Whisphers of the Heart

Dean had a number of people to call. Lissa to let her know he wouldn't be coming home that night, or any time soon, his boss to let him know that he wouldn't be coming in to work tomorrow, or any time soon, and then there was the coach of Ben's basketball team; Dean couldn't chaperone or play chauffer for the Saturday game. All these people needed to hear from him soon but Dean only called one person, and that person was Bobby Singer. Their old family friend ended up speechless on the other end as soon as Dean's excited and somewhat rambled message sank in. Just as quick as the words left him they came back. Bobby assured Dean that he would bring some books and call some contacts, that he would see them soon. It was gruff, whirlwind, take no prisoners and kick some ass Bobby and Dean had never been happier to have him taking charge in some way.

After a short search around the room, Dean found Sam's computer bag with his other things and got to work looking for ways to help his brother. He searched through spells of the new and ancient variety, crystal and herb methods, cultures, and even some of the New Age stuff. He found a Native American ritual that looked promising as a temporary fix, but nothing long term popped out at him. Every so often, Dean found himself looking over to Sam layed out on the bed, still, unmoving, and Dean ignored the similarities between that moment and the moment from years ago in an old ghost town. Instead, he focused on the facts that Sam's chest was moving as he breathed, that every so often his eyes shifted behind his lids, that he was warm and alive. Eventually, Dean moved so that the chair was facing Sam's bed, his legs were propped up on the edge, and the laptop was sitting in his lap, so he could watch his brother better.

Cas hadn't left yet, choosing to remain on the opposite bed in case Sam needed to be put back to sleep in a hurry. So far it hadn't been necessary, and Dean was thankful for that. Every so often, the angel would cock his head like he was listening to something, then sigh, but otherwise didn't say a word. At least not until early the next morning and he threatened to put Dean in the same state as Sam if he didn't willingly go to bed. With some grumbles and choice words, Dean moved his brother over enough to slide into the bed next to him, needing the reassurance it brought.

When he woke up, he couldn't be sure what time it was; the heavy curtains were drawn, letting very little light through. He wasn't near the clock so he couldn't look at that. For a minute, things were back to before the time of deaths, deals, Hell, and Satan. It was just Dean and Sam, out on another hunt with no worries past what they had to do and how to do it. Then the minute passed and Dean was back to Dean and Hell ridden Sam, with Dean, an older hunter, and an angel the only ones able to help Sam. With a sigh, Dean sat up, rubbing his hands over his face with a sigh. Castiel wasn't in the room anymore, and Dean had a moment of panic. What if something happened with Sam and they needed the angel there?

There wasn't anything Dean could do about it, so he left it alone; he'd deal with it when it came. He went into the bathroom to wash up a little, then went back to the search, ignoring the growling and rumbling of his stomach.

When Dean cared to look, the clock read 2:45 pm. He groaned and stretched his arms above his head, wondering how his brother managed to stay stooped over the computer for so long with no kinks. A low sound came from the bed and Dean froze. Was he waking up? Would it be Jadon? Or a terrified, screaming Sam? Cautiously, Dean lowered his arms and leaned forward. Sam rolled from his side onto his back and blinked his eyes open. A frown crossed his face. Ever so slowly, like he was approaching a wounded animal, Dean stood and crossed the room to stand near the bed, ready to do whatever his brother needed.

Sam stared at the ceiling a little longer before his eyes cut to Dean. Recognition flared in the hazel orbs and Dean felt his chest loosen and something flare inside that he hadn't felt in a while.

"Hi," Sam said softly, barely a whispher of sound, like he was afraid being any louder would cause something to disappear.

"Hey," Dean said just as quietly for different reasons. His voice was thick with emotion and he had to blink rapidly.

Sam turned his head so he was staring at Dean completely, and didn't say anything else, just studying his older brother like he would never see him again and had to memorize every feature. Suddenly Dean realized that it was himself that Sam was afraid of disappearing.

"I wonder how long you'll be here before I go back there," Sam whisphered and Dean's heart clenched.

Carefully and deliberatly he sat next to his brother. He reached out and brushed Sam's bangs from his forehead and Sam leaned into the touch with a sigh of profound relief and joy.

"What are you talking about, Sammy?" The corners of Sam's mouth twitched upwards briefly.

"Sometimes I'm able to see you, but only when I'm dead. Then I go back and it starts over and over again." His face contorted into pain and desperation. "Will you stay, please? Don't leave yet."

His little brother sounded like a small child again, begging Dean or their father not to leave him alone, to keep the dark and monsters away. Dean gave a watery smile, continued to brush back Sam's hair, and shifted so his hip was touching Sam's side to provide even more contact.

"I won't leave Sammy, I promise. I'll stay right here with you. I'm not going anywhere, I gotcha little brother," he murmmured softly, speaking promises like he had dozens of times before and meaning them all over again. Dean wouldn't leave until Sam told him to, and even then it would take an act of God or whoever to maybe accomplish it.

Dean kept stroking Sam's hair and whisphering reassurances until Sam's eyes closed and his breaths evened out. Even after he was asleep, Dean stayed like that for as long as possible.

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