A/N: An awesome response for the last chapter, thanks, y'all! It's very much appreciated. I originally planned to make more of drunk!Sam in here, but Kripke got there first, unfortunately. Ah well, he did it better than I could have done!
Disclaimer: Why, I'm flattered you'd think I owned it. Unfortunately, I don't. Please don't sue a poor, unhappy little English girl, Mr Kripke!
This one's a biggie! Enjoy, y'all!
14.
Dean honestly hadn't meant to leave Sam alone for so long; he'd just needed room to breathe, a quick break. God, this whole situation…it was driving him insane. Hell, Sam was driving him insane, although he hated to admit it. It wasn't that he didn't love the kid…(he winced at this thought) but his constant demand on big brother's attention was draining, and something Dean hadn't had to cope with for years. He was exhausted.
He missed Sam. The Sam who gave him sarcastic looks and bit-back at his snide remarks. The passionate young man with a maturity and determination which constantly surprised him. The Sam he knew would watch his back, the Sam that he ultimately respected and trusted with his life.
Realizing the cliché sappiness of his previous thoughts, he quickly shook his head and swallowed. He needed a drink. He needed to drown this care-bear crap in alcohol.
He would just escape to the bar for a breather, he had told himself; order the drinks, exchange brief, idle chit-chat with the barman and head back to 'Sammy-watch' refreshed and stocked up on pain-dulling liquor. A flawless, completely foolproof, super special awesomely infallible plan. In and out, back to Sam in a flash, no harm done.
Or so he thought.
But then there had been this girl...and what a girl…and one thing had led to another. After all, he wasn't superman; he was a naturally horny red-blooded male specimen, and a damn fine one, if he said so himself, which he did. Often. He'd kept his eye on the clock; just a few minutes more couldn't possibly hurt. Besides, he was listening out for any signs of distress from Sam's general direction. He figured he wouldn't be getting much action with his loveable but undeniably clingy even-littler-than-usual-in-the-mental-sense-little brother around, so…just a few minutes.
It had turned out to be 'just a few minutes' too long. But Dean, engrossed in lapping up the attention of the simply luscious blonde in front of him, wasn't to know that.
"How's about we head somewhere more private, huh?" He murmured, and she giggled.
Fortunately or unfortunately, not a few seconds towards a secluded backroom and his big brother guilt vibes had already kicked in. He had made this mistake before; he had put Cassie before Sam and look how well that had turned out. The blonde frowned, raised a thin eyebrow and gave him an encouraging tug towards the door. Dean looked at her, feeling the true Dean who had sunk beneath layers of lust and adrenaline stir and give him a reproachful look.
He rolled his eyes and groaned. Hot Sex VS Little Brother. Hm.
"Sorry, sweetheart;" He sighed, and she frowned, confused "no contest. Maybe I'll drop by later…much later."
Her face fell in disappointment, but she shrugged a shoulder unconcernedly. "S'alright." She said, and folded her arms across her chest "Girl back home tuggin' at ya conscience?"
Dean chuckled, never passing up on a chance to insult his little brother's masculinity.
"Something like that." Feeling oddly light-headed, he moved through the crowd with practiced ease, a frown marring his features. Sometimes, he didn't understand himself. But then, he reasoned, he didn't really need to. Well-needed stress relief could wait until Sam was in the all clear. Maybe for a while after, too. Still. It was unlike him to be so…easily swayed.
Unable to see the corner where he had left Sam through the crowd, he strained his ears as he fought his way over, then froze as he heard a coarse voice suddenly pierce the dull hum of the bar:
"You FUCKIN'-"
There was a crash, and vague curses. Dean could his heart beginning to beat faster, some sixth sense screaming at him. Just a random bunch of drunks. Nothing to worry about. Right?
"That's not true! I-"
Shit. Dean's blood ran cold. He should have known Sam would end up in some kind of trouble without him there to play watchdog. Shit, shit, shit. He should never have left him. Elbowing several disgruntled customers out of way as he hurried over to the corner, Dean continued to curse under his breath. His heartbeat roared in his ears, every beat pulsating painfully against his skull, like a mantra, muscles tensing in anticipation.
Finally barging into the small clear space outside the semi-circle of thugs surrounding Sam's corner, Dean took in the scene with a mounting torrent of anger which threatened to overwhelm him completely.
