I'm Not Okay (I Promise)
Contains pieces of Hello, Cruel World S07E02
I watch from the doorway to the kitchen as Sam takes apart his gun for the 5th time in the past hour.
Bobby and Dean are at the small, rickety dining table, looking at the computer with rapt attention, Dean leaning over the back of Bobby's chair.
"Well, at least he's not curled up under the sink," Bobby says to Dean quietly.
"Yeah, no, he's just sitting there silently field-stripping his weapon."
Dean takes a quick glance at Sam before fishing Sam's phone out of his jacket.
"What are you doing??" I whisper.
"Turning on his GPS, 'case he decides to fly the cuckoo's nest."
"And you?? How are you doing??" Bobby asks Dean.
"Seriously, Bobby, it ain't like he's hexed, you know?? I mean, what if it's the kind of crazy you can't fix??"
"Yeah, I'm—I'm worried too, but humor me for a second. How are you??"
Dean scoffs. "Who cares?? Don't you think our mailbox is a little full right now?? I'm fine."
I roll my eyes. I can tell he's not ok, but he's refusing to show any real emotion per usual, bottling it all up behind his self-proclaimed "tough" exterior. Same old Dean.
"Right. And weren't you pissed at him when he said the same thing just a couple hours before he spilled his marbles all over the floor??" Bobby snarks.
"Yeah, well." Dean grabs a mug and pours some coffee. "I'm not Sam, okay?? I keep my marbles in a lead fuckin' box. I'm fine. Really."
Bobby rolls his eyes.
"Of course. Yeah. You just lost one of the best friends you ever had; your brother's in the bell jar, and Purgatory's most wanted are surfing the sewer lines, but yeah, yeah, I get it. You're—you're fine."
Dean nods. "Good."
"'Course, if at any time you want to decide that's utter horse shit, well, I'll be where I always am. Right here."
"What, you want to do couples' yoga, or you want to get back to hunting the big bads??"
"Dean, be nice," I chastise. "It's called us caring about you, dumbass."
"Idjit," Bobby mumbles under his breath.
Sam gets his gun back together and sits there for a moment before starting to take it apart again.
—
Dean gets back from the grocery run, and I help him unload the bags, looking for something, anything, to take my mind off things for a second.
"So, it looks like we got some bad news for a change. Stockville, North Kansas, most of a high school swim team got mangled to death in their locker room." Sam reads from his laptop.
"Cop talk on the wire's kind of garbled, saying it looks like some kind of wild animal attack. They're saying that whatever attacked them's about the size of a linebacker." Bobby adds.
Sam shrugs. "It's a lead, Dean."
"All right, but if you think you're going out on a hunt..." Dean points a stern finger at him.
"No, I know I'm not. But you are." Sam's tongue slips out for a split second to wet his lips before he continues. "Look, Bobby's running the hub; I'm—I'm 5150'd, which leaves you to follow this thing up."
"Sam, you're in the middle of a psychotic break." Dean retorts.
Sam tilts his head and shoots Dean a look, making me stifle a laugh. Sam's bitchface is as strong as ever.
"It's a couple hours' drive, Dean, and it could be a Leviathan thing."
"Nah, if you think I'm leaving you here alone..."
Bobby looks at Dean. "Hey. What am I, chopped brains on toast?? I can eyeball the kid. Go. Work off some of these nerves on something useful."
Dean looks at Sam, then Bobby, then me.
"Want a partner??" I ask.
"You don't have to if you don't want to," he says.
I shrug. "I'm always down for a cake run."
A soft rock song plays quietly over the radio as we make the short drive to Stocksville. Dean looks over and smiles at me.
"So, what happened?? How did all of this start??" I ask. "Catch me up."
Dean shifts a little.
