Disclaimer: I still own nothing (except Jefferson but he's not in this chapter).
Day Ten Part 1
Dean thinks it's probably time he got out of bed. He's been lying here for over three days and it doesn't sit well with his nature. He likes to be moving, doing something. Sam is asleep and Bobby is in his own room. There was a glass of water on the bedside table but Dean finished that a while ago and he's thirsty. He's been awake for about an hour. At least he thinks it's been an hour. It could be longer. Either way, he doesn't want to think about yesterday's revelations and if he stays in bed he's not going to be able to distract himself.
He's sensible enough to know he's not going to get far under his own steam but he doesn't want to wake Sammy. He wants to regain some independence. It's getting embarrassing to ask his brother for help every time he needs the bathroom.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he regards his shins with detached interest. Bobby has been dressing them every night before taking his leave of the Winchesters and Dean is impressed by the clinical neatness of them. He shouldn't really be surprised, Bobby's been doing this type of things for years. The wounds beneath the stark white bandages are healing nicely and he's pretty sure he doesn't need the coverings any more. But Sam insisted and he didn't have the energy to argue.
He glances across at his brother who is showing no signs of waking up and Dean is inexplicably relieved. He doesn't want to fall flat on his face while Sam is watching. If he's going to fail at this, he'll do it alone.
He presses his feet down on the floor, feeling the coarse carpet between his toes, and pushes himself upright with his hands. The room wobbles briefly and he sways gently with it. It takes a few minutes for his head to clear enough to make an attempt at walking unaided. Then he sets his sights on the bathroom door and takes his first tentative step.
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Sam cracks his eyelids open at the first creak of his brother's bed. He's been wondering how long Dean was going to stay an invalid. He surreptitiously watches Dean slowly make his way across the motel room, noting how he sways from side to side and how he seems to be avoiding the direct line approach to his destination. He knows Dean won't appreciate any offer of help, so he stays where he is, keeping an eye on him, just in case.
When Dean finally reaches the bathroom door, Sam wants to cheer. It's only a minor victory but to him it's a sign his brother is becoming Dean again, reclaiming who he is. Sam closes his eyes again, and relaxes. He didn't realise how tense he was and reflects, with a modicum of guilt, that he was waiting for Dean to fail. He should have more faith in his brother by now. He knows how damned determined Dean is.
It takes him a little while longer to notice that Dean's taking a long time in the bathroom, longer than he would have expected even allowing for his physical limitations at the moment. He's up and at the door without really being conscious of his actions. He can't hear water flowing or any other sign of life from behind the door. Biting his lip, he raises his hand and knocks gently, calling his brother's name at the same time.
The silence that greets him sends a shard of panic shooting through his body and he grasps the door handle, thankful Dean didn't lock it behind him. Pushing the door open he's over the threshold and into the small room in the blink of an eye.
Dean is sitting on the cold tile floor, back resting against the bathtub, looking up at Sam with watery eyes, flushed cheeks and a self deprecating smile on his face. Sam's not sure, but he thinks he can see Dean trembling.
"Guess I wasn't ready to go it alone after all," he mutters.
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Dean doesn't like the look on Sam's face after his admission. He doesn't like the fact he's the one that put it there but he was so sure he was capable of this. On the other hand, he muses, he's glad Sam's here because he was starting to wonder how long he could sit on this cold floor. He's had enough of cold, damp places to last a lifetime.
So he accepts Sam's outstretched hand and hauls himself upright. He ignores the hand at his elbow, pretends he's doing Sam a favour by letting him help. He's angry at himself for not being strong enough to carry out even simple tasks for himself yet. He thinks it's ridiculous he can't even get out of bed alone. And somewhere, deep down, he knows he's being irrational.
He lets Sam guide him back to the bed but he can't face getting back in. That would make his failure complete in his eyes. He can't tell Sam that though, he won't make his failure public, not even to Sam. He shakes his head and points at the table. He doesn't look at Sam, doesn't want to see the disapproval in his eyes.
The chair is hard and Dean's having trouble keeping a clear head. His stomach is unsettled but he convinces himself that's just vertigo raising its head after being horizontal for so long. He swallows hard, manages to keep what little he has inside him down and finally lifts his head.
He's not surprised at what he sees. Sam is standing right in front of him and at any other time he would make a snarky comment about personal space, but his brother has a glass of water in one hand and a couple of pills in the other. He thought he was done with the antibiotics and raises a quizzical eyebrow.
"Anti nausea pills," Sam tells him and Dean accepts them without another thought. Of course Sam would know what he needs.
He watches as Sam pulls up another chair and makes himself comfortable opposite him, eyes him warily as he drags a hand over his face and opens his mouth.
"What happened in there, Dean?" he asks and Dean thinks he can't escape now even if he was capable of unhindered movement.
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Sam has a hundred different scenarios running amok in his head and he doesn't like any of them. He wonders for a minute how Dean is going to evade his question but he's not going accept 'I needed the bathroom' for an answer. They both know full well that's not what he's talking about. He wants to know what left Dean on the floor, shaking and on the verge of tears. Again.
