"Recovery" - Sam/Dean fic
Title: Recovery
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R (and possibly NC-17)
Summary: While hiding from Leviathans, Sam is struck with a crippling case of PTSD and Dean tries to help him through it.
Warnings: Possibly triggery depictions of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
“If you can’t walk, you crawl, and if you can’t do that…you find someone to carry you.” - Firefly
Chapter One: Day One
Call Bobby.
Call Bobby.
Call Bobby.
Dean stalked across the motel parking lot like a man possessed. The piercing afternoon sun, the cars ripping down the nearby highway, none of it registered.
He couldn’t dial Bobby yet, not until he was safe in the Impala. An eavesdropping stranger would only want to help or call an ambulance, and neither of those would ever be an option considering the crazy crap which tended to cross their path. Not that he would take someone else’s help if the crisis turned out to be mundane, anyway, because nobody helps Sam but Dean…and sometimes Bobby. And Cas, way back when, but that’s beside the point.
He didn’t run for fear of drawing unwanted attention, but his stiff pace brought him to his baby soon enough. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he kept an eye on room 124 while he hit the call button. Gripping the phone didn’t stop his trembling. To be fair, nothing could. Not at times like this. As always, he got an answer on the second ring.
“Bobby? It’s Dean.”
“I know your voice by now, backbirth.”
“Something’s wrong with Sam,” he blurted.
The humor dropped right out of Bobby’s tone. “What happened?”
For the first time that morning, Dean exhaled. Not for relaxation, for a chance to recall things as accurately as possible. “I don’t know. He’s been in his bed all morning curled up in the fetal position like a damn sonogram. He won’t talk, he won’t let me help, he hasn’t even made eye contact.”
Silence on Bobby’s end.
“He’s never done anything like this before. He’s never just checked out.” Dean tried to mask his anxiety with anger. “This had better be something crazy.”
“No,” Bobby tentatively replied. “For once I think what we’re dealing with is perfectly normal.”
“Demon?”
“Try the nastiest case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder anyone could ever dream of.”
It took a second for the information to sink in, but when it did Dean’s panic came to a slow, dreadful halt. Chin dropping to his chest, the receiver drifted away from his ear. Despite the news being somewhat expected, it still sank deep into his gut as if he’d been utterly blindsided.
Not now. Please, not now.
“Dean?”
He straightened up at the sound of his name and brought the phone back to his ear. “I thought we had a handle on it,” he said, knowing he sounded like a driver who’d lost control in the rain. Honest, yet baffled.
“Given the kind of trauma we’re dealing with here,” Bobby pointed out, “we were probably morons for thinking it’d be as easy as pressing on a booboo. From what you’re telling me, it sounds like everything caught up with him all at once. The brain can only take so much before it goes on strike.”
“So, what, this is Occupy Sam? Great. He’s gone guano after a hundred years of being Lucifer’s personal chew toy. How do I fight that, exactly? I’ll tell you what I should do: I should crack open the cage and rip Lucifer’s spine out through his throat!”
“Uh-uh,” Bobby countered. “You can’t macho your way out of this one, Road House. You want to help Sam? Then drop the alpha-dog-bacon-cheeseburger bullshit and go be his brother. If this is PTSD, which would surprise absolutely no one, you’re gonna have to hunker down and be ready to talk about feelings whenever he’s ready. You’re gonna grow a uterus and comfort the kid, I don’t care if you have to mainline estrogen to do it.”
Dean replied with a truthful, if not strained, inflection. “I can do that. What about the leviathans?”
“Move him if you need to, but if he doesn’t want to go anywhere, you won’t be able to force him and you shouldn’t try to. This is all about what Sam needs. It’s right up your dysfunctional alley.”
“How do you know so much about this?”
“I’ve got other hunter friends besides you. You’re with him now, right?”
Dean’s face fell. He felt like an idiot before he even spoke. “I’m in the car.”
“Son of a--…get your dumb ass back in there!”
He was already moving, out of the Impala, and halfway to room 124 before he’d even gotten his phone back in his pocket. Stopping just short of the door, he took a brief second to breathe deeply before entering.
The entire place was in upheaval.
Closets, drawers, their bags, even the sheets from both beds had been pulled out and discarded haphazardly around the room. Debris from the trash littered the floor, decorating the carpet with take out bags and beer bottles.
Then there was Sam, at the center of it all, rifling through the cheap armoire that housed the T.V. He was too consumed with his task of frantically inspecting every nook and cranny to notice anyone’s entrance.
The sight before him momentarily stunned Dean into silence. He watched Sam’s erratic motions, heart sinking deep into his chest, and deeper still when he realized what Sam was tearing the place apart to find.
“I’m right here, Sammy.”
Sam snapped to attention and the room went deathly quiet. Their eyes met, and Dean felt a cold stab in his ribs at what he found in his brother’s stare.
He’d never seen someone so blindly overwhelmed in his entire life.
