Hey all! Here is the next chapter! Things aren't going to get any better for awhile...sorry... But hey we're all here for the angst, right? :)
Anyway, thanks for the reviews (so many of you consistently review, it just warms my heart and makes my muse want to write faster!)! Enjoy the story!
EDIT: I'm reposting this because apparently my computer is blocking words again. Ugh. Sorry. I think I've fixed it. If I haven't (if little stars appear in place of the words) please tell me and I'll try to re-fix it. :)
Dean wasn't quite sure when Sam fell asleep. The hours had blurred together after awhile, the hoarse whimpers from Sam marking time.
The only interruption to the hours was Cas appearing for a brief while and saying that Lucifer had moved on, but that they had his trail and would have him pinpointed soon.
Dean didn't really care, though he thought he probably should.
The only thing he could think about was the look of pity Cas had thrown him after glancing down at his baby brother.
The oldest Winchester was hesitant to move, but when his back began to make it's discomfort known, he finally decided that since Sam was asleep it would be okay. He managed to stand, pulling Sam painfully up with him, and laid Sam down on the bed, stretching, trying to ease the ache in his back.
Dean looked over his younger brother and sighed. Please be okay, Sammy. Please.
...
When Sam finally woke, it wasn't as bad as Dean feared it could be, but it wasn't as good as he had hoped either.
His baby brother didn't say much, managing only to ask for water. His eyes followed Dean everywhere and it didn't take long for Dean to realize that leaving Sam's sight would be bad.
He learned the hard way. He hadn't tried to go far. Only to take a shower, needing to relax while Sam began to fall back asleep.
Sam's cry of his name when the bathroom door shut had him running.
"Sammy? Sammy, what's wrong?"
Sam's face was ghost white. "Don't leave." he managed. "Don't."
Dean's brows furrowed in concern and alarm, but he nodded. "Okay. Okay, I'm not going anywhere. I promise. I'm staying right here."
...
After three days, Dean had begun to consider the possibility that Sam was never going to be the same again.
His baby brother remained relatively calm, but only if Dean was in his line of sight.
Flashbacks of whatever he had seen while playing mind games with Lucifer were common and had him shaking and crying for hours, only marginally calmed by Dean's touch.
"Sammy. Sammy, I'm right here. It wasn't real. I promise, kiddo, what you saw wasn't real."
Sam shook in his arms, gasping as he clung to Dean desperately. "Dean."
Dean closed his eyes, his heart aching. "It'll be okay, Sammy."
Nightmares were horrific. Sam screamed himself hoarse, then refused to go to sleep. It was a little better if his older brother held him, which Dean did. He was so beyond caring about chick flick moments that it barely crossed his mind even in passing.
Dean woke with a start, his hand already curled around his knife as he burst to his feet.
It only took a moment for his brain to catch up, then he was dropping his knife on the bed, taking the quick step over to Sam's bed, where his baby brother was writhing and screaming bloody murder.
Sam was prone to nightmares, but nothing even close to this.
"Sammy! Sammy, wake up!"
Sam's eyes flew open, pinning Dean with a frighteningly blank stare, nothing but hell gazing out at him. The moment passed and what was left of his Sammy bled back into his eyes, terror and need clear there.
"It's okay, Sammy. It was just a dream."
It had only been a few days, but Dean already missed his pain-in-the-butt little brother. The way he used to be. Strong and powerful, but still Sam. Brave and kind and caring and reckless and loving and Sammy.
All he had left was a shell: frightened, vulnerable, needy.
Dean loved his brother and always would, but he couldn't help feeling the pain of what was missing.
...
Dean waited four days before he finally had to go get food. He talked it over carefully with an only slightly responsive Sam, but Sam had nodded and given him the go ahead.
Dean was gone fifteen minutes tops.
When he came back, it was to the scene of a nightmare.
Sam was in the corner, arms around his knees, face hidden in them, rocking and shaking, whimpering.
Sam wouldn't respond to him at all. Not his voice, not the sight of him, not even when Dean pinched him, desperate for some sort of acknowledgement.
It took hours, but Sam finally came around a little.
Dean vowed never to leave Sam alone again.
...
A week passed with no sign of Cas.
We need to get out of here.
Dean couldn't stand the motel room anymore and, he had to be honest with himself at least this once, he was hoping Sam would improve a little if they left the place where this whole nasty mess had started.
Dean escorted Sam out to the car, grabbing the bags he had left in the doorway and stowing them in the trunk, careful to leave it closed enough that Sam would be able to see his face, despite the inconvenience it caused with the bags.
...
Sam seemed calmer in the Impala.
It was a relief to Dean, small though it was.
...
Things improved a little over the course of a few days.
Sam still wouldn't talk to him much, but there was something in his eyes other than the empty void or the terrified shell.
If Dean left the door open, he could shower without Sam panicking.
Sam would go with him to get food, but still wouldn't sit in the diner if there were any people there at all.
Dean hated it.
...
Despite Dean's attempts to avoid any areas of demonic activity, they ran into three demons at a gas station.
He was worried about Sam's reaction, but Sam burst to life briefly, nothing like his old self, but enough that he engaged in the battle, even used his powers, and helped Dean subdue them.
Dean hated that Sam was reduced to a shaking mass seconds after the battle ended. He cursed violently in his head, releasing his fear and tension the only way he could. It was better than admitting that he didn't want to be stuck with this fearful, unsmiling stranger that had taken the place of his bright-eyed, happy, intelligent little brother.
He would do it, because he loved Sam.
But he missed his Sammy.
This darn war has taken too much from him.
Too much from us.