Sam grunted, his hands twisted in his hair while he rocked back and forth, kneeling on the floor. "Breathe, buddy," Dean said crouched in front of him. Sam grunted louder and his hands began pulling. "Sammy stop," Dean said, his hand hovering over his brothers. He didn't want to set his brother off even more but if he was hurting himself, someone had to stop him. Sam's hands didn't release the hair but they stopped pulling though the rocking did intensify.
"Hit," Sam grunted out. Dean sighed internally and shook his head outwardly. "No, Sammy, no hitting." Before Dean could even react Sam flung his head back into the wall behind him. Dean flinched at the sound before jumping into action.
"Sammy!" he yelled, making Sam flinch though he was too lost in the meltdown to even realize he did so. "HIT!" Sam yelled as he swung his head forward before trying to throw it back again. Dean quickly put his chest behind Sams' head and when Sam's head made contact he definitely felt the air leave his lungs in an "oof" noise.
"Sammy pl-"
"HIT!" Sam yelled and repeated the same movement over and over for about two minutes before he just laid his head back, breathing heavily and Dean was panting himself.
"Sammy?"
"Arms?" which was Sam's way of asking for a hug when he struggled with verbal communication.
"Okay," Dean panted out and conceded. Sam immediately held on to the arms around his own.
"Breathe Sammy," Dean said because sometimes the kid needed reminding and when Sam inhaled loudly, Dean knew he had been holding his breath. It was one of those things with autism that nobody could explain except sometimes Sam just held his breath and wouldn't breathe until you told him to though it usually happened when he was upset.
"In six out six, count Sammy," and Sam did very quietly but Dean could hear him. Dean always heard him.
Two minutes passed before Dean spoke again aside from the occasional praise.
"Sammy, can you tell Dean why you're so upset?"
Sam sighed loudly which meant he didn't want to. "I-I-I," he blew out an air of frustration.
Dean just patted his shoulder, "later then, ok bud?"
"N-not l-l-little," Sam said, sounding upset. Dean patted his shoulder again and squeezed gently figuring that Sam wanted some pressure like he always did after a meltdown.
"Ok Sammy," he whispered. Sam put a hand to his hair and Dean began to rub the back of his head where he had rammed it into the wall. "Hurt," Sam sighed out, closing his eyes and leaning into Dean, deeply. Dean looked down at Sammy, taking in his slack face and decided he'd give Sam another moment before moving him to his bed.
"Sammy?" Dean said trying gauge if he was asleep.
"Mhm?" Sam moaned out after a moment.
"Can Dean help move you to your bed ouch?"
"Help," Sam gave a small nod but snuggled more into Dean's chest. Dean smiled and gave Sam a couple more minutes before deciding to finally hoist him to bed.
"Okay Sammy, Deans going to pick you up now," he informed but Sam was already asleep, post meltdown exhaustion tolling on him.
Dean staggered slightly under the weight of his one hundred and forty-five pound brother with his 5'10 length. God, he was getting too big. Sam was almost as tall as Dad and it would be no time before he surpassed Dean.
Moments later Sam was laying down in his bed, snuggling deep into the pillows. "Goodnight Sammy," Dean said quietly and brushed Sam's hair from his forehead before ruffling it. Sam stirred but ultimately didn't take notice and Dean left the room.
In the hallway Dean let out a sigh. He had no clue as to what had set Sam off. The kid had been fine all today. Talking up a storm, laughing with Dean and then suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, Sam was in the thoroughs' of an aggressive meltdown when Dean came out of the bathroom. What could have happened in that short amount of time, Dean wasn't sure.
Dean rubbed the creases out of his forehead as he made his way down the hall and to the living room to clean up the remains of where they had dinner. Pizza, one of Sam's safe foods and his favorite. Dean sighed, still at a loss, and began to clean up the coffee table, taking cans of soda and dirty paper plates to the trash along with a box of pizza that only had one lonely slice left. That surprised Dean. Usually, they would have two or three left over of a pie cut up into ten slices. Dean shook his head off handedly and continued to clean up.
While he threw the stuff away in the kitchen, Dean heard the front door open. Dad was home. "Dean, Sammy?!" John called into the house and Dean quickly made his way over to his dad.
Dean put a finger to his lips and shook his head. John nodded, understanding. "He okay?" John asked, taking off his coat. Dean shrugged with a sigh, looking around while shaking his head.
John frowned at his son, Dean was showing his telltale signs of being flustered. John put a hand on Dean's shoulder and caught his eye when Dean looked at him. "Are you okay?" he asked and watched as Dean's resolve to tough it out wavered and then crumbled. Dean shook his head quietly and John wasted no time in gathering his oldest up in a hug.
"It's alright son," John promised as he felt his son's shoulders begin to shake.
"I-I-I-" Dean stuttered out into his fathers' chest.
