Room to Breathe
By: Cheryl W.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Dean or Sam, nor am I making any profit from this story.
Authors Note: Well here it is, the last chapter. Sorry for the long wait and I hope it wraps things up nicely.
Chapter 6
"Hero!" Dean scoffed, not lifting his head from its resting place against the side of the mattress. "What kinda twisted story makes a hero out of the guy who let his brother get kidnapped and then chooses him to be the first contestant of a sick safari hunt?"
Perceiving that some of Dean's anguish had lessened, Sam answered lightly, his eyes never leaving his brother's. "Twisted stories are our specialty. And this one happened to require some unusual heroics from the older brother to save the hapless younger brother and the damsel in distress."
A smirk pulled onto Dean's pale, bruised face, "I don't think Kathleen would like being called the damsel in distress."
Sam laughed, "You're just upset that she didn't swoon in your arms and kiss her prince."
"She handcuffed her prince to her freakin' car!" indignation rang through Dean's reply but the light was returning to his eyes.
"Don't you mean carriage?" Sam countered, relieved to see the darkness diminishing in his brother's eyes.
Dean shot Sam a mock glare but soon they were laughing quietly. Turning their focus forward, to the horrendous wallpaper on the wall, the brothers, sitting on the floor side by side, fell into a silence of consensus. Mentioning Kathleen had unknowingly sparked the same thoughts to run through the brothers. When Kathleen had confessed to shooting Pa Bender, there had been no censure from either Winchester. How could they condemn her when they would have done the same had they not both walked away?
"Come on, I'll like to get some sleep tonight," Sam sighed, breaking the silence. He wanted to wrap his arms around his brother and haul him to his feet but common sense warned him that Dean's pride was bound to object to such babying. Instead, standing fluently, he offered his hand to the still seated Dean.
Tilting his head up to view Sam, Dean quipped, "I'm comfortable right here," making no move to take Sam's hand.
Unprepared for such a vulnerable response, Sam moved from one foot to the other before he found the right words, adopted the best tone. "Yeah, but if I got up in the middle of the night, I would end up tripping over you and breaking my neck," his tone light but his eyes worried even as his words conveyed to Dean that their two room separation was over. Bending over, Sam grabbed Dean's right hand where it lay limply in Dean's lap and gave it a squeeze. "Up."
"You're a real pain," Dean sighed before he struggled to get his feet under him as Sam pulled him off the floor.
Not giving Dean a chance to falter, Sam slipped his hand around Dean's side, bracing him. Gently he settled his brother back to sit on the mattress. It was then that he noticed that Dean was still wearing his jeans and button down shirt instead of his traditional sleep wear of shorts and a t-shirt. "You're still in your jeans?"
With a quirk of a raised eyebrow, Dean sallied, "No flies on you."
"What…"
Dean cut off his brother's words, "It's a little hard to change into clothing that's not in my bag. Don't tell me you left them back in that other motel."
Sam, happy to hear a good natured threat from his brother again, appeased, "Don't go postal. Your sacred shorts are in my bag."
"Your packing skills suck, Sammy."
Sam couldn't fight off a joyous smile at hearing "Sammy" come from Dean. The name bridging more of the gap their words had created between them.
"You
think that's funny?" Dean challenged, his trade mark 'you're
gonna get a whooping from big bother' threat in his
eyes.
"Hilarious. I'll go get your PJs so you can go night
night," Sam replied, heading for the door only to spin around as he
opened it. "Don't go getting into any bar fights while I'm
gone."
"Tell me when you're gonna start being funny," Dean deadpanned, without turning around to see Sam smile before he left, purposely leaving the door cracked for easy reentry. Alone in the room, Dean couldn't keep the tired but satisfied smile from lighting up his pale features. Shaking his head at his brother's stubbornness, he winced as pain spiked through his skull. With a curse to the Benders, he cautiously inspected the bump on the back of his head with his right hand. A lump like that and no concussion, no blood, it was unfair how much his head hurt. Ruefully he knew tonight's dramatics had not helped.
When Sam walked back into the room, he saw Dean quickly drop his hand from his head. Putting his bag and laptop on the other bed, Sam perched behind Dean on the bed. "Let me take a look," he soothed, his fingers already gently inspecting the back of his brother's head. Finding the large lump without much effort, he felt Dean wince in pain. "You should have told me about this," his tone lanced more sorrow than reprimand as he parted his brother's short hair, praying that he wouldn't find blood.
His hands clenched into the bedspread, Dean countered, his voice rough with concealed pain, "I don't have a concussion. You checked, remember."
