Spoilers for episodes 5.01 to 5.04.
Disclaimer: If we owned them, we'd never let them out to play!!
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Crazy Train
Chapter 3
Bobby had the address he needed and Castiel had flown off or disappeared or whatever the Hell it was he did.
Sam was unconscious but the stitches looked solid, so Dean dragged over the sheets, comforter and blanket from the other bed to drape over him.
Realizing how cold Sam's skin still was from shock and blood loss, he dug into the closest duffel for a pair of warm socks and tugged them over Sam's feet. He considered for a moment and then pulled out another pair for Sam's hands. When he was finished, the image Sam presented was a dead ringer for his six-year-old self, covered from head to toe in chicken pox with his hands stuffed in Dad's tube socks to keep him from scratching.
The memory wasn't enough to make Dean smile, though. Not when there were blood-soaked towels on the floor and the scattered carcasses of three suture kits, the wrappers from half a dozen bandages. The room looked like a war zone and as Dean set about cleaning things up, bundling them in a paper bag they would burn later on, he couldn't stop his hands from shaking.
He'd lost Sam, in the future. His brother, as good as dead. Worse than dead: Lucifer's vessel in flesh and blood. There was no way of knowing if the whole flash forward thing was legit or some construct of Zachariah's fevered imagination, designed exclusively to get Dean to agree to do his bidding. But either way, it wasn't something Dean ever wanted to relive.
Still, it had served its purpose…not for Zachariah, but for Dean. Without it, Dean probably would have stuck by his words to Sam in that last phone call. Telling him they weren't stronger together but better apart. With the subtext of don't call me, I'll call you. Dean could admit it, to himself at least: his goodbye to Sam had been just that—a permanent one. He'd had no expectation of ever seeing his brother again, especially since he'd doubted either one of them would survive the End Times ahead.
Now, looking at Sam laying motionless and pale on the bed, Dean couldn't imagine going even another day without him. He needed Sam. To watch his back. To make him laugh the way only Sam really could. To keep him human.
To need him right back.
It was all starting to come together now, snapshots of the last few months. The things he'd said to Sam, practically from the beginning. Do you know how far off the reservation you are? If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you. You're a monster. I can't trust you.
And the things he'd actually let himself contemplate, in his worst moments. At least he'll die human.
All the ways he'd let Sam down when his brother needed him most. Ways Dean hadn't always noticed, but even when he had, ways he'd justified to himself.
Bobby'd tried to warn him, right before everything went to Hell—reminding him what family meant and what Dean was letting slip away. Telling him, in pretty much those exact words, how much more important it was to bring Sam back than to be right. But Dean hadn't listened then.
If Sam made it through this…
Scratch that. Sam would make it through this. And when he was coherent again, Dean was going to tell him some things. Apologize, too—yeah, again, because even though Sam had accepted it without question, Dean needed to make sure Sam really knew how sorry he was. What he was sorry for. There was no question he meant it differently, now. Meant it more.
Sam shifted on the bed, head tossing, Dean's name a broken whisper on his tongue.
The poor kid was exhausted. Looking at him now, it was no wonder he'd probably nodded off for a second behind the wheel, unintentionally giving that horrid car a quick death –
And almost killing himself.
Dean smoothed a hand over Sam's bangs, let it linger gently on his bruised cheek, feeling the growing warmth of fever. The worst wasn't behind them yet. But Big Brother was back in the game, and doing the job he should have been doing all along. "Easy, Sammy. Just sleep. I'm here."
Dean settled himself next to Sam on the bed, one foot planted on the floor and one hand on the crown of Sam's head. Protecting. Guarding. Taking care. Braced for the long night to come.
------
Sam was hot. His skin was burning. Panting quietly, he forced his eyes open to darkness and blinked a vague outline of a room into focus.
He was in a motel then.
Figured…
Horrid pain seared through his side when he tried to move and he inhaled sharply. Holy shit! That hurt.
