This can be read as a stand alone if you want Dean and Sam to have their chick flick moment from the last chapter and stay undisturbed and sleeping peacefully in bed...however, for those of you hard hearted people...let's just say Sam's night isn't over yet...
Part 2
Dean leaves Sam warm and safe, snuggled under his blankets. He heaves a big sigh of relief and finally pauses half way down the hall to rub hands over his tired face. His eyes are dry and burning, but there's a buzz under his skin that he knows will keep him awake. Finally he's far enough away from Sam's door to lean heavily against the wall, swallowing down the urge to throw up and close his eyes to block out the spinning ceiling. Wow, smiting sickness was a bitch.
It's BURNING UP, god, he's about to frigging melt! Dean tears his jacket and plaid shit off, panting through his frantic movements. When the cool air of the bunker hits his bare arms, Dean all but groans in relief. He makes his way into the library and stands in the low light blinking slowly, looking around.
He remembers Sam's comment earlier, the way he looked around the bunker fondly, like he would have regretted not seeing it again...
Dean Winchester has made his little brother a home.
The thought hits Dean like a warm wave and it washes over him comfortably. It knocks a happy sob right out of his chest. He finds himself feeling like he's only felt a few times in his life, elated, satisfied with himself. He doesn't know if there is a stronger deity than the love that him and Sam share but whoever is out there looking over the world, calling the shots, THANK YOU.
It's unusual for Dean to feel so thankful, and like he owes someone. But Dean is SO grateful...all he knows is he doesn't deserve this, that somewhere, someone has smiled on him. Someone has given him his brother back, has given Dean his very life breath back to him. And sure he feels like shit, but, can he even express the emotions that are filling his heart to the brim? Can he handle the pure ecstasy in his soul?
He feels like getting comfortably plastered and then eating the rest of his pie...but unfortunately he has feeling he'd be wasting good liqueur and, God forbid, good pie.
So instead he wanders through the dark, quiet bunker, looking over and memorizing the place Sam has adopted as their own. He runs his hand over the wall where the plaster is shattered, where he'd tried to do his brother in, his fingers ghost over the door where Charlie departed into Oz for her adventure...he stops over the place where he beat Cas to pulp on the floor.
He stands behind Sam's chair. He looks down at the worn wood, the table where Sam's laptop sits even now, waiting for research. There's neat stacks of files and books surrounding it that Dean himself cleaned up, trying to make sense out of Sam's organized chaos. He rolls his eyes, god, they're such an old married couple.
He stands in the map room, where they said goodbye to Kevin, where Charlie had called them bitches, where Sam had held him back from murdering Gadreel. He roams down the halls and down the stairs and into the garage. He sees all the multiple times he had come here alone with the mark of Cain and tinkered with all the vintage cars as a distraction. And every single time Sam came and found him, sat with him, or pulled him back into the living quarters of the bunker and talked to him through the red haze of the mark's lust for blood.
"Hey, Baby," he whispers as he runs a loving hand over the impala's trunk, and let's his hip rub down her sleek side as he floats a hand over the roof, and finally comes to lean against her hood.
Baby brought a world of memories, good ones and bad ones. But Dean has noticed the best and worst of life often go hand in hand. He can deal with that. Dean's thought many times that what happens to you in life has a lot to do with your thought process.
So...technically he should be healed of smiting sickness right the hell now.
Instead he finds himself leaning over an old trash can in the garage throwing up, mostly disgusting tasting bile. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking with the adrenaline rush. He pushes his thumbs into his burning, watering eyes and sighs deeply, pulling his senses back in control, demanding the room not spin when he opens his eyes. He stumbles back to Baby and opens her driver's seat door a little sloppily and slides behind the wheel, legs still hanging out.
He blinks his eyes a few times, slips the keys in to her ignition just turning the battery on. Other than feeling like crap, Dean feels pretty good, (Winchester logic, go there with him, okay?) Sam is healthy and warm in bed, they have safe walls around them, Dean feels for once, for one day...he has done well by them. That he has done for his mother what he pledged so many years ago.