"To stop the Apocalypse, Sam had to become Lucifer's vessel. In order to slam him back into the Cage, Sam had to jump in with him. He was gone for a while, but when Cas pulled him out, his soul had been left behind. While Sam was topside and soulless, Lucifer was having a field day with Sam's soul, torturing it in unimaginable ways. We, uh, found a way to get Sam's soul back, but we were warned that, if his soul was put back as it was, he would probably die from the pain and memories of the torture that it had endured. The solution to that was a 'wall,' blocking off the memories of the Cage and the time he spent soulless. When Cas went insane, he broke the wall in Sam's head, bringing all of those memories crashing down on him. He was unconscious for a couple of days, and when he finally woke up, he was miraculously ok. We thought all was good, and then Sam started acting weird. Now here we are, Sam hallucinating Lucifer."
I take a deep breath, trying to process everything that's been thrown at me.
"Who's Cas, and where can I find him so I can kick his ass??" I say, my jaw slightly clenched.
"Cas is an Angel," Dean says, making my eyes widen, "and he's dead."
I look around as I think. "An Angel?? Like 'heavenly host' kinda Angel??"
Dean nods.
"Wow," I say under my breath. "That's a new one."
We lapse back into silence for 30 minutes or so. Then, I ask the question that's been eating at me.
"How are you actually, Dean??" I ask.
He sighs.
"Peachy."
"Yeah, and I'm Batman." I roll my eyes.
"Bryn, would I have called you if I was ok??" He glances at me before looking back at the road.
"I know, but you need to talk about it. Keeping it all bottled up is a recipe for disaster. You know that."
He huffs again.
"I'm scared, ok. You wanna know how I am?? I'm fucking scared. Cas walked into a reservoir and imploded, spreading these… Leviathan everywhere. Sam's hallucinating Lucifer; I'm fucking terrified, Bryn."
I nod and pat his arm.
"It's ok. I totally get it. Things just suck right now all around."
Dean turns up the music a little, and we lapse back into silence. I occasionally feel Dean's eyes on me, but I just stare out the window and watch the countryside fly by. Past emotions hang heavy in my chest, and I can only hope the boys don't feel it too. We remain silent, the only noise coming from the tires on the road and the music softly flowing from the radio.
A couple of hours later, we pull up to the high school, where we're directed to the gym by the cops.
"What's your alias??" Dean ducks down and asks quietly.
"Last name Crawford. Bryn is the same."
He nods, and we keep following the signs. I pull my badge from my blazer and turn it over in my hands.
We finally reach the locker room, where a forensics guy is taking a sample of the blood splatter.
"Hey, Special Agents Anderson and Crawford."
The forensics guy looks up. "Yeah, okay. Our point cop's out on the donut. Forensics. I can show you the layout. And step lightly. We got a whole bunch of NC17 shiznickel right over there."
Dean fake grins and nods. "Right."
Dean turns, and his eyes lock on the wall. I look too, and there's some kind of black goo on it.
"Shit."
"What the hell is that??"
Dean's jaw muscles ripple.
"Leviathan."
—
While we're tailing the swim team boys, Dean calls Sam and puts it on speaker. We're both worried about him, more than either of us would care to admit.
The line rings a couple of times before he picks up.
"Yeah," Sam says on the other end.
"Well, we are positive for ick. Same kind of stuff that came out of Cas, and, uh, two of the swim kids were missing—they stole one of their parents' cars."
"So, you think these, um, these Leviathan things just jump into people?? Like Eve did??"
"I don't know; it makes sense, right?? Anyway, uh, state trooper's got a surveillance cam on the kids about six hours old, of them gassing up just south of the Dakota line, so I'm headed back your way. We'll just track them from Bobby's."
"Yeah, sounds good."
"How are you doing, Sam??" I ask.
He clears his throat. "You know, uh, okay."
"Okay. Well, uh, hang in there, all right??" I say.
Dean hangs up.
"He sounds better," I say, trying to stay positive.
"Yeah, well, I'll believe it when I see it."
We finish the drive back to Bobby's in silence, nothing but the radio in the background.
I want to talk about things with the boys, but they already have so much on their plates. I'm sure I'll find some opportunity, but for now, I just have to pretend that everything is alright and that the old wounds have healed. Based on Sam's facial expression when he saw me, his wounds haven't healed either.