"Yeah, but that was when I thought the cut on your forehead was the worst abuse your fat head had seen," worry changing Sam's tone to frustration and censure. Coming off the bed he crossed over to his bag and began rummaging through it. "Smart thinking, going for drinks, Dean, mixing a head injury, and pain meds with alcohol."
"Don't forgot the bar fight," Dean tossed out, his tone one of humor instead of anger or defensiveness, causing Sam's eyes to fly to his.
Against his raging emotions, Sam found himself smiling, "You're such a jerk."
"Yeah, but I know how to take a lickin' and keep on tickin'," Dean boasted though his voice held a weariness Sam wasn't used to hearing.
Turning his focus back to his bag, Sam finally pulled out Dean's shorts. Coming to Dean's side, he taunted, "Alright Mr. Timex, here's your shorts."
Belligerently Dean yanked the shorts from his brother's hand. Then fortifying himself, he used his hands to help lever himself off the bed onto his feet. Instantly Sam gripped his arms tightly.
"Whoa. Where are you going?" Sam demanded, stepping closer to Dean, surprised that Dean had made it to his feet, equally not surprised that Dean needed his help to stay upright.
His eyes mere inches from Sam's, Dean growled his answer, "Bathroom. Do I need a hall pass or what?" growing more irritated by the second with his body's weakness.
Sam forced a bark of laughter from his tight chest, "Like you ever bothered with a hall pass." Slipping to Dean's side, his arm wrapped around his brother's waist, he put them both into motion, heading for the bathroom.
"Dude, let go," Dean protested, his right hand attempting to dislodge Sam's hold around his waist.
Sam, vividly remembering Dean's same response when they were searching for a seat in Roy's healing tent, clung more fiercely to his brother. It was only when they arrived at the bathroom's doorway that Sam relinquished his hold on Dean. Almost instantly, Sam wanted to reclaim his hold as he watched Dean's trembling hand shoot out to grip the doorframe to steady himself.
With measured steps, Dean gained the inside of the bathroom, shutting the door practically in Sam's face. For a change, Dean was glad the bathroom was small, needing him to only take one step forward to be able to sink down onto the closed toilet seat. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and called out through the flimsy wooden door, "Stop standing at the door, Sam."
Angry at being caught worriedly hovering at the door, Sam stalked back to his bed. With a ruthless jerk, he opened the plastic bag with a "Steffy's Drug Store" logo on the side. Pulling out the items from the bag, the receipt fluttered out to land on the floor. Bending over to snatch it up, Sam caught sight of Dean's open bag with the Metallica t-shirt lying on top. 'Ah crap.'
SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN
By the time Dean had changed and stood by the sink to splash water on his face to wipe away the dried blood from his lips, he had broken out in a cold sweat. From bitter experience he knew he was close to passing out. The weakness angered him. Surely he had been injured more gravely than this and even these wounds had certainly hurt more fiercely when they occurred. It wasn't right that he felt worse right now than he had walking through the woods away from the hillbilly hunters. Of course then there had been the adrenaline rush, the need to appear strong for Sam, and the necessity of escaping the cops and FBI to keep his mind and body otherwise occupied.
Now all his hard earned control was slipping away. 'All you have to do it make it to the bed. What is that, ten steps? Twelve? Totally doable. Now move it,' he demanded of himself as he reached for the doorknob. As fate would have it, the door opened in, necessitating him to take a step backwards to get the door open far enough for him to slip out. Forward motion he had geared himself for. Backwards motion had the room spinning.
Having nearly leaped to the bathroom doorway as the knob turned, Sam caught a glimpse of his paler than ever brother as the door started to open. Instantly Sam, with a cry of "Dean", pushed himself into the room and grabbed Dean as he began to sag. Settling Dean carefully back to sit on the closed toilet seat, he ordered breathlessly, "Put your head down," even as his hand gently slipped behind Dean's neck and guided Dean to bend over, putting his head between his knees.
Frantically, Sam yanked a washcloth from the rack, drenched it with cold water from the tub spigot and placed it on the back of Dean's neck. Opening his mouth to instruct his brother further, Dean's muffled words cut him off.
"Don't tell me how to breathe, Sam," Dean tried to instill some strength in his barbed comment.
Acting as if that exact instruction wasn't about to come from him, Sam replied, "You've been breathing for 26 years. I guess you know how it's done." Putting the back of his fingers against Dean's flushed cheek, then resting his palm across his brother's forehead, Sam sighed, "I don't think I have to tell you that your fever's worse."