That he would give Sam the love that she got no opportunity to show. That Sam would know the feeling of safety and love surrounding him that Dean had only known for a few short years. The Sam would know the things that made a home, a real home. And Dean had done it. His little brother had a home.
And how it was the little things that mattered. The little things that comforted Dean. The world was ending again, Amara had her mysterious, beautiful claws in him, she was right, she was not to be resisted. Lucifer had gotten back in his little brother's head, had nearly ended him, and Cas...and Dean could go on and on.
But here he was safe in the bunker, had put Sam to bed, now he was sitting in his baby, content and more or less alright...comfort in the little things, hell yes!
Dean pushes a tape in with his thumb and scoots back on the seat. He places his jacket and shirt against the passenger seat door and lays his head down on them. He stares up at Baby's ceiling as Hey Jude spills from her speakers and washes over him and momentarily makes him forget about the cruel cramps in his stomach and limbs that are about to wring stinging tears from his eyes.
Hey Jude, don't make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better
His eyes are blinking lethargically, he can hear his stomach making suspicious, gurgling sounds. He lurches up and out the driver's side door just in time to throw up bile and mucus onto the cement floor instead of on Baby's leather. Resting his elbows on his knees, he sighs deeply trying to calm himself. His head hurts like a bitch, spinning and pounding, and god, it feels like his very bones are grinding against each other.
As another wave of nausea hits him and an extremely severe wash of dizziness, his stomach heaves again. Now Dean's throat burns, nothing more coming out as his stomach continues to painfully heave.
Dean peers down at his hands, red, angry-looking sores around his finger nails and knuckles coming into focus.
"What the f...?" He begins, before the violence of the next heave brings his head down between his knees. He wipes the little bit of spit from his mouth, and groans as he falls back to his former position lying on Baby's seat. The change of vertical to horizontal nearly knocking him out his head spins and pounds so brutally.
It's a weird moment for Dean. His mental bliss a confusing contrast with his miserable body. Dean figures it has to get better some time and gently thumbs to the beat on his aching stomach. Unconcernedly noticing the sores are starting to blister around the already raw skin.
Hey Jude, don't be afraid
You were made to go out and get her
The minute you let her under your skin
Then you begin to make it better
Sam is floating in a serene night sky of sleep amongst clouds outlined by silvery moonlight with a back drop of twinkling stars. A familiar sound is starting to float around him...a sound he associates with love and safety...he would say his mother...but then he doesn't remember anything about Mary, not even a whispering.
But it's persistent, calling him back, crying to him of something he doesn't want to turn away. The longing and fear it brings into his heart is enough to shake him from his sublime slumber and cast him into the more fragile sleep he's accustomed to.
From this gray place in his mind the sound is clearer, taking on a melodious shape, flirting with him in its familiarity. He can't quite lay his finger on it.
Memories fly just out of reach, affording him a quick look. Cold, late nights in the impala, father absent, brother wrapping warm arms and his own coat around him...After his first hunt, blood stains his hands, the shaking won't leave them. Dean gently pours his bottle of water over them and uses his own bandana to wash the gruesome evidence from his no-longer innocent baby brother's skin...
Hey Jude.
Mom's lullaby to Dean, Dean's lullaby to him...the balm Dean rubbed on his own soul.
Sam is awake, blinking up at his dark ceiling a millisecond later. Down the halls and into his room, the old song steals its way to Sam's ears, a call, a warning, a plea. All is not right.
Sam sits leaning back on his arms for moment listening for other sounds of life. "Dean?" He calls. When he gets no answer, Sam throws his legs over the edge of his bed and pads his way down to Dean's room, rubbing sleepily at his eyes.
He puts a hand to Dean's bedroom door and and pushes it open. It reveals a dark and empty room. Sam sighs and pushes his hair from his eyes, yawning.
"Dean?" He calls again, following the notes down the hall and into the library.
The effect is beautifully eery, the low lighting and the haunting song echoing into the library and map room from all hallways. Sam finds no sign of life in the main rooms and shakes his head at his brother guessing rightly where he'll be. And if Dean is drunk, Sam is so done. He was having the best sleep he'd had in ages.