The largest (and, inevitably, ugliest) thug of the lot was standing in front of the small semi-circle, an enormous beefy fist clenched at his side. The other was wrapped vice-like around Sam's horribly fragile looking neck. Even from a distance, Dean saw the fingers tighten, digging into his little brother's skin, blood vessels bursting and bruising beneath his grip.
Dean's mind went blank, a dull roaring filling his ears.
"Ya gonna die, kid."
The roar grew louder and louder, and a vein pulsed in Dean's temple. His entire body was seizing up, trembling with suppressed energy, his chest on fire as he breathed quick and deep breaths in anticipation. His heart was pumping so hard he felt it would burst.
"Ya hear? Ya gonna-"
The raw terror in Sam's eyes filled every corner of Dean's mind, fuelling the already scorching blaze which grew and grew and grew until it engulfed any conscious thought he had left in him.
"HEY!"
With every ounce of strength he possessed, Dean briefly bent his knees and lunged through a gap in the wall of thugs. The impact of his passing was so great that the two went reeling, but he did not stop. Get to Sam! his mind screamed at him Get Sammy out of danger!
A rich, dense shade of red flashed before his vision, and before any of the thugs could react he had grabbed the largest thug's wrist in one hand and brought his own elbow slamming down into the thug's tattooed elbow joint with the other. There was a grating, creaking sound as all blood drained from the thug's face, and his grip went slack. Sam crumpled to the floor like a doll, wheezing, but alive. Blessedly alive.
The neck a tired, bemused voice in the recesses of Dean's adrenaline-packed head muttered why is it always the neck? It's not as if there's anything particularly attractive about Sam's neck, anyway.
Wisely ignoring the voice, Dean returned to the matter at hand; the thug, who Dean had creatively christened 'Crusher', stared down at him with narrowed eyes which twitched with pain. Crusher thug's features were twisted with a mixture of anger and fear, and Dean watched with satisfaction as a trickle of sweat ran down his forehead.
"What the hell, man!" Crusher thug eventually hissed out through gritted teeth "Gerrof' me! What's your problem?"
Dean raised an eyebrow, and glanced down, just in time to see Sam's eyes go dark with unconsciousness and for his body to go limp, keel to the side and glance off the table edge before crashing to the floor. His breath caught in his chest. Although Sam's dark mop of hair obscured his face, the deep bruising of foreign, dirty hands were imprinted strikingly against the pale, sickly skin of his neck.
Little brother.
A cold lust to hurt this man overpowered him, and he increased the pressure on the man's trembling arm almost lovingly, a sadistic smile curling his lips. Crusher thug whimpered, and Dean savoured the sound as a thrill of rage tore through him once again, leaving him winded.
"My problem, asshole," He whispered, voice thick with hatred and a strange, cold, terrifying calm "Is that I'm under the distinct impression that you're the butt-ugly mug who just tried to strangle my little brother."
He said it with a dangerous politeness which any wiser man would have taken as a warning. Unfortunately for Crusher Thug, who was among those who had not been blessed with a reasonable amount of brain cells in the gene pool, he took this false courtesy as a sign of weakness.
Big mistake.
"That fuckin' retards yer brother?" He spat, malicious laughter filling his tone "You screwed in the head too then, huh, bud?"
Thoroughly convinced that Dean was no more of a threat than the average bar-brawler, Crusher Thug grinned maniacally, glancing up at his attacker with daring in his eyes. Poor bastard. His gaze met the normally guarded hazel eyes of his oppressor, and he gasped. The dude's eyes were burning. Raw, desperate, uncontrollable rage was scorched into Crusher Thug's dull brain like a scalding brand, and he found himself unable to look away.
"You know what?"
The cold emptiness of Dean's voice sent a shiver down the thug's spine, and he gulped, but shakily pulled a cocky smile back onto his twisted features nonetheless. Not a creature of evolution, was poor Crusher. The kid was smaller than him. He could take him.
"Wha'?" He drawled, challengingly. Dean's lips curled upwards into a sour, dangerous smile.
"I've decided I don't like you."
Crusher Thug tutted, and pouted mockingly, slamming his free, meaty fist over his heart in an expression of fake hurt. In Dean's temple, a pulse began to throb more insistently. Wait. Not yet.
"Aw, man, I'm real aff…afro…upse' about tha'." He slurred, then laughed, the sound booming around the now strangely quiet bar. All eyes had been drawn to the confrontation in the corner, the silence blanketing the room like a suffocating veil. Nobody dared to breathe, let alone speak.
