Hello all. Well, here is the latest chapter. I am a little bummed out because the site crashed right while I was typing it up last night and although I do save continuously, some of the changes I had made were gone. Ah, the pain of it all... :) But, I hope you will enjoy it just the same! Thanks again for reading and commenting, it does the heart good.
Well, he asked for it right? And did he ever get it. There it is. One admission by his brother. And it has just changed Sam forever.
"God, Dean." It's all that Sam can manage to say. He remains where he is, in front of his now trembling brother and he searches but can find no more words. Yes, it's true, the big moment had arrived. The moment where his big, strong, tough-as-nails, stubborn brother, the person who Sam has looked up to his entire life, who he has harassed and needled and poked and prodded at forever to let him in, to open up and tell him his troubles, has actually let out some of those deep, dark secrets to his baby brother. But Sam feels no sense of victory in that. No rush of joy in getting his brother to talk. This, this admission by Dean is no victory. It's devastating. In every way. As he tries to absorb the scope of it, to somehow come to terms with the flurry of horrific images that his brother has now ingrained in his mind, Sam feels something alright but it sure the hell isn't victory, it sure as hell isn't joy. He feels anger. No, make that pure and unabashed rage. He feels fear. He feels helplessness. Hopelessness. He feels despair, horror, shame. And on top of all of those swirling emotions he feels an intense and utter sadness. Sadness at what has happened to his hero. To his big brother. What costs he has paid and the curse that he now will forever bear. There is also a surge of pure physical pain, a sickness in the pit of his stomach. One thing he doesn't feel, not amongst all those others, nor could he ever feel, is a sense of victory. Not about this. Not ever about this. Because in this there is no winner.
Sam snaps out of his thoughts and turns his full attention back to his brother. His brother, who now needs for the younger one to step up, to be strong, to take charge of the situation and deal. It's Sam's turn now. To take care of his brother. To tell him he's alright, that he's got him and is never going to let him go. To snap him back to reality, to the hear and now. Yes, it's his turn. To be there, in whatever way possible, for Dean.
First order of business? Get off this damn floor and out of the confined space of the bathroom. "Dean?" Sam sees a slight tilt of his brother's head. Okay, he hears me, that's good. "Look, I know that you are hurting in all kinds of ways right now, ways that I can't possibly begin to understand, but let's try and get you up and out of this room. Do you think you can stand?" Sam looks at his face and although Dean's eyes are closed and no words come from him, he gives a small movement of his head which Sam interprets as a nod. "Okay, good. You need to grab onto my arm and then we will get up together. Just take it easy and let me do the work okay?" Another nod. "Ready?" Dean grabs hold of Sam with a strength that surprises the younger brother. He can sense it in his brother's grip. Fear. He's terrified. "Good job Dean. Now, I am going to start to get up, you just hang on okay and you will come up with me." As Sam rises, he keeps hold of his brother's arm and as they both stand, he hurries to wrap Dean's left arm around his shoulder and lets him lean into him so most of his brother's weight is transferred on to Sam. "Alright, almost there, you are doing great bro. You set the pace Dean and I'll match it. Okay?" His brother doesn't respond but Sam feels him take a tentative step forward. Good thing Sam's grip is strong as it seems his older brother's legs have decided to turn into jelly.
"S'ry Sammy. S'ry. Can't help much."
"Shhh, it's okay Dean. Don't apologize, nothing to be sorry for. That' what little brothers are for. Well, Sasquatch-sized little brothers at least, right?" Sam hopes for a smart-aleck comment from his older sibling but he is met only by silence. The two brothers continue along their methodical journey, one small step at a time. Sam ponders briefly on whether they should make their way towards the bed, but he really wants to keep Dean grounded, doesn't want him to drift aimlessly towards the pit again, so instead he chooses a path that will take them to the table at the other end of the room.
As they arrive at their destination, Sam gently guides his brother into one of the chairs. He releases his grip on him but remains standing, ready to lend a hand if his older brother can't steady himself. Once Dean seems secure and Sam feels he won't suddenly fly off the chair from losing his balance, the younger brother looks at his face and notices something. He sees him swallow... then swallow again... then one more time... and then he seems to turn a sickly, greyish-green shade right before Sam's eyes.
Ok. Got it. As he begins to clear off the table at a rapid pace, Sam realizes that perhaps sitting his feeling-like-shit at the moment brother at a table that currently stores, at best, a lukewarm array of greasy fast food fare, is not the best of ideas, unless of course you are purposely trying to encourage the gag reflex.
"S'okay Dean. I got it, no worries. Just relax and take some deep breaths and the nausea will pass." Dean does as he's told and, in a minute or two, Sam can see a slightly better hue to his brother's face and senses he is once again in control and not going to spew. Having disposed of all the offending items, the younger Winchester takes a seat in the chair across from Dean. "Better? Not gonna hurl are you?" A slight shake of the head. "Okay, that's good. I don't think you've eaten for a day so there wouldn't have been much to get rid of anyway so why bother with the show right?" Pause. "Listen Dean, I can tell that you are in a lot of physical pain just by looking at you, and also from the fact that you just don't seem to want to bother to try and open those pretty eyes of yours. So that tells me, and don't forget I went to college, that it's time we get some water and some more pills into that body of yours to at the very least give you a slim ounce of relief from the pain that you feel. You also need to try and get some sort of food into your system. I'll go and grab the water and meds for you. Don't go anywhere." Dean speaks up before Sam is even halfway up from his chair.
