Fic: If I Have Freedom (6/15)
Chapter V: These Are Words of Deeper Sorrow
Chapter VI: Back from the Mouth of Hell
Dean sat back on Bobby's sofa, Sam curled up in his lap. He was finally wearing clothes that fit him, and it somehow made him look even younger.
Or maybe it wasn't the clothes, it was just his expression as he sat there unmoving, head resting on Dean's ribs, arms wrapped around his knees. He had been clingy since the incident with Samuel. He hadn't actually said anything when Dean had lowered him to the sofa and gone to get himself a beer and Sammy some chocolate milk - because no matter how much Sam glowered, he was freaking four and Dean was not giving him alcohol or even caffeine - but the slump in his shoulders when Dean had come back had been enough.
Not that Dean was complaining. He didn't want Sam out of his sight, either.
Bobby had shown up in the middle of his argument with Samuel, just when the old moron had all but told Sammy he was responsible for their mother's death and Dean had finally lost his temper. It had taken Bobby a few seconds to make sense of Dean's incoherent rage and Samuel's explanations, but when he had finally understood, he'd pulled out his shotgun and given Samuel a count of ten to get off his premises or get a hole in his head.
The thing really worrying Dean was that Sam hadn't said a word since then. No screaming, no pleading, no talking, nothing. The silence was unnerving.
Dean and Bobby had both tried to get him to talk. Sam hadn't responded at all to Bobby. With Dean he'd managed a smile and held out his hands to be picked up, an unconsciously childish gesture that sent Dean's heart shooting up into his throat. He'd sensed Sam's internal struggle while he'd been dealing with Samuel, but he hadn't dared stop and help, not when there was a danger that Samuel would overpower him and take Sam and for all Dean knew torture him for information that Dean wasn't even sure Sam had.
Dean could tell Sam had won, but had it come at a price?
Dean desperately wanted Sam to talk to him. But he wasn't expecting to get what he wanted, because when did that ever happen, and so he was startled enough to jump and almost drop Sam when the young voice said unexpectedly, "Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?" he asked, rubbing his brother's back.
Sam looked up at him, hazel eyes wide and lost and scared.
"I can't find it."
"What can't you find, Sammy?"
"How to get Mom back. I'm sorry."
Dean felt an overwhelming rush of emotion, a jumble of fury - the next time he got his hands on Samuel, one of them was going to be salted and burned before the day ended, and it wasn't going to be Dean - frustration and Sammy please no.
"We can't bring her back, Sam. You know that. It would mess up the natural order."
"Maybe you should've asked Death for her instead of me."
Dean sensed Bobby get up and leave to give them some privacy. He was grateful. Bobby was Bobby, but there were some conversations he needed to have with Sam.
"Up." Dean took Sam's hands and helped him get to his feet, standing on Dean's knees so that they were at the same eye level. "You know she wouldn't have wanted that, Sam. Even if it had worked, she would never have forgiven me for it, and I would never have forgiven myself. You know that."
"You would've had Mom again."
"Yeah, well, now I've got my pain-in-the-ass little brother," Dean said, smiling as he emphasized the word 'little'. "Dude, you have any idea how cute you are? You're a freaking chick magnet, and one day before Gabriel changes you back we're going out and you're going to help your big brother get a date." Seeing Sam's eyes get dewy - and seriously, freaking puppy-dog eyes on freaking four-year-old Sammy ought to be outlawed as a weapon of mass destruction - he said, "I don't think we're meant to have her back, Sammy."
"Maybe you're not meant to have me back."
"Dude, they told us we're going to be in the same Heaven. Of course I'm meant to have you back."
"Would you rather have her?"
Dean sighed and pulled Sam in for a hug, because there was no way he could look into his baby brother's sad eyes and talk cogently.