"Shh," John said, rubbing his son's back. "I know Deano, dad knows kiddo," he whispered.
And John did know. He knew that Dean had been under enormous amounts of stress with school, starting at a job, occasionally taking care of Sammy and finding time for friends and family. John understood that Dean was trying his best, trying to be strong and help out wherever he could but Dean was only eight-teen. John understood that all of this was a lot for one eight-teen year old.
Dean cried a little while longer before sighing into his dad's chest and easing out of the hug. "Better?" John asked. Dean gave a small smile.
"Yeah," he sighed, wiping his face and avoiding his dad's eye. John smiled at his son's embarrassment. Dean was always like this when it came to needing a hug or just to cry. John was just glad that Dean knew he did not think anything of him for those things. It took some time but Dean knew that.
"Dean, what happened?" John asked while Dean avoided his gaze.
Dean shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pocket, looking down at his shoes. "Sam- he… Sam had a meltdown b-but I don't-... I don't know why dad," he said, looking up at his dad as he finished his sentence.
John figured something of the like had happened so he just nodded. "Where is he?"
Dean nodded his head towards Sam's room. "Sleeping," he mumbled. Dean turned back to his father.
"How bad was it?"
Dean cleared his throat so his voice wouldn't wobble in remembrance. "Bad," Dean answered quietly and nodded at the ground.
"So we'll talk about it more with him when he wakes up, it'll be okay Dean," John promised, bringing Dean's forehead closer so he could kiss it. "Get some sleep son," John said, patting Deans back before heading down the hall and into his room for the night.
Dean nodded absentmindedly before deciding to take his fathers advice and heading down to his own room.
1:13 am
Retching. Loud violent retching is what awoke Dean out of his slumber that night. It was close too. The walls were thin in their house and the noise was coming from behind him. The noise was coming from Sammy's room. With that realization Dean wasted no time hopping out of bed and down the hall to Sams' room not even noticing that his fathers door was open.
"It's okay Sammy," Dean heard from Sams' room before he finally reached the threshold.
Dean's eyes widened at the scene that greeted him.
Sam was sitting up in bed and slightly hunched over himself coughing and throwing up a goddamn lung into his lap while their dad rubbed and patted his back. There were tears streaming down his little brother's face and Dean could no longer hold in his grasp at the sight. Not that he tried, and it alerted his family to his presence in the doorway.
Immediately John looked up while Sam just panted while looking down at his lap. "Dean," John sighed. He gestured toward the bathroom behind Dean in the hallway with his hand. "Go get the bucket from under the sink son," and then snapped his attention back to the very upset and sick Sam.
Dean blinked at the order before it clicked and he raced to the bathroom and back, bucket in hand for his father. As Dean walked closer to hand over the bucket he found himself biting his lip to fight another gasp which would only make matters worse for Sam by embarrassing him.
Sam was whimpering and moaning in pain and their dad was rubbing his back in circles, on his knees next to Sam in the bed. Sam looked up when he heard footsteps getting closer to the bed.
The misery Dean saw on his face tore at his heart but he couldn't cry, it would only set Sam off even more. You were never supposed to cry in front of Sam, especially when he was in his own state of distress already.
"Hey Sammy," Dean whispered, reaching a hand to brush the hair from his forehead but Sam put his head down and against his fathers chest, crying earnestly into it. Dean take that any kind of way other than Sam was most likely feeling overstimulated with the throwing up, dad touching him constantly, the noise of his own throwing up. It was a lot for Sam and Dean understood that. It was a lot for him and he wasn't even the one throwing up so he didn't push it, instead he just began talking softly to his brother, crouching beside the bed on the other side.
"Your alright Sammy, no one's mad, accidents happen," Dean promised and John smiled at his words because almost instantly Sam's crying began to die down. Dean wasn't surprised because of course Sam was embarrassed and feeling like he would get in trouble for having an accident because in his head he was "too old" to be finding himself in these situations. What Sam didn't understand is that however true that may be, he still had autism at the end of the day so he didn't have to concede to neurotypical standards nor would he be able to sometimes or he would find it harder to.
"Accident," Sam mumbled in misery before coughing and spitting up into the bucket his father held in front of him while he leaned against him with his cheek to his chest. John rubbed his back soothingly as he did so.
"I know," John and Dean both said. John winked at Dean when they made eye contact.
"Head back to bed son, I got this," John promised. Dean shook his head, Sam's bed was a mess, as was he and John couldn't take care of both. Dean stood up from his crouched position dusting off invisible dust from his pajama pants.
"No dad, you can't clean him up, this," he said gesturing to the bed, "and take care of him. Bring him to the couch and I'll get this cleaned up," Dean promised, already starting on gathering the soiled comforter making Sam shiver.
John smiled at his son knowing there was really no point in arguing. "Okay Dean," he said before looking down to give Sam the heads up. When John finally had Sam in his arms bridal style and on the way to the living room couch he stopped in the doorway. Dean looked up.