We pull up by the kitchen door; Dean parks next to my truck. I climb out, barely hitting the porch before I kick off my heels and take down my hair. My FBI outfit isn't the most comfortable thing in the world, mainly due to having to wear heels.
We walk in, and the house is eerily quiet. That's not good. Dean and I go through every room, upstairs and downstairs, with no sign of Sam.
"Sam??" I call out with no response.
"Sammy?? Sam?? Oh, shit." I hear Dean say, muffled by the walls between us.
My stomach sinks.
"Where'd he go??"
Dean struggles to get his phone out of his pocket. He pulls up what looks like a tracking app. The pin is in the middle of a building near the edge of town.
"Oh, this can't be good," Dean says under his breath.
I head to the nearest bathroom and change back into my normal clothes before grabbing my shoes and running out to the Impala. As soon as I jump in, Dean throws the car in reverse and peels out, throwing gravel as he speeds down the driveway.
..
A beat up black van is parked in front of the abandoned warehouse, explaining how Sam got here. Scary to think he drove all the way here while experiencing such strong hallucinations.
I place my hand on my gun just in case there's actually something in there Sam went after or that went after Sam. Dean opens the door and walks in, me following closely behind.
Sam stands in the middle of the open warehouse. His eyes are wide, his gun drawn, and he's looking at something to his left.
"Sam??" I say hesitantly. His head snaps around, and I can see him clench his jaw. "Sam, honey, what are you doing??" I ask, heart pounding in my chest.
Out of nowhere, Sam aims his gun at his brother. Dean tucks me behind him and holds up his hands.
"Whoa, whoa!!"
"I was with you, Dean!!" He yells, nearly growling.
"Okay. Well, here I am," Dean says gently.
Sam's eyes widen; he looks to his left, then back at Dean, seeing someone we can't.
"No. No, I don't, I..." He swallows hard, his normally rock steady hand trembling. "I can't know that for sure. You understand me??"
Dean slowly steps forward, hands still raised.
"Okay, now we're gonna have to start small."
Sam's eyes become glossy, tears forming.
"I don't remember driving here."
Before Dean or I can say anything, he turns and fires his weapon to his left. I duck down as it hits a wooden crate, the sound startling me more than anything.
"Whoa, whoa!! Sam!! This discussion does not require a weapons discharge!!"
Sam's chest heaves with each shaky breath. He slowly lowers his gun.
Dean takes another couple of steps forward, with me creeping up behind him.
"Look at me." Dean gestures vaguely to his torso. "Come on. You don't know what's real?? Look man, I've been to Hell." I'm taken aback by that. Guess I really do have some catching up to do. "Okay, I know a thing or two about torture. Enough to know that it feels different. Than the pain of this—this regular, stupid, shitty this."
Sam shakes his head, a layer of sweat beading on his forehead.
"No, no. How can you know that for sure??"
Dean closes the distance between him.
"Let me see your hand." Dean slowly reaches out to him. Sam lifts his right hand. "No, no. The—the gimpy hand!! Let me see it."
Sam looks over Dean's shoulder but not at me. Dean snatches Sam's bandaged left hand.
"Hey." He jerks Sam's arm. "This is real. Not a year ago, not in Hell, now. I was with you when you cut it; I sewed it up!! Look!!"
Dean's fingers press into the cut on Sam's hand, and with the other hand, he takes his gun and passes it to me behind his back. I flip on the safety and tuck it in my waistband.
Sam winces and sharply inhales, pain contorting his face.
"This is different. Right?? Than the shit that's tearing at your walnut?? I'm different. Right??"
Sam yanks his hand away.
"Yeah, I think so."
Sam's attention is drawn back to his hallucinations. He pushes his thumb hard against the cut, fresh red blood soaking into the bandage.
"Hey. I am your flesh-and-blood brother, okay?? I'm the only one who can legitimately kick your ass in real-time. You got away. We got you out, Sammy."
My chest aches a little at the tone of Dean's voice.
Sam grits his teeth and pushes harder into his palm.
"Believe in that!! Believe me, okay?? You gotta believe me. You gotta make it stone number one and build on it. You understand??"
Sam blinks a few times and then nods.