Every single atrocity Lucifer had unleashed danced chaotically behind Sam’s incoherent eyes. No processing, no filter, no coping, only fear, trauma. It was a miracle he was even standing.
Dean felt sick as it dawned on him: this must have been what Sam looked like in the cage. All those years and not a moment of peace, just this. Just torment.
Before he could move, Sam crossed the room and grabbed him so hard he stumbled backwards and slammed into the door. He tensed, ready to fight back until he felt arms around his torso and Sam’s forehead buried in his neck. The hug was so intense Dean was having trouble breathing, and he shifted until he could manage a few solid gulps of air. They stayed this way for a long moment, Sam clutching and Dean bewildered, with his arms by his sides. He didn’t dare move.
When the atmosphere had settled and Dean could no longer hear his brother’s heart pounding against his own, he let himself relax slightly. He brought his hands up to hold the guy in return, maybe guide him back to bed.
Everything went to pieces the second Dean’s fingertips grazed Sam’s shoulders. Pushing himself away with way too much force, Sam barely maintained his balance as he was flung towards his bed.
“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Dean promised, arms out in the same sign of peace they were before.
Sam’s momentum sent his thigh crashing into the corner of the nightstand. He instantly lashed out in self-defense, swinging wildly. Dean tried to yell “Wait!” but he barely got it out before the back of Sam’s hand caught the lamp and sent it clear across the room. Sam jumped at the contact and cowered to the floor. Head ducked and hands held out near the sides of his face, he looked like he was trying to limit how much he could see without having to fully close or cover his eyes. He stayed there, shivering horribly and dripping sweat.
Willing himself to remain calm, Dean crouched down without moving closer. “Sam. Sam, it’s me.” He was as soothing as he could possibly manage. “It’s Dean. I’m Dean.”
Sam stopped moving.
“You’re in a motel. I can’t remember the name, but it doesn’t matter. You’re here, and I’m with you.”
Minutes ticked by. Heart in his throat, Dean waited for any response he could see. Sam was focused on the floor between them, eyes darting back and forth like he was trying to make some kind of decision. Dean refused to change positions or shift his weight despite the burning in his thighs. The next sign of motion had to come from Sam. If anything else so much as flinched, they could wind up back at square one.
When Sam finally did move, it was so tender and cautious the simple act of climbing into bed took nearly half a minute. Dean allowed himself a small, bittersweet sigh of relief as he carefully straightened up. It worked this time, but pacification would only go so far. Sooner or later, Sam would need real help where there was none, and then what? Dean stared at his brother, jaw clenched.
This was so much worse than he’d imagined, and it had only just begun.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R (and possibly NC-17)
Summary: While hiding from Leviathans, Sam is struck with a crippling case of PTSD and Dean tries to help him through it.
Warnings: Possibly triggery depictions of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
“If you can’t walk, you crawl, and if you can’t do that…you find someone to carry you.” - Firefly
Chapter One: Day One
Call Bobby.
Call Bobby.
Call Bobby.
Dean stalked across the motel parking lot like a man possessed. The piercing afternoon sun, the cars ripping down the nearby highway, none of it registered.
He couldn’t dial Bobby yet, not until he was safe in the Impala. An eavesdropping stranger would only want to help or call an ambulance, and neither of those would ever be an option considering the crazy crap which tended to cross their path. Not that he would take someone else’s help if the crisis turned out to be mundane, anyway, because nobody helps Sam but Dean…and sometimes Bobby. And Cas, way back when, but that’s beside the point.
He didn’t run for fear of drawing unwanted attention, but his stiff pace brought him to his baby soon enough. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he kept an eye on room 124 while he hit the call button. Gripping the phone didn’t stop his trembling. To be fair, nothing could. Not at times like this. As always, he got an answer on the second ring.
“Bobby? It’s Dean.”
“I know your voice by now, backbirth.”
“Something’s wrong with Sam,” he blurted.
The humor dropped right out of Bobby’s tone. “What happened?”
For the first time that morning, Dean exhaled. Not for relaxation, for a chance to recall things as accurately as possible. “I don’t know. He’s been in his bed all morning curled up in the fetal position like a damn sonogram. He won’t talk, he won’t let me help, he hasn’t even made eye contact.”
Silence on Bobby’s end.
“He’s never done anything like this before. He’s never just checked out.” Dean tried to mask his anxiety with anger. “This had better be something crazy.”
“No,” Bobby tentatively replied. “For once I think what we’re dealing with is perfectly normal.”
“Demon?”
“Try the nastiest case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder anyone could ever dream of.”
It took a second for the information to sink in, but when it did Dean’s panic came to a slow, dreadful halt. Chin dropping to his chest, the receiver drifted away from his ear. Despite the news being somewhat expected, it still sank deep into his gut as if he’d been utterly blindsided.
Not now. Please, not now.
“Dean?”
He straightened up at the sound of his name and brought the phone back to his ear. “I thought we had a handle on it,” he said, knowing he sounded like a driver who’d lost control in the rain. Honest, yet baffled.