"Thank you," John said and Dean nodded, blushing, before going back to cleaning up the mess that was his brother's bed. In the living room, Sam threw up a couple more times but then he would be out for the count until the afternoon.
"I threw his stuff in the washer machine after getting the chunks off it, and the floor miraculously survived," Dean laughed quietly, shaking his head. John got up from his place beside a sleeping Sam on the couch and went over to give Dean a big hug.
"Thank you, you did good. Real good," and Dean fought not to get teary eyed at that statement. "Ever since your mother-" John's voice broke and he shook his head suddenly. "I'm sorry," he said, letting go of Dean to wipe his eyes and smiling at his son. "You've been a big help Deanno." Dean looked back at his father, giving a small smile.
"Go back to him before he wakes up dad," was all he said. John nodded, kissed his forehead and then regathered Sam in his arms which didn't cause the slightest stir.
"Sam?" Dean asked from his spot on the floor in front of the couch because his little brother was starting to groan.
Groggy eyes met his own.
"Well hello," Dean chuckled softly and turned around so he could smooth the hair out of Sam's eyes. Sam gave a small smile.
"What happened?" he murmured quietly.
"You got sick bu- Sam," Dean caught himself. Sam nodded absentmindedly at the statement.
"My stomach hurt yesterday, fizzy soda," and then it hit Dean.
Sam normally didn't drink sodas except on rare occasions and certainly not a whole can. He instantly felt like an idiot. "Is that why you had a meltdown Sammy?" Dean said, biting his lip and feeling glad that Sam's eyes had drifted closed so he wouldn't have to face him completely. Sam nodded and then with a yawn he was dead to the world again.
Dean stared at his brother for a moment, shaking his head at himself. How could he forget? Forget that his autistic brother never drank soda. What kind of brother forgot important things like that such as possible triggers for his brother. He had unknowingly subjected his brother to pain and sickness because he couldn't remember important things.
He was so disappointed in himself and held his head in his hands, staring at the carpet floor.
John walked in then. "You ok champ?" he asked ruffling his oldest hair as he walked past him to get to his youngest and place a hand on his forehead. Mm, still no fever, he thought but shrugged it off. He was just going to be grateful for that fact instead of focusing on the oddity. He looked over at his oldest. "He still hasn't spiked a fever," he said with a shrug. "Maybe it's just a bout of food poisoning or something," he reasoned as Dean began shaking his head making him frown. "You don't think it's food poisoning?" he questioned, not really understanding Dean's body language though he knew something was bothering his son. Dean sighed and looked up at his father.
"It's not food poisoning," he said miserably and let his eyes drift over to his brother's dozing form. Poor kid was absolutely spent on behalf of his own stupidity. John furrowed his eyebrows.
"What makes you say that?"
"B-because… b-because I did this," he admitted as if he didn't say it right then he would combust. John tilted his head, thoroughly confused.
"How exactly?" he said with a hint of amusement because his son probably thought food poisoning was contagious or something. Dean avoided eye contact as he answered his father.
"I-I gave him soda," he sighed defeatedly. John raised his eyebrows at that.
"Why?" he questioned casually. Sam usually didn't drink soda nor did he like it that much. Dean shrugged and held his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth.
"I forgot," he said, exasperated with himself. He looked back at his father. "What kind of older brother forgets that his autistic brother doesn't like soda?!" he exclaimed. John studied his son for a moment taking his devastated look and upset posture before deciding to take a seat next to him.
"Well, if I had to guess," he said, shooting a glance at a very distressed Dean. "I would say a stressed but thoughtful, patient, protective, supportive, amazing older brother who makes the occasional mistake," he looked back over at Dean. "Mistakes happen, son, and you made one. It's okay," he promised, nodding with a smile. Dean could only stare at his father. He didn't understand. When it came to Sam he didn't make mistakes, no, he knew just about everything there was to know about taking care of Sam. He didn't have the leisure of messing up as Sam's neurotypical brother who he relies on occasionally. Sam couldn't afford someone he was supposed to trust and be able to put total faith in, messing up.
"You don't get it da-"
John held up a hand and Dean sighed. "I understand just fine, son. What you need to understand is that with all the stress you have been under, a mistake was inevitable. Does it suck it included Sam, maybe but it's not the end of the world and I promise you no one is mad." John gathered Dean in a one armed hug.
"Your human son and just because you and Sam might not have the same difficulties doesn't mean you're not allowed any. I don't want you beating yourself up over this any more, got it?"
Dean sighed once more but a small smile crept onto his face. "Got it."
A/N: This was just something I had wanted to do, an autistic Sam fic but I didn't want to make a whole story. I might add some more installments but it would just be a bunch of one shots. By no means is this a story. Thank you for tuning in!