Sam's heart pounded in his ears making him dizzy as cold sweat pooled against the back of his neck and he really just wanted to close his eyes again… but he couldn't. Not until he could figure this out. All he knew was that something big had happened—he just couldn't remember what.
The injured hunter instinctively started to call out for his brother, "De-".
But stopped.
The word was swallowed back painfully. Dean wasn't here. His brother wasn't going to come this time.
Not when he hated Sam.
"We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker."
Funny, Sam could remember that but nothing else—
But it didn't change him wanting Dean to be there.
Was he a glutton for punishment or what?
No.
He was just a hurting and broken man who desperately wanted, needed, his big brother.
Shivering hard, Sam groaned out loud, coherent enough to know he was in trouble but too far gone to realize just how much. Training forced action, through. Lying on his back made him too vulnerable. He had to get up.
Pressing his hands against the mattress beneath him, Sam sucked in a breath, grit his teeth and prepared to push up as images slid in and out of focus casting him between insane hunters —We want to hear it from you— and a hungering devil.
You will say yes.
Memories?
Delirium?
Oh, God—what was going on?
He was just so confused.
And scared.
Sam froze as he started to push up, his fevered brow wrinkling in further confusion. What was that? He slowly lifted one shaking hand in font of his face and stared. What? Blinking hard, he waited for the image to change. It didn't.
He was wearing socks on his hands.
He was wearing socks on his hands?
Black socks at that.
I don't wear black socks, his mind reminded him. Dean wears black socks.
But Dean wasn't here—
Which meant someone else was!
Fear spiked and shoved adrenaline through his body as the sound of someone at the door had him on his feet, swaying, and desperate for something to protect himself. The world swam in and out of focus, though, and he was forced back onto his ass on the edge of the mattress as the door swung open and his brother stepped inside, flicking on the light to illuminate the pale glow of the side lamps as he did.
"Sam?" Dean looked as shocked to see him as Sam was. "What are you doing?"
His brother sounded pissed. Now more confused then ever, Sam tried to get up again, a slurred apology an automatic on his lips. "S'rry."
"Sorry?" Dean hurried towards him, dropping something on the floor as he grabbed Sam's arm in a firm grip. "What the hell for, bro? And what exactly are you doing up?"
Sam blinked at him in utter confusion.
"Geez, dude," Dean was trying to man-handle him back down on the bed and Sam let him, too baffled to do anything but stare. What was his brother doing here? "I only leave for two minutes to grab a bag of ice from the motel office and you're getting ready to try out for track and field? Kid, are you trying to give me a heart attack here?"
Track and field?
Heart attack?
Oh, God, had Dean been electrocuted again?
Gently maneuvering Sam back down against the mattress, Dean lifted the younger man's long legs onto the bed then pulled the blankets back up over him. Sam kicked weakly at the covers, he was warm enough already.
"Hey, stop that," Dean chastised lightly and Sam immediately froze. "You're running a fever, Sam, but you still need to cover up. It's not that warm in this god-forsaken hole. Man, I have no idea what I was thinking getting a room here."
He gazed down at Sam for a long moment. "Mind you, at the time, I was only thinking that we'd need a place to crash for the night—you know, afterwards."
"After?" Sam's voice was hoarse. "After what?" He still had no idea what was going on. Although he was pretty sure now that Dean wasn't going to have a heart attack. The older man looked a bit too hyper to be on his death bed. But any thing other than that was too much for Sam's cooked mind. He was stuck on: Dean is here. And, why is Dean here?
"After," Dean gave a bitter laugh and scrubbed a hand across his tired face. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to Sam and offered him a grim smile. "Apparently…I could give you Ruby's knife to gut yourself with."
Sam's eyes widened in horror. That's why he was hurting? Dean had wanted him to kill himself and, apparently, Sam had screwed that up too.
Heart pounding so hard he was dizzy now, Sam's eyes burned and he started to gasp out, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh God, Dean, I'm sorry…"
And Dean just stared at him in shock.
TBC