He's pretty sure his brother is suffering flashbacks and he wants to help. But Dean has to let him in, has to share. Otherwise he's never going to get past this. He can almost see Dean clamming up in front of him and part of him wants to reach out and shake some sense into him. Sam knows that's not the way forward and definitely not the way to treat someone suffering from PTSD, because that's what this is, but he can't help his own feelings. He's already wreaked revenge but when he sees Dean like this, he'd like to do it all over again. And that's not a healthy attitude either.
"Dean?" he prompts, resting a hand on his brother's leg, pulling Dean out of whatever memory he's running through.
But when Dean meets Sam's eyes, Sam almost wishes he'd left this alone. Dean looks sad and Sam isn't used to that. Dean doesn't do sad. He does angry, vengeful, pissed, snarky. A whole array of emotions but rarely sad. Sam wonders if this is the onset of depression and makes a mental note to read up on it.
"Tell me, Dean," he presses on. "Please?"
But Dean is shaking his head, slowly and rhythmically, hypnotically, and Sam doesn't like the way his eyes have glazed over. He has to strain to hear Dean when he finally gains his voice.
"I can't, Sammy." It's small and broken and so unfitting for the Dean Sam knows and wants back.
"Please, Dean. I want to help you." Sam's aware he sounds as pathetic as Dean but there's nobody here to witness this and he knows this conversation will never leave these four walls. "You have to let me help."
*****
Dean bites down hard on his lower lip, tries to ignore the tears burning at the back of his eyes. He's not going to cry. He's Dean Winchester after all. He's stronger than this, a hardened hunter. He's seen everything imaginable to man and more and never batted an eyelid before. He isn't some 8 year old schoolboy worried about having his lunch money stolen by the class bully.
And he knows if he opens up to Sam then the floodgates will open and he won't be able to stop. Everything that happened to him, everything he felt and thought, it'll all come out. But Sam is pleading with him and since when has he been able to deny his little brother anything? It's his dad's fault, he thinks.
"It was the water." he finally manages. And he knows that makes no sense to Sam. He can see the confusion in the younger man's eyes and knows he needs to clarify it. But the words seem to stick in his throat. So in the end all he can come up with is 'it was dripping' and he waves vaguely in the direction of the bathroom.
And it was. The tap was dripping and once he was in there it was all he could hear. The world faded out around him and all he could think of was the water dripping down from the ceiling and landing on him, again and again and again. And he couldn't get the image out of his head. He could feel the pain starting again and when he thought it couldn't get any worse the water would drip into the bathtub again, and the whole cycle started up again.
But he doesn't know how to explain this to Sammy. He doesn't know how to put into words how scared he was, how much pain he was in, how he thought he would never see his brother again.
He closes his eyes and buries his head in his hands. It's a defensive mechanism he's used since he was a child. If he ignores the world, perhaps it will leave him alone for a little while.
*****
Sam has no idea what Dean is talking about but he recognises the action. He knows Dean is going into denial. He doesn't know what Dean went through but he's beginning to put two and two together. Problem is, he's getting five, or three. Anything but four.
He knows Dean's not keen on water. He's never been a strong swimmer. Capable but not Olympic material. But he can't begin to imagine what would have got Dean into such a state. So the tap was dripping the bathroom? It's obviously triggered something in his brother's memory.
Dean's shut down for the moment so the best thing Sam can think of doing is remedying the water situation. If he can't get the water to stop dripping, he'll get them another room. The clerk might think he's being a little precious but if it helps Dean, he'll do it.
He stands up and gives Dean a pat on the shoulder. He's not surprised at the total lack of reaction from his brother. Once in the bathroom he looks around for the culprit. The tap is dripping ever so slowly and Sam turns it, closing it fully. The water ceases immediately and Sam wishes he'd known about this beforehand, vowing to make sure every tap is always closed off in future.
By the time he returns to the bedroom Dean has his head up again and, from the way he's staring at the bathroom door, it looks like he's waiting for Sam. Sam offers a reassuring smile.
"Water's stopped," he says.
*****
There's no way Dean is going to admit it, but he's inexplicably relieved to see Sam back. It's not as though he'd gone far, and it's not as though Dean's never been on his own in a room before, but the anxiety he felt when he took his head out of his hands to find Sam gone took him by surprise. He's sure Sam would have a logical, level headed explanation but he's not going to share. It would involve exploring his feelings and that's not an exercise he's in a rush to partake of.
Thankfully Sam doesn't seem to notice anything amiss. Well, any more amiss than before as he takes his seat opposite again. Dean wonders if he's going to say anything and then snorts with badly concealed laughter. This is Sam. Of course he's going to say something.
Sam just furrows his brow though and studies Dean until he feels like a bug under the microscope. His little outburst seems to have Sam more worried than anything. He wonders how long he can stand this scrutiny and just as he's about to say something Sam leans forward and puts his hand on Dean's forehead.
Dean flaps an arm in front of him in a vain attempt to ward off the impending temperature check.
"I'm fine, Sammy," he says and for a moment he believes it. Sam has an aura of calm about him and Dean is soaking up the familiarity of his brother's presence. For now, Dean can kid himself that he's alright, that he will carry on being alright and that in a day or two they'll move on to the next hunt.
Sam just huffs in disbelief and shakes his head slowly.
"No, you're not," he states, "but you will be. I promise."
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A/N: There will now be a short intermission to cater for summer holidays. I hope to have this story back before the middle of August but I'm sure you all know how real life goes in the summer!
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