The silence stretched on. Dean's smile fell.
"You know what I do to people I don't like?"
Crusher Thug made a wide, sweeping gesture with his free hand, as in his bent position it seemed as though he was bowing to his opponent. Dean watched impassively, the man's grin silently mocking him, a gold tooth flashing in the semi-darkness as it caught the light. Unnatural. A monster? No. Just a human. Scum; but a human, nonetheless. Then again, monsters existed among men, too.
Dean knew how to deal with monsters.
"Go right ahead and show me, sonny-boy." Crusher hissed arrogantly, raising his chin to stare hard into Dean's face. Pathetic. A shudder passed through Dean's body, and his finger's curled tighter as he gathered all his strength in the arm which was pressing against the thug's elbow.
"With pleasure." He murmured, pleasantly, before swinging his arm down with crushing force. The bones snapped and splintered like china as Crusher Thug let out an inhumane bellow of agony, the tendons tearing under the sheer pressure. Dean remained quite still as the thug fell heavily to his knees with a crash, his face completely devoid of emotion. Crusher snapped his head around to leer through the pounding pain, cradling his arm against his chest.
"Fuck." He breathed, before Dean brought his leg around to swing his booted foot crashing into the side of the thug's head. Crusher went flying, slamming into the solid wood of the bar with a resounding thud. The other thugs hurried to their leader's aid, throwing a mixture of angry and terrified looks at Dean as they did so.
For a moment, he simply stood, breathing hard, fists clenched. Then, he heard a quiet groan behind him, and whirled around.
Sammy.
Dean felt like something cold and slippery had curled around his chest, suffocating the intolerable heat which had pooled there in response to his rage. He blinked, the momentary madness all but gone, and crouched shakily down beside his immobile little brother.
"Sammy…Sammy?" He called gently in a hoarse tone, his throat sore "You alright, kiddo? C'mon, talk to me."
He reached out to touch Sam's body, and froze. Memories of his little brother lying, seemingly dead and perishing with cold in the middle of a rain swept road assaulted his mind, and he flinched. Clenching his jaw, he carefully pushed aside the mess of dark hair which obscured Sam's face. He frowned. Sam was still, but his brow was typically furrowed, eyes clearly roving beneath closed lids. The tips of Dean's fingers brushed against no clammy, undead cold but steady, reassuring warmth, sticky with sweat. He could practically feel the blood pumping frantically beneath the surface, flushing his little brother's face with a healthy glow in the aftermath of near-strangulation.
Speaking of which…Thug number Two had decided to try his luck at avenging his fallen Thug master of Thuggery.
"Son of a BITC-"
He was forced to choke off the end of his exclamation, as Dean's knee rose then snapped backwards, sending his foot slamming into Thug Two's left kneecap with deadly accuracy. Snap. Thug Two howled and went head over heels, landing with a crash and entangling himself in chair legs and shards of broken drink's glasses. The remaining two thugs stared at the back of Dean's head; he hadn't even bothered to look. He had simply judged the guy's approach by what all his senses except his sight had told him.
Thu-thud the vibrations sent from the floor to his knees clu-clunk the noise of the impact of clumsy feet. Oh, yes. Even with 99 of his attention absorbed with Sam, the thug was still clear as day in a well-trained corner of his mind. Never let it be said that John Winchester wasted their childhood. The thugs gasped and backed even further into the comforting solidity of the bar.
"Damn, that looks nasty…" Dean muttered absently, gently probing the unnatural bump where Sam had whacked his head on the side of the table. His skin prickled in warning. The sooner they got out of here, the better. He could almost hear the gears turning in the thug's heads, grinding and groaning from disuse. It would take a while, but eventually, they would regroup and try again. Dean sighed, then beamed cheerfully, patting Sam's cheek while lowering his head slowly to the floor.
"S'okay, Sammy," He rubbed his hands together, suddenly all smiles "you just lie still for a tick while I emphasize a few little issues I got with these dickwads, then we can get the hell out of here."
Using the tip of his toes as a pivot, he turned sharply around to face the group of thugs; Crusher Thug was halfway through a slow and shaky return to lucidity, which was promptly thrown completely off kilter as his gaze met Dean's.
"Okay. Listen up, and listen good, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once."
He paused, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly.