"No, you don't," came Dean's defeated admission, his head bowed, his eyes still closed and making no move to shove his brother's touch away. Even when Sam tenderly brushed the washcloth over his face he made no objections.
Nothing terrified Sam more than a complacent Dean. He edged closer, allowing his brother's shoulder to rest on his chest. With clarity he knew it just wasn't the physical injuries that were taking a toll on Dean's strength. How many times could Dean play the hero and survive? How much blame could he heap on himself for events he wasn't responsible for? Where was the line he would draw to what lengths he would go to protect the people he loved?
"You don't always have to be the strong one, Dean," Sam softly said, placing the washcloth to the back of Dean's neck again.
"Sam, I'm sitting on the toilet, my head between my legs with you taking care of me like I'm four!" Dean railed back incredulously, starting to raise his head.
With gentle force, Sam pressed on the back of Dean's neck, forestalling his abandonment of his position. "Keep your head down, Dean," he murmured as if to a frightened child he had come to rescue. Obeying, Dean knew he should be enraged by the tone instead of comforted but his head hurt too badly for such subterfuge.
"You're the strongest person I know, Dean," Sam stated with pride in his voice, watching as Dean stiffened at his words. "Dad falters into a bottle for days, sometimes weeks on end. I ran off to college but you, you just stand and fight. Take a lousy hour of breathing room to drink a few shots, take a few puffs on a cigarette and then you get back in the game."
"Fighting is all I know," Dean's voice was as quiet, as open as Sam had ever heard it.
Sam shook his head, "No, all you know is how to save people. Me, dad, every stranger we meet who is in danger. You bleed for them. You would die to save them, to save Dad, to save me."
There was a sadness in Sam's tone, a sadness Dean interpreted as criticism. "What else should I do?" he asked, raising his head so his eyes met Sam's.
'Live for me. Stay safe for me.' Sam shook his head, blinked away the moisture in his eyes, "Nothing. I'm proud of you."
"But?" Dean pressed, knowing his brother too well to be thrown off.
"Just value your life like I do, Dean." Sam's voice nearly broke on the earnest plea then he dropped his gaze from Dean's.
In all honesty, Dean didn't know the value Sam put on his life. Between the time apart, the time they spent arguing, the resentments that kept tearing them further apart how could he be certain Sam even liked him. Like the saying went, you couldn't choose your family.
When silence continued to meet his plea, Sam's head flew up, afraid that Dean had taken a turn for the worst. He barely got a chance to see Dean's eyes before the elder Winchester dropped his gaze.
Clearing his throat, Dean murmured vaguely, "Yeah. Ok," and he shifted away from Sam.
The truth struck Sam hard. 'He doesn't know how important he is to me!' He could tell by the confusion in his brother's green eyes, by the way he replied, by the barriers he was forging to guard against pain, pain that Sam alone could inflict. "I love you, Dean, don't you know that?" his voice cracking with emotions, with love, with the need for his brother to understand how deeply they were bound together.
"Sammy you don't have to .." Dean began, his voice a lower octave than usual, his eyes still avoiding Sam.
"I missed you, Dean," Sam confessed, the words finally earning him Dean's attention. A tear slipped down Sam's face. "I took your t-shirt with me to college…I …I just couldn't make it without something of yours." He gave a teary laugh, "Jess and I had one of our biggest arguments over that shirt. She was gonna just throw it in the washer and I reamed her out, saying it was one of a kind, that it was valuable that it had to be hand washed and hung inside out to dry so the decal wouldn't fade." He shook his head ruefully, and looked at the floor. "We talked it over and I told her it was yours, that it was all I had of you. She realized that I wore it when I was missing you the most, which was a hell of a lot of the time."
"Ah Sam," Dean choked out and pulled Sam into a hug, fighting not to break his own rules about crying.
Turning into the hug, Sam held tightly onto his brother, his chin on Dean's shoulder. "I never wanted what happened between Dad and me to come between us. But it just ….did. Seeing you while I was in college, bruised and battered from your latest hunt...hearing you talk about what you had done, who you had saved, never telling me how close you had come to dying on each job …it just hurt too badly Dean. Dad had cut me off, I couldn't go back to the hunt, couldn't be there for you. I just couldn't deal with knowing I wasn't there for you. I….I just thought it would be easier…"
"Not knowing, staying away," Dean finished, understanding in his tone as Sam pulled back from him, their eyes locked together.
"But it wasn't," Sam confessed, swiping away the tears in frustration he sank back on his hunches. "It was stupid and childish and it didn't work, Dean."
Holding his brother's dejected gaze, Dean reassured, "You forged your own path, Sam. There's nothing stupid or childish about that."