“Given the kind of trauma we’re dealing with here,” Bobby pointed out, “we were probably morons for thinking it’d be as easy as pressing on a booboo. From what you’re telling me, it sounds like everything caught up with him all at once. The brain can only take so much before it goes on strike.”
“So, what, this is Occupy Sam? Great. He’s gone guano after a hundred years of being Lucifer’s personal chew toy. How do I fight that, exactly? I’ll tell you what I should do: I should crack open the cage and rip Lucifer’s spine out through his throat!”
“Uh-uh,” Bobby countered. “You can’t macho your way out of this one, Road House. You want to help Sam? Then drop the alpha-dog-bacon-cheeseburger bullshit and go be his brother. If this is PTSD, which would surprise absolutely no one, you’re gonna have to hunker down and be ready to talk about feelings whenever he’s ready. You’re gonna grow a uterus and comfort the kid, I don’t care if you have to mainline estrogen to do it.”
Dean replied with a truthful, if not strained, inflection. “I can do that. What about the leviathans?”
“Move him if you need to, but if he doesn’t want to go anywhere, you won’t be able to force him and you shouldn’t try to. This is all about what Sam needs. It’s right up your dysfunctional alley.”
“How do you know so much about this?”
“I’ve got other hunter friends besides you. You’re with him now, right?”
Dean’s face fell. He felt like an idiot before he even spoke. “I’m in the car.”
“Son of a--…get your dumb ass back in there!”
He was already moving, out of the Impala, and halfway to room 124 before he’d even gotten his phone back in his pocket. Stopping just short of the door, he took a brief second to breathe deeply before entering.
The entire place was in upheaval.
Closets, drawers, their bags, even the sheets from both beds had been pulled out and discarded haphazardly around the room. Debris from the trash littered the floor, decorating the carpet with take out bags and beer bottles.
Then there was Sam, at the center of it all, rifling through the cheap armoire that housed the T.V. He was too consumed with his task of frantically inspecting every nook and cranny to notice anyone’s entrance.
The sight before him momentarily stunned Dean into silence. He watched Sam’s erratic motions, heart sinking deep into his chest, and deeper still when he realized what Sam was tearing the place apart to find.
“I’m right here, Sammy.”
Sam snapped to attention and the room went deathly quiet. Their eyes met, and Dean felt a cold stab in his ribs at what he found in his brother’s stare.
He’d never seen someone so blindly overwhelmed in his entire life.
Every single atrocity Lucifer had unleashed danced chaotically behind Sam’s incoherent eyes. No processing, no filter, no coping, only fear, trauma. It was a miracle he was even standing.
Dean felt sick as it dawned on him: this must have been what Sam looked like in the cage. All those years and not a moment of peace, just this. Just torment.
Before he could move, Sam crossed the room and grabbed him so hard he stumbled backwards and slammed into the door. He tensed, ready to fight back until he felt arms around his torso and Sam’s forehead buried in his neck. The hug was so intense Dean was having trouble breathing, and he shifted until he could manage a few solid gulps of air. They stayed this way for a long moment, Sam clutching and Dean bewildered, with his arms by his sides. He didn’t dare move.
When the atmosphere had settled and Dean could no longer hear his brother’s heart pounding against his own, he let himself relax slightly. He brought his hands up to hold the guy in return, maybe guide him back to bed.
Everything went to pieces the second Dean’s fingertips grazed Sam’s shoulders. Pushing himself away with way too much force, Sam barely maintained his balance as he was flung towards his bed.
“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Dean promised, arms out in the same sign of peace they were before.
Sam’s momentum sent his thigh crashing into the corner of the nightstand. He instantly lashed out in self-defense, swinging wildly. Dean tried to yell “Wait!” but he barely got it out before the back of Sam’s hand caught the lamp and sent it clear across the room. Sam jumped at the contact and cowered to the floor. Head ducked and hands held out near the sides of his face, he looked like he was trying to limit how much he could see without having to fully close or cover his eyes. He stayed there, shivering horribly and dripping sweat.
Willing himself to remain calm, Dean crouched down without moving closer. “Sam. Sam, it’s me.” He was as soothing as he could possibly manage. “It’s Dean. I’m Dean.”
Sam stopped moving.
“You’re in a motel. I can’t remember the name, but it doesn’t matter. You’re here, and I’m with you.”
Minutes ticked by. Heart in his throat, Dean waited for any response he could see. Sam was focused on the floor between them, eyes darting back and forth like he was trying to make some kind of decision. Dean refused to change positions or shift his weight despite the burning in his thighs. The next sign of motion had to come from Sam. If anything else so much as flinched, they could wind up back at square one.
When Sam finally did move, it was so tender and cautious the simple act of climbing into bed took nearly half a minute. Dean allowed himself a small, bittersweet sigh of relief as he carefully straightened up. It worked this time, but pacification would only go so far. Sooner or later, Sam would need real help where there was none, and then what? Dean stared at his brother, jaw clenched.
This was so much worse than he’d imagined, and it had only just begun.