"Yeah." He lets out a breath. "Yeah, okay."
He nods again. As his eyes finally meet mine, his phone rings.
He reaches into his pocket and digs out his phone.
"Bobby, hey," he answers, "Leviathan here??"
Sam pulls the phone from his face, and his eyes shift back and forth between me and Dean.
"Bobby's got a live one."
"Okay, well, let's go."
Sam nods, and we all head out, piling in the Impala, the cold metal of Sam's gun stinging the skin on my back as I sit.
We're a couple of minutes down the road when Dean breaks the silence.
"Look, when we get back to Bobby's—"
"It's okay, Dean; I'm good. No white rabbits." A short, light laugh leaves his mouth. "I'm not seeing anything."
Dean glances at me in the rearview, then over at Sam.
"Okay. Baby steps."
The boys exchange small smiles, and Dean faces forward.
My nose burns as the smell of wood smoke hits it. I look to my right and, where Bobby's house should be, is a smoldering pile of rubble, smoke still drifting skyward.
"Oh God," I whisper.
Dean rolls slowly down the driveway, gaping at the blackened wood that was once a home. All of the books, journals, and documents that Bobby had collected over his many years of hunting have been reduced to ash. Tears well up in my eyes as I take in the scene in front of me.
We all very slowly climb out of the car and stand by it, the gravity of what's happened settling in.
"Oh fuck."
I watch Dean slowly walk through the rubble, picking up pieces of things, stopping every now and then to rub his face.
I can't help the tears that pour from my eyes.
Bobby's house meant just as much to me as it did to the boys. Many summers were spent here, me and the boys, fooling around while our parents hunted. We'd play hide and seek in the yard, ducking under junkers or into the shed Bobby stashed his tools in. For overnight stays, the boys and I would pile into the guest room, two twins for Sam and Dean, and a roll-away cot for me. We'd tell stories and joke around for hours after we were supposed to be asleep. When Dean would fall asleep, Sam would let me sit on his bed, and we'd share the flashlight so we could read together, shoulder to shoulder. As I got older, I was allowed to either sleep on the couch or in the other spare room. Every night I would sneak into the boys' room, or they would sneak downstairs to me. Bobby's house is where I first drank whiskey, out of the bottle Dean snatched from Bobby's liquor cabinet. It's where I honed my shooting skills, using old beer and oil cans as target practice. As a matter of fact, it's where I realized I had a thing for Sam.
I have to choke back my sobs as the memories come flooding back. I cover my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to lose my composure. I take a deep breath and wipe the tears from my face.
I hear the gravel crunch as Sam and Dean meet back by where the porch used to be. I walk over slowly, trying to hide my tears from them. I know they feel the same pain, but I don't want to burden them with mine as well.
"Any sign of him??" Sam asks.
"That place was torched. Somebody knew what they were doing."
Sam hesitates.
"You think Bobby was back there??" He asks quietly.
Dean bites his lip, his eyes glistening. "I don't know."
Dean points to the path weaving around to the back on the right side of the house. Sam goes that way, and Dean goes left. I follow behind Sam, not wanting to leave him alone.
He calls out to Bobby, his voice echoing in the still night.
I manage to hang back enough to eavesdrop as Dean dials someone on his phone.
"You cannot be in that crater back there. I can't... If you're gone, I swear, I am going to strap my Beautiful Mind brother into the car, and I'm gonna drive us off the pier. You asked me how I was doing?? Well, not good!! Now you said you'd be here. Where are you??" He hangs up.
My heart sinks, and I continue to follow behind Sam. He and Dean's voices bounce back and forth, no response coming from anywhere.
I follow behind as Sam weaves up and down the aisles of scrap cars.
"Bobby?? Bobby!!"
We turn the corner, and I jump, startled by the random man standing in the middle of the path.
"Winchester. Congratulations. Apparently, you two are competent enough to warrant annihilating. I'd take it as a compliment."
Out of nowhere, Dean shoots the man in the side of his head with a large shotgun. The man's posture changes; he stands up taller and wipes a bit of black goo off his head. Then his head morphs into a wide-mouthed, pointy-toothed, snake-tongued monstrosity. The textbook definition of nightmare fuel.
