Dean not taking the sleeping pills at night meant that he wasn't sleeping more than a few hours a night, and if Dean wasn't sleeping than neither was Sam. It wasn't like Dean was great for conversation, but Sam couldn't bare the thought of him awake and alone. Dean had spent enough time alone in the pit and he didn't want to add to it. Correction, he didn't want to add any MORE to it. Sam had done enough damage as it was.
The fifth night of less than two hours of sleep left Sam wanting to claw his own eyes out. They had moved from a motel room to an abandoned house, one that was tucked far enough away from civilization that probably few people new that the house existed and even fewer would be likely to find the two of them. He hadn't been able to sneak a drink in the days that his brother had been awake and he really and truly needed one right now.
The nights started out now with Sam sitting inside the salt ring beside the mattress that was serving as Dean's bed, watching over his brother, waiting and praying that he would fall asleep. And then, when he blissfully did, Sam would lie down and try to sleep as well. But, like clockwork, Dean would wake screaming, eyes wild unable to focus on anything, hands clutching the thin blanket that Sam had covered him with, cold sweat dripping down his face, hair plastered to his head and face with sweat within a half an hour of falling asleep. Dean's screams would wake Sam from a dead sleep and he would sit straight up and reach for Dean, barely conscious of anything other than that Dean needed him, and Sam wanted to be there for him, he really did. He wanted to be able to get Dean better; he wanted to make Dean, Dean again. It was beginning to become normal that Sam would cry the same silent tears that Dean would cry when he awoke from his nightmares. Sometimes Sam wondered if these dreams, that seemed to be nothing more than memories relived in his brother's unconscious, were a way for the demons to keep screwing with Dean, a way to keep him out of the game and therefore, keeping Sam out of the game. Because in the last five days, they had not even thought about hunting much less actually looking for something to hunt.
Truth be told, Sam, for the first real time in his life, was itching for a hunt. Not just any hunt but a hunt involving demons. He had never liked demons, especially since Meg had taken his body on a joyride, but now, well now, Sam wanted to destroy anything demonic. He no longer cared if there was an innocent trapped inside; he just wanted to destroy the evil fucks that destroyed his brother. Sam looked over at Dean, who was looking out the window, his profile hardly recognizable with the full beard encrusting his gaunt angular face, the long hair Sam had made him wash this morning in the river, was pulled back with a strip of leather. However, just the fact that his brother had enough hair to put into a tail bothered Sam more than he understood. But there was nothing Sam could do to fix that terrified look in Dean's eyes. Nothing he could do to take that away from him. Sam sighed. He wished that he could get some sleep, he wished that he could have a drink, he wished that his brother hadn't been taken to hell, he wished that he hadn't been such a coward and not killed Jake before Jake had killed him…he wished…that wishes could come true. He rubbed his tired eyes and tried to keep the sigh inside this time.
Dean heard every single movement and breath his brother took. He felt like he was fighting against a current, he felt like he was drowning, and he had no idea how to get out. He knew, somehow, that Sam knew more about Dean's time in hell than he had shared with his brother. As a matter of fact, Dean had shared absolutely nothing about his time in Hell so if his brother knew anything it was because of the demon that he had killed a week ago. Dean wondered if the demon told him just how cowardly Dean Winchester had been, how he had wept every single time they had cut off his hand and he was forced to watch the stump exsanguinate.
Or the first time they had cut off his hand he has screamed like a girl, he had been so panicked and scared and he had actually called out for Sam. The demons laughed when he had called out for his brother, reminded him that a real man wouldn't be calling out for his baby brother. That a real man would just take his lumps, and that obviously Daddy Winchester hadn't taught him well, because they had done the same or worse to him and he hadn't even flinched or screamed. Dean had hardly heard half of what they said because of the pain horror and shock of the whole thing overwhelmed him. The demons, once the pleasure of his screams was over, decided to force the screaming to stop and have a little fun while doing it. So, instead of taking his voice away, or even slitting his throat they had forced his handless, still bleeding, arm into his mouth and his screams were silenced and replaced with chocking. Then they had forced him to eat his own arm to the elbow.
If Sam knew that….
"What did the d…d…d.." Dean tried to collect himself. Tried to force out the words. "demon tell you?" he asked in a rush. The word 'demon' still stuck on his tongue but at least it was out.
Sam turned to look at Dean, he hadn't moved from the window he was looking out of. His body was significantly more rigid than the last time he had looked, but his eyes never moved from the swaying trees that were just outside the cabin. Sam briefly wondered if his brother actually just spoke of if it was his own tired mind playing tricks on him,
"What did it say?" Dean repeated more softly.
"I know why you won't eat cheeseburgers anymore." Sam said unable to force himself to repeat the horrors they had performed on his brother. Dean gave a small nod, almost imperceptible. "I'm so sorry Dean." Sam said with tears in his eyes. Dean got his answer, and he knew now that his brother looked at him as weak. Looked at him as something to be protected and sheltered and not something that was capable of protecting and sheltering.
Sam watched Dean give one long fluid blink, resituate himself on the chair he was sitting on and continue to stare out the window.
"I need you to talk to me." Sam pleaded. "I need.." Dean had shut himself off to the outside world again, closed himself off from everything including Sam. Sam ran a hand over his eyes and did what the Winchesters did best—he suffered in silence.