Spoilers for episodes 5.01 to 5.04.
Disclaimer: If we owned them, we'd never let them out to play!!
And here it is. The last chapter...
Thank you to everyone for your wonderful support. As you can see, we really just wrote this to give our favorite youngest Winchester some TLC. Too bad we had to crash a car and stabb him to do it :P But, you have to admit - at least for us - it brings out the absolute best in Dean. Enjoy.
Crazy Train
Chapter 5
Everything felt foggy and surreal. Dean was there but Dean had told him they had to stay apart, so maybe it was Lucifer instead. Except Lucifer was Jess and Dean was Michael and maybe he'd come to smite him because he was going to give in, was going to say yes…
"No!"
Lucifer moved toward him, hands outstretched. But he did have a choice and he wouldn't be his vessel. He wouldn't. "God, no."
"Sam? Hey, you're okay."
Sam swiveled his head, squinting a little through the haze. It was Dean after all. Maybe. He was pretty sure. And if it was, Dean would be crushed if he thought Sam had mistaken him for the devil, of all things. "I'm sorry." The words sounded weak, but he meant them. Meant them so much and for so many things.
"Fever's…messin' with me. I don't..."
"Hey." A cool hand on his forehead and it was Dean for sure. He knew it. He hoped. "You've got nothing to be sorry about, Sam, okay?"
Sam let his head drop back, snorting in disbelief. Bad move on both counts—his side lit up with pain like a neon sign and he stifled a groan, twisting to try and find a way to make it stop hurting.
"Quit squirming. You're gonna pull your stitches."
At the terse command, Sam straightened, breathing through his nose, hands digging into the bedding. Fingertips brushed his side—careful, gentle, but raking him like claws just the same. He gasped, swallowing down nausea, the whisper of Dean's apologies drifting around him like another blanket. "Got…nothing t'be…sorry…for, either…"
He kind of grayed out for a while, came awake to Dean talking to someone. "—nks again for everything. Yeah, I'll call you later, after he's awake. Take it easy, Bobby."
Bobby.
"'ver'thing 'k?" He couldn't quite manage to open his eyes yet.
"What d'you know? That almost sounded like English." Dean chuckled; a sound Sam hadn't heard in a while. Not the real version, anyway. It sounded…nice.
Something tapping against his chin. "Open up, Sam. Take these."
Two pills were placed on his tongue; water followed. His throat was dry and he choked on them a little. Strong hands—Dean's hands—lifted him, propped him against a couple of pillows and let him breathe better. He tried to sit up straighter, but his neck felt boneless. He let his head fall to the side, instead, eyes finally open so he could see his brother.
Dean looked worn out. His chin was stubbled—not quite a beard, but a lot closer than Dean usually let it get. His eyes had smudges underneath and his t-shirt was a wrinkled mess, his hair sticking up in weird directions.
"Y' get any sleep?"
Dean huffed, dragging a hand down his face. "Kinda had other things on my mind." He gazed at Sam piercingly. "How you feeling? Sick to your stomach? Cold?"
Sam shook his head feebly. "'Little thirsty."
The cup of water came back up. Sam closed his hand around it, felt Dean let go so he could drink on his own. It was a near thing, his muscles shaking. But he managed. And it felt like a bit of a victory. He even remembered what had happened now, where they were He was still a burden for Dean, would be for the next few days maybe. But he was getting better.
Although, no sooner had Sam finished the last few drops than he lost his grip and the cup fell. He tried to reach for it, but it was hopeless. Instead, Dean caught it just as it tumbled off the side of the bed. "S'ry."
"You know, I'm really tired of hearing you say that."
The unexpected words cut, and Sam flinched a little, more hurt than he wanted to let on. Not that he blamed Dean. Sorry was such a puny little word, considering the enormity of what he'd done.
Killing Lilith, setting Lucifer free.
And, somehow worse, fighting Dean -
Strangling him –
Hearing Dean's, "If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back," and going anyway….
There was nothing he could say to make up for it all. But he wouldn't stop trying. And if Dean didn't want to hear I'm sorry anymore, well…Sam would think of other words. Other ways to make his penance. And maybe someday—
"Hey. Whatever you're thinking, knock it off."
Sam startled, not realizing until then how far he'd drifted. "Sor—"
"Sam."
Growled. The tone unignorable. "I mean, I—"
"Stop, okay? Just stop."
Dean took a deep breath and then settled next to Sam on the bed. He leaned back a little so Sam could see him without straining, the look in his eyes something Sam had never seen before, didn't know how to prepare for.
"It's my turn, Sam."
Uncertain what kind of response Dean was looking for, Sam just nodded.
Dean sighed, sounding completely exhausted. "I know this probably isn't the best time to be talking about this, but I don't want to let it go anymore. I'm sorry, Sam, okay? Me."