Sam shook his head in denial of the absolution Dean was offering him. "I wasn't there for you when you needed me, I didn't answer your call," his voice strained with guilt, with regret.
Intending to utter a glib comeback that would classify the instance as insignificant, as something he had barely remembered, Dean found the words would not come. He could not conjure up an act of levity, could not don a mask of indifference, not about this. In truth, this wound ran too deep, the abandonment too deliberate, the hurt too fresh even after so much time had passed. Instead he offered Sam what clemency he could. "I survived."
Sam had always received forgiveness from his brother like it was a spring eternal. No matter his offense, no matter his unworthiness, Dean had never withheld his love, his respect, his trust. Until now. Sam felt a cold fear grip his heart. Could he make amends for running away, for turning his back on his family, on Dean? "I won't let you down again, Dean, I swear," he vowed, his breathing loud in the tiled bathroom. Breathing that nearly faltered to a halt when Dean's eyes again rested on him, inspected him, assessed the truthfulness of his words. It was only Dean's small smile and the nod of his head that sent breath back into Sam's lungs, that slowed down the racing of his heart.
"I can be the strong one once in awhile, take over the burden of being the hero when you need a break," Sam offered tentatively, a tremulous smile on his face, needing Dean to know he would be there for him, that his love and respect for Dean weren't dependent on his brother's heroics or strength.
Touched
by Sam's offer, Dean covered up his emotions with a cocky smile and
light words. "It's a thankless job sometimes, Sammy, and the pay
sucks."
"I know." Sam smiled but it soon melted away. He
could not disregard the other insults, taunts, he had hurled at Dean.
"What I said about you not liking to be alone…"
Immediately, Dean shook his head, forcing a smirk onto his pale features. "The truth hurts, Sammy. But I can go it alone."
"I'm not forging any more paths without you, Dean," Sam promised quickly, disliking the resolve in his brother's face. "No matter what, I won't shut you out of my life again."
"Sounds like a threat to me," Dean sallied back, wanting to forsake the emotional edge he and Sam had been teetering on so precariously.
Sam snorted tiredly, "Jerk," causing Dean to smile cockily. Settling his back against the bathtub, Sam pointed menacingly at his brother. "Now swear to me you won't ever do that to me again."
"Do what?" Dean asked, an innocent eyebrow raised.
"Let's see," Sam drawled, as he began counting off the items on his fingers, "Stay away from me, push me away, almost die, get tortured to protect me! You should have picked me before they treated your shoulder like a hamburger, stupid."
Too happy by the bridged chasm between him and Sam, Dean didn't return the barb in kind but instead an easy smile accompanied his playful words, "You know multiple choice questions aren't my thing, Sam. I was still thinking when the cooking began."
"Next time think faster," Sam shot back, his frustration a façade Dean read like a album cover.
"This from the guy that takes forever to make his mind up what he wants to be: rock, paper or scissors," Dean mocked, the pain in his head lessening as he slipped into the easy banter with Sam.
"That was when I was seven," Sam defended, a weight lifting from his chest as he saw some of the color returning to Dean's bruised face.
Dean snorted, "A week ago it took you five minutes to decide what kinda ice cream you wanted."
"At least I don't get into fights wherever I go," Sam's voiced spiked into a reprimand.
"Hey, I didn't start that bar fight," Dean denied before a proud smile broke onto his face. "But boy did you clean house, Sammy."
"They were picking on my brother, what did you want me to do?" Sam quietly defended, dropped his eyes, embarrassed by his own words, bracing for Dean's teasing to begin. At receiving silence from Dean, Sam faced Dean again, surprised to see his brother looking caught off guard by his sentiment. Pushing onward, Sam accused, "And yes, you did start the fight, Dean, because you are a trouble magnet."
"It's the face, woman can't resist loving it," a wide boastful smile beamed across Dean's bruised face.
"And men can't resist punching it," Sam quipped back, fighting to keep his smile from emerging.
"Ha Ha," Dean muttered. "Now can we take this Hallmark moment out of the john?"
"My brother, so classy," Sam scoffed but his grip was gentle, yet firm as he helped maneuver Dean to his feet and the twosome began the slow trek to the beds.
"If anything happened to that shirt while you had it….."Dean breathed out his threat, needing a distraction to the toll their small jaunt was taking on him.
"Shirt's mine," Sam announced, feeling the way his brother's body trembled with each step.
"Nah ah," Dean retorted, another step closer to his bed.
"Yeah hah. Possession is 9/10th of the law," Sam contradicted, taking more of his brother's weight into his hold.