"No. No Sam."
Wasn't really expecting that. Sam sits back down and decides on another tactic. "C'mon Dean, you did say earlier that you were feeling light-headed right? I really think it would help with the migraine you got going on right now and you need to get some energy and spring back in your step."
"No Sam. The pills. No pills. They put me...sleep. Don't wanna. No sleep. Don't make me sleep. S'mmy, please. Please no sleep."
The plea Sam hears woven into his brother's voice evokes a deep pang of sadness within him. God, it just is not fair. It just seems to be a torrent of unrelenting torture that is being born by his brother. Can Dean even rest his mind for a moment? Can he ever truly be at rest again? There just has to be a way, and Sam is determined to help. The younger brother then realizes that this statement from his brother, this plea is another opportunity. An opportunity he has been given to talk, to honestly and openly talk with his brother. To try to understand what it is that he sees in the dead of night, if he has been suffering like this every single night. Sam wants to hopefully alleviate even in some small way the burdens his big brother has to carry around with him each and every day. So, when Sam finally speaks, he goes for his best 'I can help you if you let me' spiel. He hopes it works.
"Okay Dean, I won't make you do anything you don't want to but your body needs to rest. You are exhausted, worn out, obviously in a lot of pain and look like your body may just collapse onto the table any time now. I'm sorry man but you know you can't stay awake forever, that eventually your body's need is going to win out over your pure will and determination to not let it." Sam pauses, unsure of how to proceed with what he really wants to ask. Don't be a chicken Sam, not now. "What is it that you are so terrified of? Can you tell me why Dean, why you so desperately want to stay awake when your body craves for sleep? Do you see the same images that you did earlier?" No response. "I am right here man, you can talk to me. Always. You can trust me to listen." Sam pauses for a moment. "What happens when you close your eyes, what exactly do you see behind them? Please Dean, you need to let some of these things out, to let me shoulder some of the weight of them. Let me try to help you."
Sam now can hear Dean's breaths coming out a little faster, watches as he places his elbows on the table with a grunt that Sam is sure is a result from his sore ribs. Huh, almost forgot about those. He places his head into his hands. "I don't know S'm. Don't wanna put this on you. Protect you. Not hurt you." A slight sob follows. "my burden, not yours. can't talk about it yet. just, not yet okay?"
Disappointed but not ready to push, Sam reaches out to touch him. "Alright Dean, you don't have to tell me right now but remember, we are in this together. You need to stop trying to protect me from everything. I want to help you, you can trust me." Sam pauses for a moment. "Well, I have to insist that you do have some water and try to eat something okay?"
Dean actually lifts his head up and looks into his brother's face. Well, squints into his face would be a better term. Sam is amazed once again at this person before him, who just happens to be his brother, because as he returns Dean's gaze, his older brother actually flashes a smile. "I think I need my coffee first S'my. Need a recharge." Sam sighs but figures this is a battle HE won't win so gives into his brother's need for caffeine. After a quick warm-up in the microwave Sam watches and smirks when Dean actually lets out a satisfied moan as the liquid goes down his throat. "Feelin' better already Sammy, thanks."
The brothers sit at the table in comfortable silence while they enjoy their ginormous coffees. Sam notices that as time goes on his brother is coming back a bit, no longer trapped and consumed by the demons that plague is mind. Hmm, maybe we just need to take a lot of coffee breaks when we're on the road. Huh. "Okay Sammy, your turn." Sam raises his eyes and eyebrows to his brother at the question, giving him the 'what do you mean' stance.
"To talk Sam. Nothing helps a big brother like me stay awake more than watching his little brother go on and on about different tales of splendor and grandeur." What the hell is he talking about? "But, since our lives don't really supply much material on the splendory and grandiose side of life, why don't you just make it a story about, oh, I don't know, how about a tale about a truck?" Sam's coffee almost goes through his nose at Dean's question. He watches his older sibling lean forward and as you gets closer and closer to Sam he looks him directly in the eye. "You know I haven't forgotten our little 'conversation' from earlier Sam and now it's your time to fess up, to spill it. What is the story on this supposedly killer-truck that had my number last night? Do tell."
Ugh. Sam was hoping that this little issue had been swept under the carpet. Obviously not. Sam feels a bit nervous and not prepared to be the one who wipes the smug and slightly condescending smirk that his brother is currently sporting off his face. But, he wants to know and Sam thinks he should know so, with a nod and a deep breath he gets ready to deliver his retelling of events from the evening before.
"Okay Dean, you win, it is my turn. But, let me just say that you are not going to like it. Not at all." Did Sam just see his brother gulp? He waits and once he sees his big brother nod in agreement he starts to tell the tale. The tale of 'The Killer Truck who Had Dean's Number'. Yeah, that's a good title.
TBC..