Sam blinked. Utterly confused.
"I messed up. A lot, these past few months. I never thought about what you were going through, and I pushed you away. I left you alone. And I sided with Cas—with the angels—against you."
Sam's eyes were burning, blurred with tears. "No, Dean. Not your fault. You didn't…I was the one who…' He shoved his hands down, pushing himself forward. It hurt—God, it hurt—but he couldn't let Dean do this. Couldn't let him take Sam's blame for him. It was wrong, it was…
"What are you doing? Sam, don't."
"Don't have to…protect me anymore," Sam panted. His side was a lightning bolt of agony and he was dizzy, but Dean had to know. "Not gonna make you…I'll stop him. Don't know how, but I will."
"Sam, what the Hell are you…"
The words faded out. Hands clasped his shoulders and he was being lowered down. Dean was still talking, but Sam was tired, suddenly. So tired.
Maybe it was best to let it go, for now…
------
Dean watched as his brother drifted off —passed out?— again, not happy with the resigned look he saw in Sam's eyes just before his brother signed out for a bit. He was definitely going to have to keep a close eye on the kid over the coming weeks…There was no way in Hell, or heaven, Zachariah's future was coming true. He wasn't about to lose track of his brother this time. And most definitely, no Sammy suit for Lucifer. His bro just looked too damn good in white and Dean couldn't have that kind of competition, now could he?
Of course not.
On every level.
Watching while sleep calmed Sam, his chest once again rising and falling rhythmically instead of the heaving and lurching of minutes ago, a fond smile grazed Dean's lips. This was his brother: this big lug of a man who needed a hair cut and a decent coat, this person who had guilted himself to the point of exhaustion, to the point of running that monstrosity of a car into a ditch. How could Dean have ever thought—even for a second—that Sam could be anything but?
The fever-bright cheeks looked paler.
Dean gently pressed the back of his hand against his brother's forehead, pleased to find less heat there then before, and reflected on what a mess their lives had become.
Man, Ozzy had no idea just how close to the truth he was. Talk about living Crazy Train.
But—
But as long as they had each other at their backs, they would be okay.
It was more than just a thought to make himself feel better: it was as much a truth as any—as long as they let it be. And Dean knew they would.
Angels? Demons? Stab wounds? They'd get through them all and be stronger for it. So they'd had a bad couple of years? Okay, they were worse than 'bad', but really? So what? They'd had a lifetime of being brothers.
Of loving each other when that was all they had.
Somewhere along the way, that had almost been forgotten, by everyone. Most especially by the high rollers who thought that through deception and the brothers' own humanity, they could script the Winchesters and shove them into roles neither wanted to play.
Michael? Lucifer? Pfft.
That wasn't how it worked.
Not for them and not for their family. What was left of it was broken and hurting but it still was there. And Dean would be damned—again—before he let it go without a fight.
He continued to watch his brother, to soak in this privilege that had been denied his future self by his own pride and stubbornness. The fever was definitely kicking Sam while the poor kid was already down and Dean hated that. He hated seeing his brother so vulnerable and mentally self-flagellating. He wondered if this was how Sam had felt much of the prior year after Dean had first come back from Hell a changed man, troubled by choices, worried about rejection. Questioning his place in this world and his right to it—
And then he shook the thoughts away. There was no more point for regret.
What was done was done, what was said was said, but what was broken could be fixed and that was the important part. And if Sam thought he had to fix it alone, well…Dean would make sure he knew better, next time they had a more coherent conversation.
So, as Dean fixed the blanket over his slumbering brother, he gently pushed the too-long hair out of Sam's face and lightly fingered a thinner cheekbone, inhaling the ability to do so.
"You're going to be okay," he promised quietly, lingering a moment longer and then moving to his own bed and carefully laying down. A moment of twisting had him facing his brother and he let out a heavy sigh as he sunk down into the paid-for comfort of a motel bed.
It was only then that Dean realized just how far he'd gone from home… and just how good it felt to be back.
And he knew that in a few hours, and with some decent sleep for a change, things would be better. Not perfect, not even okay, but better. Dean would make Sam understand that they both screwed up and then, and only then, could they truly have a fresh start.
But if Sam wasn't ready to hear him, 'cause sometimes his brother's tenacity was difficult to negotiate around, then Dean would just make sure he kept the kid on a tight leash until he was ready to listen.
Finally, closing his eyes for the first time in days, Dean slept. Caressed by a lullaby of the soul. Oddly enough set to the tune of Ozzy Osbourne…
Crazy, but that's how it goes… Millions of people living as foes… Maybe it's not too late
to learn how to love… And forget how to hate…
I'm going off the rails on a crazy train.
The End
*lyrics courtesy of lyricsfreak. com. Awesome song, Ozzy. Awesome…