The sound grows louder and Sam descends the last few steps into the garage. He smiles to himself that he was right and takes in the song floating from the impala and the opened driver's door. However he hasn't spotted his brother, but with the impala open and on he's got to be close by.
"Dean?" He calls again. He looks around for his brother somewhere else in the garage, but doesn't see him anywhere. He approaches the car and then the smell hits him, vomit. He finds proof of it in a trash can by his walkway and then as he gets closer to the driver's door he spots a puddle of bile on the ground beside the impala.
He leans over it and ducks his head into the car. Dean lays sprawled out on the seat, white as death, shaky, and Sam can see his eyes roving under his halfway shut eyes. Awake, though coherent was yet to be proved.
Sam pats his leg, "Dean? You alright?" He's alarmed by the heat emanating from Dean's skin even through jean. Dean tosses his head to the side, at his voice, and Sam watches as the movement sets into motion a violent heave of his brother's stomach.
And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder
Vertigo, and bad by the looks of it. Sam races to the other side of the car and opens the door, hoping to get his brother upright before he choked or inhaled bile, which seemed to be all he had left bring up. He grabs Dean under his arms and pulls him out of Baby and against his chest as he goes to his knees with Dean's weight.
He tilts Dean a little to the side so the little bit of mucus and saliva lands on the cement beside them. He watches as Dean brings a shaky hand up to wipe his mouth.
"S'm?" He asks, mumbling.
"Yeah," Sam affirms, "What's wrong with you? Are you okay?" He asks, looking down at him, chin rubbing in his short, soft spikes of hair, as Dean doesn't pull away from him, in fact seems to melt a little more into Sam's support.
"Cas said'd go 'way, I d, don't understand..." Dean trailed off, his eyes squeezing shut, Sam watches as he can see his brother's muscles spasming under his skin. He gently takes one of Dean's hands in his and tenderly draws his fingers over the blistering sores on Dean's hand.
He growls in the back of his throat, "I'll kill him, what'd he do to you?" Arms unconsciously wrap tighter around his brother.
Dean shivers a little more violently and Sam feels a little guilty.
" 's cause of the sm, smiting, said, said it would go away." Dean gets out, between gasps of pain as Sam watches his muscles coil under his skin, clenching and releasing.
"What? What because of the smiting?" Sam asks, letting Dean fall back against his arm and shoulder so he can see Dean's face.
Dean's pain sharpened eyes meet his, "Cas s, said the energy, p, poisoned the area," Dean swallows thickly, as Sam listens to his stomach rumble. "M, made me sick." He ends, coughing painfully, and clutching his cramping stomach.
"No shit," Sam comments softly, mind racing. Nausea, dizziness, sores, muscle cramps...it could only mean one thing. Sam takes a breath as his fear abates, and he huffs fondly at his brother.
He immediately sits Dean up and rips his t-shirt over his head and throws it as far away from them as he can get it.
"You're so stupid sometimes, Dean," Sam tells his brother fondly, who is now shivering more than ever.
"W, way to kick a, a guy, w, when he's down, S'mmy." He complains through gritted teeth.
Sam reaches and grabs one of Dean's legs where they lay sprawled out before them and bends the knee bringing the foot closer to him. He unties the boot laces and works the boot off his foot, ripping the sock off too. He does the same to the opposite foot, as Dean watches him, a little more out of it than Sam likes.
"C'mon," he says, pulling his only jean-clad brother up with him, and giving him a moment to find his feet. "Off to the shower."
Dean groans and bends nearly double, dizziness and muscle cramps about to be the death of him. Sam wraps an arm around his waist and draws one of Dean's arms over his head and around his neck.
"C'mon big brother, know you can do it." He guides Dean's head to his shoulder and leads him towards the door and the stairs. "We can do this," he whispers to him again.
Hey Jude, don't let me down
You have found her, now go and get her
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better
Dean seems to gather himself with that, and put a little more effort into their trip to his bedroom and the shower there. Sam feels he's bearing more and more of Dean's weight as they near his room and Sam curses the fact that it is the farthest away from the garage of all the rooms they use.