"I ever," he kept his tone soft, but it pierced the air like a dart "catch you within three miles of my brother again, you'll be pissin' from sweet nothing's for the rest of your life. Which, luckily for you, would be real short. Clear?"
Dean took the stunned silence as a disturbed affirmative. Turning back to Sam, he quickly and efficiently pulled his brother's limp arm across his shoulders and pulled, wrapping a hand around Sam's waist, hauling him jerkily upright. He grunted. No more burgers and fries for this Winchester for a while, if his aching muscles were to have anything to do with it.
"Come on, Sam. Up is good. Easy, easy…"
Sam groaned quietly, long limbs flailing all over the place. Dean gave his brother's arm another insistent tug, moving him higher over his shoulder, and watched as Sam's half-conscious body automatically found its feet and stood on them shakily.
"Deeeeeee…an?" He slurred thickly, turning his disorientated head towards Dean. Sam winced, eyelids peeling back to reveal normally sharp eyes dulled with pain, exhaustion and alcohol. Dean wrinkled his nose. Ugh. He could smell tequila on Sam's breath, and was horribly reminded of hazy nights when their Father would hug a confused five year old Dean close and cry bitterly, the thick stench of whisky practically suffocating the gagging child. But he never pulled away. Dad had only ever held him when he was drunk after the night of the fire.
He shuddered.
"Why'sa…room spin…ning?" Sam forced out, blinking in genuine confusion. Dean sighed. For a moment, he'd forgotten. Sam's addled, toddler-esque mind probably couldn't quite comprehend the effects of alcohol. He had been careful to shield Sam from that when they were young. To this day, Sam wasn't exactly fond of the stuff. He hated not being in control of his own actions. The poor kid probably thought he was ill or something.
"Latest craze, Sammy. Virtual inebriation; bars designed to give the impression you're drunk without you swallowing a drop of alcohol."
He walked briskly as he spoke, his mind on autopilot, spouting meaningless nonsense which somehow made humorous sense. Sam blinked hazily, concentrating on keeping his legs from falling out from under him. His dead weight was awkward, but somehow felt right, to Dean.
"Uh…?" Sam inquired vaguely, eyes drooping with tiredness. Dean blinked, surprised to find himself right beside the door to the bar, the crowd having scuttled to the walls to avoid him. He sighed. He was starting to have that sort of effect on people; he hoped he wasn't turning into Dad. Before he knew it people would start pulling shotguns on him for no apparent reason.
"Nothing." Dean muttered, feeling a tired ache begin to settle deep within him. He relaxed, just slightly, as he kicked the door to the bar open and headed out into the cool, dark night air " Come on, let's get-"
WHAM.
"Not so fucking cocky now, are ya, bastard!"
"DEAN!"
-----------------------------
Sam's head was pounding harder than it had ever pounded before. The world tilted on its axis, first left, then right, making bile rise in his throat as he fought the urge to throw up. His stomach felt heavy, and the burn of the alcohol continued to seep into him, dulling his senses. He was just drifting into a pleasant, rhythmic pattern of swaying, letting Dean lead the way, when a loud shout and a sudden impact sent Dean crashing straight into his side.
He cried out as they hit the ground in a tangled heap, hard. He gritted his teeth and forced the nausea away. Although his eyes were scrunched tightly shut he was aware of Dean's considerable weight sprawled across his back, making it difficult to draw breath. For a moment, he lay still, panting, letting the chaos wash over him crippling beats.
"No-one bests Knuckle Karl in a figh'. No-one!"
The voice sounded fuzzy and indistinct, like a broken record. Dean's weight moved unsteadily off him, and he could hear the jagged breathing from above him as his brother levered himself upright. Move! He screamed at himself, willing his shaking limbs to co-operate help Dean. Get away.
"Knuckle Karl?" Dean's voice spat, and Sam felt a surge of pride and affection for his brother "You're kidding, right? Still, you get brownie points for a valiant attempt at alliteration, I suppose-"
Dean broke off, and there was a horrible, sickening crunching sound, then the creaking of strained bone. A sharp gasp. Sam's eyes flew open.
There were more. More thugs, larger ones. Very, very bad men, Sam could see. All gathered around them in a tight circle. The one Dean had hit, the one who had tried to…Sam shivered, his hand's flying to his neck. He winced. The man was strong.