"I have the shirt," Dean insisted.
"You sure about that?" Sam asked, forcing a cocky smile to make an appearance on his worried features.
Halting in his tracks one step from the edge of the bed, Dean looked down to his bag and found the shirt was no longer there. Raising his gaze to Sam's bed, he immediately spied the shirt lying by his brother's open bag. "You're a thief!" he growled.
"Is that so, Hector," Sam taunted, relieved to finally be able to settle Dean onto his bed.
"Hey, we only use the credit cards to survive," Dean defended, wishing the room would stop spinning.
Seeing that whatever color Dean had gained was once again absent, Sam crouched down beside Dean. With gentle, deft fingers, Sam began unbuttoning Dean's shirt and slid it from his shoulders to reveal the bandaged burn. Needing to distract himself, as well as Dean, from the horror of the burned skin he revealed behind the sterile pad, Sam replied, his voice quiet, set to soothe even as his words were devised to provoke. "Yeah well, I only took the shirt to survive. You think I liked looking like a stoner, wearing a shirt supporting some weak talented rock band."
Even knowing his brother's tactics, Dean couldn't help responding with some of his usual fire, even as his eyes stayed fixed on the sight of his burned flesh. "Oh, tell me you didn't just insult Metallica?"
Sporting a taunting smile, Sam looked up at Dean and their eyes caught. "Actually, I was really trying to insult you."
"That's it. We're going to have a Metallica marathon," Dean swore, warily watching as Sam grabbed a new tube of burn cream and a packet of sterile pads from the other bed.
"Driver picks the music," Sam volleyed back, "and by the looks of you, you aren't going to be driving any time soon," the concern in his eyes dismantling any presumed glee to his prediction. Knowing he could not delay the pain any longer, his eyes flickered to Dean's with the unspoken question. With Dean's nod of acceptance, Sam, steadying himself, gently began to apply the burn cream, wincing himself when Dean stiffened at the initial contact. There was a tightness in Sam's voice as he continued his distraction, "But you are in luck because I bought a cassette of Barry Manilow at the last yard sale you just had to stop at."
"No way are you playing that crap in my car!" Dean hissed before he clenched his teeth as Sam's skillful ministrations focused on the worst of the burn.
"You'll start singing along with Barry before you know it," Sam predicted, his eyes flickering up to monitor Dean's ashen face then back to the task at hand. In relief, he completed his doctor routine by covered the burn with a new sterile pad. "Alright, let's get you into bed," he soothed, pulling down the covers and drawing up Dean's legs unto the bed as the older man lay down.
"Sorry, Sammy, but you aren't the right gender," Dean joked, but his eyes were closed tightly as he allowed Sam to settle him back onto the bed. Suddenly his limbs felt too heavy to move, ever again.
As quietly as he could, Sam readied himself for bed but he hesitated by his brother's bed, watching Dean's chest rise and fall, seeing the lines of pain easing on his face. "Stop staring pervert," Dean warned, without opening his eyes. Sam chuckled, turned off the lights and climbed into his bed but sleep would not come.
"You want to talk about your nightmare?" Sam offered quietly as he lay on his side, watching Dean's face in the moonlight.
"No," came Dean's low, unyielding reply and Sam knew enough to let the subject drop.
Silence fell in the room for a few minutes before Sam stammered, his voice striving to be composed, "When you …you know..need some room to breathe again, just tell me. I'll back off…," but an unflappable edge entered his tone as he continued, "as long as you promise not to go too far or get into too much trouble."
"I'm breathing just fine right now, Sammy," Dean reassured. Taking a deep breath, he thought stale, mildewy air had never felt so good coursing through his lungs. 'I'm glad you're here with me, Sammy.'
"Good," Sam forcefully agreed as if his brother had given the correct answer, the only answer to a question. For the first time since his kidnapping, Sam felt the tension leave him and a long absent sense of peace settled on his soul. 'I'm glad I'm here with you, Dean.' "Glad one of us can breathe because I'm choking on that awful smelling burn cream of yours."
Dean's head rolled to the left and his eyes glared at Sam, whose smile he could not miss even in the moonlit room. Simultaneously, the brothers broke into soft laughter that drifted through the room, dispelling the dark clouds that had choked the air between them for far too long.
The End
A thousand thank yous to my wonderful reviewers! You allowed me the courage to write the boys as I saw them and tell the story I wanted to tell. And you didn't make me feel like I was writing alone in a void. That's a real blessing to me.
And thank you to everyone who read this story!
Love to hear your thoughts!
Have a wonderful day!
Cheryl W.