Finally they reach Dean's door and Sam puts his shoulder to it, swinging it the rest of the way open. He feels Dean lean his weight towards the bed, but Sam pulls him back smiling.
"Oh no, you're gonna have a shower if it kills you, c'mon, gotta wash all this offa you." Sam turns on the bathroom light, and doesn't know how they both fit through the tiny bathroom door.
"Wha' re you talking bout?" Dean asks, a little slurred. Eyes squinting in the bright bathroom light, and fisting a hand in Sam's t-shirt.
Sam shuts the toilet lid and then unbuttons Dean's jeans and shoves them down his legs, leaving his underwear on. He sits Dean down, "Whatever the Angels did that contaminated that area, it got on you and in you Dean, you've got to get that off you. It was on you're clothes and probably on the impala too, just making you worse...what did you say Cas called this?"
"S, smiting sickness, s, said it was the same thing that caused Lot's wife to turn to salt."
Sam blinks, "Wow...that's comforting."
Sam walks to the shower and turns the water on hot, and adjusts it to the highest temperature he thinks Dean can handle. He grabs a clean rag from inside the sink cabinet where he knows Dean stores them, because that's where Dean puts Sam's when he restocks them after a laundry day.
He throws it into the corner of the shower and places some towels on the floor beside it. Sam takes off his t-shirt and then grips Dean's forearms and pulls him towards him. Dean comes up, a hand on Sam's chest to steady himself.
"Ugh," he mutters in between his deep breath, "I'm never gonna live this down."
"Shut up," Sam says smiling, leading him under the hot spray. He pushes Dean's head under the nozzle and runs his long fingers through his hair and along his scalp making sure to get the water in there.
Dean sputters and pushes Sam away from him only to sway dangerously and reach for his brother again.
"Pfft," Sam laughs, bending to get the rag off the floor. "You need me dude, hang on, I think it'll get better in a sec."
He wets the cloth and pushes into Dean's hand, "Here wash your face real good, and I mean good Dean."
"Alright, alright," Dean grouses, already sounding better, "I know how to wash myself."
"Okay," Sam concedes, keeping a hand on his arm but taking a polite step back.
Dean washes his face until Sam approves and then Sam pushes his fingers back into Dean's hair coated with shampoo, rubbing it as gently as he can in, but doing a thorough job.
Dean lets his head move lethargically under Sam's hands.
"Dean, you good?" Sam asks, bending to get a look in his eyes.
Dean nods, "Mmm, feels good."
Sam laughs gently, and takes the rag from Dean's hand and rubs the bar of soap along the material.
"Turn around," he says, "I'm only doing this cause it's got to be done thoroughly, okay?" He asks, as he begins to, just this side of roughly, wash Dean's back.
Dean laughs mischievously, sounding better all the time. "It's alright Sam, I won't laugh at you."
Sam laughs too, trust his brother to make what should be an awkward moment for him, an awkward moment for Sam, and, into a good time they probably both wouldn't forget.
Dean stands still for Sam as he washes his back, and closes his eyes and tips his head back for Sam to rinse the suds from his hair.
"Okay," Sam breathes in relief, "You good to do the rest now, I'll go get some clothes?"
Dean nods, "Yeah, I'm better now, thanks, Sammy."
"No problem," Sam smiles, "Be right back."
"Yeah." Dean responds, and takes the rag from Sam's hand and coats it with soap again. Knowing now what was making him sick makes his skin crawl, he feels like he can't get clean enough. He's just scrubbing the bottom of his feet when he hears Sam come back in.
"Got you clean clothes here." His brother calls.
"Alright, thanks." Dean calls back, ridding himself of the wet underwear.
He turns off the water after a quick rinse and nearly face plants when he bends to retrieve a towel. He pulls himself back up with a hand on the shower door and grinds his forehead into the shower wall, grunting through a groan as the nausea and dizziness return.
"Dean?" He hears Sam's voice on the other side of the door. "You good in there?"
Dean nods to himself, righting the rest of the way, "Yeah, just, uh...the floor's a long way down."
"Oh snap, the towel...sorry." Sam says through the door, though Dean hears the dry laugh.