Dean was bent over, his forehead almost touching the concrete paving, face twisted in agony. The biggest thug had his right arm locked behind his back at an odd angle, and his huge foot pressed down on the small of his brother's back, pushing him down. Dean was pinned. Helpless. No. Not Dean. Dean never lost a fight, even against the bigger people…
Sam placed his palms against the paving beneath him and pushed with all his might, forcing himself upwards, his heart banging against his ribs. He swallowed. He was scared. It was dark, and the fluorescent, flickering glare of the bar light's cast contorted shadows across them.
But I have to do something!
Dean was never afraid; Dean was always brave. That meant he had to be brave, too, no matter how big and scary these people were. Something tickled within his mind; a whispering, growing more and more insistent. Sam was suddenly painfully aware of the confusion which fogged his mind. If only…
"Stop it!" He exclaimed, as Dean let out a grunt of pain. The thug slowly turned his head too look at Sam, his eyes mad, but Sam was too busy comprehending the horrible, horrible reality that Dean was in pain; and it was his fault.
Pain. Dark road. Blood on the ceiling. Red. Dean. All your fault.
"Shut your trap, ya freakin' tard!" The thug spat, and Sam flinched, then cursed himself. Weak, pathetic. Come on, Sam! Snap out of it!
"Please, stop hurting my brother! I'm sorry! I'm sorry for drinking the girl's drink and annoying you, just leave Dean alone!"
He just couldn't do it; he couldn't summon the will to erase his fear. He was only little, small, insignificant, weak. Dean was the strong one. But…Dean was in trouble. He had to help. Had to do it. He'd promised…he had to grow stronger. Yes. He had to protect Dean, get to Dean, because…because…otherwise…
The figure raised a curved, gleaming blade of metal, brought it carefully to poise just beside the exposed skin of Dean's neck-
His upper arms were grabbed in a vice like grip, and he tensed, clenching his jaw and kicking frantically with his legs as he was dragged up. His head lolled around, too heavy to hold upright, swimming with drowsy confusion. I'm mad he thought, stunned I must be mad.
The tickle in his mind grew into an itch; it stung sharply, and he hissed in pain.
"Guess what, kid?"
The blade slit clean through the tender flesh of Dean's neck, violent spouts of crimson life fluid rising high through the air and spattering the bonnet of the Impala with dark blood.
No.
Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…why fight? You can't beat me…
"I'm gonna beat yer boyfriend or yer brother or whatever till his ribs break in. Then I'm gonna kick his head till his brains drain outta his ears. Then I'm gonna snap every bone left in his body. And you're gonna watch."
NO.
You couldn't save him. Look at you, you're weak…run run run as fast as you can…but you can't catch me, your brother's a dead man!
NO!
A burst of clarity as all the walls in Sam's mind broke simultaneously, the fog clearing with a high pitched scream. Memories came pouring in, brick upon brick which built the strange entity that was Sam Winchester. Dad. Mom. Dean. They defined him.
He couldn't see, but somehow, he could feel the heat seeping from the two men who held his arms. He didn't hesitate. Cherishing the abrupt awareness and control he had over his body, he brought his long legs whirling around, tripping the thug's and sending them flying backwards. He didn't stop. Dispatching one in the face with a quick elbow and the other in the stomach with a clenched fist, he stood, tensed and practically crackling with energy.
Mere seconds had passed, and the thug who was holding Dean turned his head as if in slow motion towards him, looking over his shoulder.
A small smirk, too wryly embittered to belong to a four year old, wound its way around Sam's lips. He took a short step forward on his left leg, raised his right knee, and swung his right leg between the thug's leg and…ahem…upwards with crushing force.
If worse comes to worse, get em good in the goolies, son. John Winchester's disembodied voice drifted across Sam's mind, and he found himself grinning. The thug choked and released Dean, slipping sideways, hands otherwise occupied.
"No…way…" Crusher thug gagged, twitching with spasms of pain. A sarcastic little voice in Sam's head tsked quietly. That was going to leave a mark. Eyes flitting from thug to thug, he walked, slowly, until he stood in front of Dean's crouched form. This would call for some teasing later.
A spasm of pain flitted across his brain, accompanied by the soft whispers as tendrils of fog began to engulf him once more. He clutched his temple, his smile faltering. Or perhaps not.
"Leave."
He stated, bluntly, latching on to the last rational fragment of himself he could find in his head and holding on, just a little longer, as the fog grew thicker and thicker and everything began to lose its meaning.
"Leave before I kill you."
