"Come on, Dean, wake up!" Sam shook his brother's shoulder for the third time, putting a little more force than before.
A muffled groan whispered out from beneath the covers. "Few more minutes..." Dean curled up into a ball dragging his pillow with him.
Staring at the pouty lips and square jaw with its thin layer of fuzz, one wouldn't think Dean was the older of the two of them. One wouldn't think his brother was the one who'd been forced to play parent and responsible sibling since he was four, stubbornly trying to keep ugly truths from his younger brother, fighting a losing battle to try to give Sam a normal life. Things that for years he honestly never knew Dean had done for him.
"Dude, it's already noon. We need to get moving or we're not going to be able to check some of these places out. Get up."
Dean curled up tighter. "Sleepy…goway."
Sam let out a slow sigh. Guess those days were long over. Looked like today he'd have to be the responsible sibling and do things the hard way to boot. Putting a knee on the bed, he reached around his bunched brother and grabbed hold of the covers. Counting to three, he yanked them off the bed.
"Sammy…come on…" Dean reached blindly around him looking for the missing blankets.
"No, you come on. Get up." Sam jerked the pillow Dean was clumped on away from him. He snatched the second pillow off the bed before his brother could grab hold of it as a replacement. "We need to get moving. Sleep time's over." He grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled, half sitting him up. "Did you go out last night or something? Did you go see Clarice after all?"
Dean actually stayed upright, which was a relief. "Huh? No." He shook his head almost making himself fall back over.
"Then you shouldn't have any reason to feel sleepy." Sam swung his brother's legs off the side of the bed. "Come on."
Dean glanced over at him, his eyes droopy, and not looking quite all there. Sam gave him a disapproving frown and helped him to his feet. Dean yawned, stretching at the same time, then half scrunched over. While rubbing at his face, he stumbled toward the bathroom.
Sam kept an eye on him, making sure he didn't just cave in on himself and curl up on the floor. He grabbed the remote sitting on the TV and turned it on. The drone of news programming filled up the room. Sam put the remote back and crouched down to pick up Dean's pillows and throw them back toward the bed.
"…downtown area. On a side note, the first sighting of a jaguar in the last several years was reported last night. After some were illegally shot in the late 90's no confirmed sightings of the elusive…"
Sam grabbed up the covers from the floor and set them on the bed as well. He was about to straighten them out over the mattress when he spotted something dark on the sheets. Reaching over and touching it, it felt like grains of dirt. Looking at the blankets still crumpled up beside him, he noticed more of it.
Sweeping it off the bed with his hand, he barely noticed as Dean came back out of the bathroom, scratched absently at his shoulder, and while yawning, reached for the TV remote on his way past to one of the dressers.
"Hey, Dean, do you know why…"
The channel changed and an eerily familiar voice drifted through the room. Even as he turned to glance behind him, Sam felt an intense pain clutch at his heart, a dreamy revealing afternoon replaying itself -- a memory of something that would never be again.
"Dean…change the channel." Sam's throat closed up so tight he almost couldn't get the words out. Oh, Madison… His eyes burned.
"Huh?"
He could so clearly see her sweet, lopsided smile. Her dark, expressive eyes gazing into his. The feeling of her soft hands on his chest. The smell of her hair.
His heart felt in the grip of a vice, being squeezed as the memories tumbled over him until he thought it would burst. Why did she have to die? Why did any of them? "Dean, change the fucking channel!"
His brother complied, his eyes big, totally awake now, and staring at him as if he were wondering who this stranger was and what had he done with his brother. "Hate…soaps… much?" His confusion was plain.
Sam turned away from him, his cheeks burning, embarrassed because he knew he'd over reacted. But at least the pain, the memories, eased back a bit. "I just…didn't want to see that one."
A heavy silence hung over them for a minute. Sam knew he should say something, anything to diffuse this, distract Dean, but he could think of nothing to say. Nothing at all.
"Madison liked soaps, didn't she?" His brother's voice was tentative. "Is that what this is about?"
Sam swallowed hard. How the heck had Dean remembered that? Madison had teased him about them that first afternoon and then some more during that long night's vigil, and Dean had put in his two cents then too. They'd both been so naïve thinking they might have truly fixed things for her and were only waiting to confirm it. That was before reality crashed around them and they realized their solution didn't work, before everything that looked to be blooming with such promise went to hell, and he'd been forced to… "I'm going out to get a soda." Still not looking at Dean, Sam barged past him toward the door.
"You're the 'get in touch with your emotions' guru, Sammy. Why won't you talk about this?"
The accusation stabbed Sam hard in the back, but he didn't slow. He couldn't talk about it, he just couldn't. He didn't think he could even attempt to explain why. He slammed the door on his way out, his body too coiled to be gentle. The doorframe rattled behind him and he heard one of the paintings crash onto the floor inside the room through the paper-thin wall.
A thready sigh escaped him as he pushed his hair away from his face. He forced himself to move on before his brother got it into his head to follow him.