He snaps his mouth closed and manages to knock Dean's gun away. He grabs Dean by his shirt and throws him back against a car. There's a sickening snap followed by groaning from Dean.
I storm towards the horrible creature, and with one swing, he easily knocks me to the ground. I'm instantly disoriented and lose consciousness for at least a couple of seconds.
Sam scuffles with the horrible man as I lay semi-helpless in the dirt.
"Dean, now!!" Sam yells.
Dean smashes a button for the car hoist that is coincidentally over the man's head. Just before the car falls on him, the man hits Sam in the head as hard as he can with a crowbar. Sam crumples to the ground, and I yell for him.
Dean and I both crawl over to him, me getting there a little faster than Dean. My head spins horribly as I sit up, a wave of nausea hitting with it. I close my eyes and wait for everything to stop before I turn my attention to Sam.
"Sam," I say, holding his face in my hands. Blood trickles from the gash in his head.
Dean grabs Sam's shirt and shakes him a little bit.
"Sammy?? Hey, come on now. Come on, I'm the one with the broken leg; you got to carry me." Dean half-jokes. He looks at me.
"There's no way, Dean. I almost threw up just crawling over here."
We both look back at Sam. I hold my hand over his nose and mouth, air brushing against my skin as he breathes.
"He's breathing; thank God." I brush some of his hair from his face.
Dean pulls out his phone and lays back in the gravel. He calls 911 for the three of us. I'm probably the least injured of us, but that's not saying much. While waiting for the ambulance, I have to crawl away from Sam as the pain and dizziness get worse, causing me to eject the contents of my stomach.
"Bryn, you okay??"
I cough and gag a couple more times before I lay back in the gravel.
"Not really. Ugh, God."
I slowly scoot back towards Sam and take his limp hand in mine. My heart pounds in my chest as I listen to Dean talk with 911.
Not long after, I start to hear the sirens approaching. They better let me ride with the boys; I refuse to leave either of them, especially Sam.
The ambulance pulls up, cutting off the sirens. Dean sits up and flags them down. They park the truck and head over, two stretchers in tow. One medic comes to me and Sam, the other tending to Dean.
"Hey, I'm Chance; my partner over there is Matt." He kneels and sets his stuff next to Sam. "Why don't ya tell me what happened??"
"We were in a scuffle with someone, and they hit him over the head with a crowbar. Hard. He's been unconscious since. His name is Sam Smith, birthday is 5/2/1983. If you need his weight, you'll have to guess or ask his brother."
"And what about you??"
"I got punched and blacked out a little. I more than likely hit my head on the ground too when I fell. I'm dizzy, and I've puked twice, and my head is killing me." I pause and grab the medic's arm. "I need you to focus on him. I'll be ok; I just need him to be ok too."
The medic nods. He secures a c-collar around my neck and helps me to the rig. We have to stop a couple of times due to my dry heaving, but eventually, he gets me in and helps me strap all the seat belts. He pats my shoulder and heads back to Sam. I finally let the tears fall that I've been holding since Sam was knocked out. They load him and Dean in side by side, a bright orange splint on Dean's leg.
They rush us to the hospital with lights and sirens. The other medic, Matt, is in the back with us, working on Sam.
"Sam, stay with me, you hear??" Dean yells at him over the sirens.
"Male, late twenties, head trauma. Signs of increasing intracranial pressure." Matt says into his radio.
Sam's eyes open for a split second before he grunts and goes into a seizure.
"Sam?? Sammy??" Dean yells.
"Yeah, he's seizing. Copy that. We're just pulling into Sioux Falls."
"Sioux Falls?? Sioux Falls General?? No, no, no. No, you gotta take us somewhere else, anywhere. Please." Dean begs.
The paramedic looks at him and rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, okay, buddy."
Dean throws his head back against his pillow in frustration.
I close my eyes, trying to keep myself calm as the medic gives Sam something to stop his seizures. He has to be okay. I can't lose him too.