He was vaguely aware of the thug's departing; his head ached. He felt as though he was shrinking inside his very skin, confusion overpowering the momentary understanding, clogging up his whole body. He clutched his temple as the last wave of agony washed over him, that sarcastic little voice managing one last epitaph before it, too, was consumed:
Well, this fucking sucks.
-----------------------------
"Dean…"
Sam's quiet mutter brought Dean back to himself with a sharp jolt. His brain had been too busy trying to process what he had just seen. No. Surely he was mistaken, right? Sammy hated violence with a passion, preferring to resolve issues through negotiation. His little brother would never own someone that thoroughly unless he was pissed off beyond reason. And especially not…well…there.
"Hey, Sammy…"
That had been, quite probably, one of the rare moments when Dean considered his little brother to be as cool as he was. No, scratch cool!
"That was awesome, man!" Dean exclaimed, grinning like a maniac as he clambered wearily to his feet "Freakin' awesome. You rule! Got him right in the nethers…priceless!"
Filing the image of the Thug's face as Sam's size twelve boots collided with his privates away, Dean resolved to save it for desperate moments when he needed a good chuckle. Sam stared at him, dumbfounded, and more than a little out of it. He looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped, his lanky frame seeming even more spindly than normal. Dean couldn't really blame him. Sam looked about as bad as he himself felt.
Feeling drained but somehow exhilarated in thrill of the evening, Dean pulled himself upright, giving Sam a once-over as he did so. He didn't seem too bad. He was standing, after all. Satisfied, but deciding to take a closer look when they were somewhere safer, Dean checked himself. A few bruises here and there. Glancing down at his right arm as it gave a particularly painful throb, he flexed his fingers, and flinched violently.
"You're hurt."
Sam's thin voice sounded scandalized, lost somewhere between disbelief, shock, guilt and a thousand other emotions Dean couldn't really bear to deal with right now. He brought his forearm carefully up before his face, drawing a deep breath, counting to ten. One, thumb. Two, forefinger. Three, middle finger. Four, fourth finger, five, little finger.
Slowly, he let his breath out. Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
"It's alright, kiddo. I'm okay." He said, injecting as much re-assurance as he could manage into his tone. His wrist wasn't broken, certainly. But it could be sprained, and pretty nastily too. Still. No need to bother Sam with that. Dean glanced at his brother's face, his little brother's terribly expressive features broadcasting his guilt like a claxon horn.
"I'm sorry." Sam murmured, quietly, head bowed, wringing his hands and pulling at the sleeves of his shirt nervously. Dean sighed. Even in his lanky, six foot form, it was clear that Sam still possessed the mind of a child. He looked so odd, so out of place, and Dean felt a sudden compulsion to get them away from here, to shield Sam from this cruel foreign world that looked on him with such accusing eyes.
That fuckin' retards yer brother?
Dean felt anger rise once again, but then hesitated. He thought of the look in Sam's eyes as he threw off the two thugs holding him down, the determination, the burning strength as efficiently dispatched every single one of their attackers with a single, well calculated blow. He thought also of the compassionate, gentle soul who often kept Dean in check when he was on the brink of disaster. He smiled, warmth flooding his chest, face beaming in silent challenge to the world.
Yes, He thought yes, he's my brother, and I'm damned proud of him. He may be a freak, but he's my little freak, nobody else's. And Dean wouldn't have him any other way.
"Wasn't your fault." He muttered, gruffly, patting Sam off-handedly on the shoulder and steering him towards the parking lot. For a while, they walked in slow silence, each quietly struggling under the weight of their mild but nonetheless taxing injuries.
"Are you really okay, Dean?"
"I promise you, Sammy, I'm fine. You?"
"I'm…okay. I guess. Yes, I mean…I'm fine."
Dean grappled internally with himself, caught in indecision. He had promised, hadn't he? He had done better this time; he hadn't completely abandoned Sam, but it had been close. And it had been unacceptable. He had sworn he would take the first step in disciplining himself; in letting Sam know that he did care, that he was going to try harder. That he wouldn't fail him again.
Had Sam's head not been scrambled before Dean got to him that night…Dean was pretty sure that Sam would have lost the implicit trust he had in his big brother. Dean had betrayed his little brother; and besides making up for it…he also had to apologize. He had to.
"Hey, um…Sammy?"
