door as Sam very carefully got out of the tub and dried off. Sam knew exactly what Dean was doing, and he was grateful. Dean went on about meaningless stuff, mostly things that didn't require Sam's input- how big the fireplace was, how much food was in the fridge, how when this was all over he was going to find some hot waitress in town, bring her back here and-
"Dean,"
There was a slight pause as Dean tried to process Sam's tone of voice. He'd been expecting disgusted annoyance so it actually took him a second to register distress.
Dean found him mostly dressed, sitting in the chair and leaning heavily on the side of the tub.
"Ok," Dean said softly. "Let get the rest of these clothes on and get you under some blankets. Sound good?"
Sam just breathed a heavy sigh as Dean pulled his shirt on over his head and maneuvered his arms through the sleeves.
Dean kept his voice neutral, even though tension and fear was building inside him. It was time to get his brother comfortable and press him for every detail he could get. It was time to get this figured out.