"It's okay," Dean answers, smiling himself.
He dries off and steps out of the shower and spots the clothes Sam got for him. He leans his back against the wall and manages to pull on the underwear and pants, a gives a gentle chuckle when he sees Sam has left him one of his pullovers. He tugs it on and takes comfort in the big, warm folds of the worn cotton.
Sam hears his brother laugh through the door and smiles, knowing it's about the pullover. Dean would never admit it, but he loved Sam's pullovers, especially when he was sick. He wipes the smile from his face as Dean opens the door wearing a little, crooked grin of his own.
So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin
You're waiting for someone to perform with
And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do
The movement you need is on your shoulder
"Better?" Sam asks, latching onto his arm immediately, and leading him towards the bed. He knows just how drained Dean is by the lack of resistance; his brother doesn't even try to shrug him off.
Dean nods and sits heavily on his bed, eyes already blinking tiredly.
"Here," Sam hands him a bottle of water, "You're probably dehydrated, drink up." When he sees Dean glance up at him over the bottle he changes that, "Drink it all."
Dean sends him an uncommitted bitch face and pulls hisself back against his pillow and the head board, slumping as he gulps the water down. Watching as Sam counts out some pills.
"You're going to make yourself sick again, drinking that face." Sam says.
Dean looks at him with a what-the-hell? face. He comes off the bottle with a deep breath, "You said drink it all." He whines, going back to town on the water bottle.
Sam shrugs and shakes his hand as if washing his hands of the matter. He brings the pills to Dean, jerking the water bottle from his lips.
"Save some for these," he says, dumping the pills into Dean's upturned palm.
"Sam..." Dean starts to object, in a high obnoxious tone.
"I know!" Sam says over him, interrupting. "I know...I didn't take any, but it's just some vitamins and an antibiotic just in case...we don't know anything about this, Dean." He says more softly, sitting down beside his brother. "The last time we dealt with some kind of divine sickness it almost killed me, hell it did. Okay? So take your medicine like a good boy, or do you want a spoonful of sugar?"
Dean takes the pills and washes them down with gulp of water, finishing off the bottle with a sour look on his face.
"Who are you?" He asks, when he's done. "Please don't tell me you just referenced something, because I don't know what it was...and that means it wasn't pop, and that also means it's probably geeky and disturbing and..."
Sam watches as Dean trails off trying to think of other discriminating adjectives to bestow on his knowledge of pop culture. He takes the empty water bottle from Dean's hands and silently pulls the blanket from under him, holding it up while Dean slides his legs under.
"It's from Mary Poppins, Dean," he says finally. "I can't believe you haven't seen that movie, it's a classic."
Dean shrugs defensively, sliding down the rest of the way into his bed, to rest his head on the pillow and turning on his side.
"Child's classic." Dean mutters, as he curls in a little on himself, tuning Sam into the fact he still feels pretty rotten.
"Surprised you know that much," Sam said, insulting him fondly.
Dean's eyes follow him over the room as he puts things back in their place, as well as the bottles of pills. He's growing really tired, eyes starting to float closed of their own accord. Sam's presence even soothes away the lasting shots of agony going through his body.
Sam finds himself humming the hereditary Winchester lullaby under his breath while finishing up. He goes into the bathroom gathering the wet laundry and towels into his arms, the bare, cold walls of the bathroom bouncing his voice back at him.
Hey Jude, don't make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her under your skin
Then you'll begin to make it better
He comes out to find Dean curled up on himself, but face free of pain as he sleeps peacefully. Sam can't help himself, he walks over and passes his hand over his brother's hair and down over the side of his face. The last tendrils of the lullaby swirl around them, and Sam pulls the covers up closer around Dean's neck thinking maybe, just maybe, he's Mary Winchester's hands and feet putting her boy to bed.
the end.
Thank you so much for going on this short adventure with me!
PLEASE REVIEW! ;)
BTW
I wrote this before watching INTO THE MYSTIC last night, you can imagine my delight when Sam said, "Burn the bones so we can go home." I was SO happy! Sam has FINALLY accepted somewhere as his place of belonging!