Sam stopped, and turned, just a few feet ahead of him. Dean hesitated, and shivered suddenly, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. Jeez, it was cold out here…
"Uh huh?" Sam prompted, eyes wide in question. Dean swallowed, and drew himself up, clearing his throat.
"I'msorrytoo." He burst out, suddenly finding his shoes utterly fascinating. Were those cashmere laces? "Y'know. For leaving you like that."
Sam looked at him wearily, and said nothing. Dean squirmed uncomfortably, feeling suddenly as though he was the child, and Sam the long-suffering adult, quietly wondering whether or not forgiveness was appropriate. A chill breath of wind rose up and tossed about the empty air, the temperature plummeting yet further. Slowly, Sam wrapped shaking hands around himself and closed his eyes tightly shut, looking suddenly sickly and pale.
"Can we please just go?" He whispered through chattering teeth "I don't like it here."
Dean nodded curtly, wincing as he noticed that his limbs had cramped up from the cold. He hastily shook himself, rotating his ankles and rolling his neck, feeling the bones creaking as they stretched.
"Sure thing, little man. Just give me a sec to get my limbs in vague natural order and we'll be off."
He interlocked his fingers and stretched his hands high above his head, arching his back, and groaned, ignoring the flare of pain which shot through his right wrist with difficulty. The wind picked up, and Dean was suddenly aware that apart from its rush and sigh, the empty night air was utterly silent. Unnaturally so.
Suddenly, Sam gasped, and Dean's eyes snapped open.
"Sam?" He inquired, cautiously, but Sam seemed not to hear him. His face had gone completely white, blood draining from it faster than the blink of an eye, and Dean could see his entire body shuddering violently with fear. Concerned, he moved closer, reaching out to touch his brother's arm.
"Sam, what is it?"
Sam's hands shot out, grasping Dean by the upper arms in a vice-like grip, and Dean hissed as the pain in his wrist multiplied tenfold. However, the utter terror in Sam's eyes as he looked at him quickly banished any thoughts of mere physical pain from his mind.
This could not be good.
"Get back to car. Get away. Dean, we have to get away." Sam babbled desperately, eyes flitting about the surrounding darkness, searching, and Dean could feel the tremors in Sam's very bones as fear wracked his fragile form "It's coming, Dean."
Dean felt as though a bucket full of ice had been dumped on his chest, and he breathed heavily, feeling winded. Each breath came out in streams of hot smoke as it battled with the freezing air around them. A hysterical smile wove it's way across Sam's lips, his eyes dancing with petrified insanity.
"It's coming…" Sam repeated, swaying, looking like he was going to pass out. Dean grabbed his brother's shoulders and shook him, hard, trying to knock some sense back into him, panic beginning to overwhelm him, too.
"What, Sam?" He demanded, harshly "What's coming?"
Sam stilled.
A single shudder ran from the base of his skull along the length of his spine, and his legs shook, Dean's hands on his shoulders just about the only thing left holding him up. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He gasped in a few short, sharp, uneven breaths, eyes wild, desperately trying to convey to his brother the horror…the pain…
Dean watched in confusion as Sam lifted a trembling hand and slid it across Dean's chest, halting its movement directly above his brother's pounding heart. He pressed down, weakly, and then balled his fist in the fabric of Dean's shirt. He raised his head to stare at Dean with dark, haunted eyes.
"Cold." He whispered, and somehow, Dean understood completely.
-----------------------------
A/N: Dun, dun, DUN! (trumpets blare)
So y'all see, Dean resisted temptation! Smart pup learnt from his mistakes. If he had gone with the girl, I'm pretty sure Sam would be a goner by now, and we'd all be watching our treasured SN DVD's to cheer ourselves up…
Also, the impression was given in the last chapter that Sam was alone for quite a while longer than he actually was; Dean only left Sam for ten minutes, no more, it just seemed longer with all the description of the narrative. Sorry about that! I know Dean probably should have taken Sam with him to the bar considering his condition, but he did tell Sam to stay put, and he does ultimately trust Sam to stay out of trouble. He just…miscalculated Sam's sensibilities in his current state of mind. Safe to say, he won't be making the same mistake again.
Finally, Sam's mind is supposed to be maturing; so his perspective should be slightly less childish as the story progresses. I hope I'll succeed in expressing that in writing!
Next chapter: Finally, the thing which attacked Sam makes an appearance! (ominous noises)
Thanks for reading! Feedback makes the world go round, ya know. Review for the pretties! (pets traumatized Sam and Dean)