"No, Sammy. I love Mom, and I miss her, and I hate that she's not here, but I can live without her, however little I want to. There's no way I can live without you. The only reason I didn't try to pull you out was because I couldn't find a way to do it - no lore, no mad mediaeval monks, no alchemists' secrets, freaking zilch. Every night - every night - I'd dream of you falling and I'd wake up and I'd wish I could just die and never have to wake up again. It was the worst year of my life, Sammy." He paused, rubbing Sam's back. "Is that what this has been about? You've been trying to figure out if you knew a way to get Mom back?" There was no answer. "Sammy?"
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm scared."
Dean knew what it would have cost his brother to make that admission: Sam's mind was still the right age, after all.
"What're you scared of, kiddo?"
"What if it never gets better? What if it's always the memories and the nightmares and all I get is a couple of hours of sanity a day? What if it gets worse?"
"To begin with, you are going to get better. I'm going to make it happen. And even if you don't, it's OK. We'll deal. We'll get ourselves a cabin somewhere in the middle of the forest like that friend of Dad's and we can start rumours about it being haunted to keep trespassers away and I will take care of you."
"You can't do it forever."
"Who says I can't?"
"I did it for you, Dean," Sam said, and Dean could hear the desperate pleading in his voice. "I - I did it so you could be happy and have a life and have a girlfriend and… I did it for you."
"Yeah, I know you did." And Dean did know; he'd always known. "I know you did, Sammy, but the hardest thing I ever did in my entire life was to let you go that day. I did it once. I'm not doing it again. The world can find someone else to stop the Apocalypse this time."
Sam sighed.
"Do you think Cas found it?"
"Purgatory?" Dean asked. "I don't know. And right now I don't care, Sam." He rubbed his little brother's head. "How about we go for a drive after lunch? Just you and me and my baby. We can't go into town, but if we drive out to the countryside there'll be nobody to hear and call me a child abuser if the memories start up again." Sam said nothing, and Dean urged, "Come on, kiddo, or the Impala's going to think you don't like her anymore."
He caught a glimpse of Bobby in the doorway.
"We'll discuss it later, Sam. Lunchtime now. Come on."
"I'm not hungry."
"I don't care. You're going to eat - either voluntarily or be force-fed, it's your choice."
Sam glared at him, but scrambled off his lap and ran for the kitchen. Dean shook his head and followed, knowing the lull couldn't last.
By the time Dean got to the kitchen, Bobby had lifted Sam onto a pile of books on a chair. It was a very appropriate booster seat for the little geek, but Dean found himself frowning at Bobby. They had no way of knowing when the next attack would be, since they were coming from inside Sam's head, and that was just way too precarious a perch.
"Relax, Dean," Bobby said irritably. "You sit on one side of him, I'll sit on the other, and he can't fall."
He set a mug of vegetable soup in front of Sam. He and Dean, after a rapid discussion, had decided to keep Sam on liquids for a few days unless he actually asked for something. Solid foods could turn your stomach after the Pit and there was no knowing what would do it: the most innocuous of things had had Dean running for the bathroom in the beginning. With Sam the way he was, they couldn't risk him bringing up what he ate.
They actually got through lunch without incident, and Dean was beginning to relax, when it started again.
Dean cursed Cas, Gabriel, himself, Michael, Lucifer, Bobby, Crowley, Meg, Death, Tessa, Samuel, Gwen, everyone he knew except for Sam himself as hurried his baby brother upstairs.
This one lasted longer than any of the others. Dean had to let Bobby take over for a few spells in between so he could get out and stretch his legs. It felt like betrayal to give Sam into anyone else's hands, even Bobby's, especially once when he did it during one of Sam's lucid flashes and got the puppy-dog eyes full force, but he had to. He had to do it because he had to keep himself at 100% so that he could be there when Sam needed him.
But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.
When it ended it was past dinnertime. Dean collapsed into an exhausted heap on Sam's bed, too tired even to get up and go to his own. Sam hadn't eaten - Dean had, on Bobby's threats - but he was finally dropping off to sleep and Dean didn't have the heart to make him move. He just raised his arm so Sam could wriggle under it, curled himself protectively around his now very little brother and pulled the blankets up over both of them.
He woke up when Sam started tossing restlessly in his sleep.
"Oh, come on!" Dean growled. "You have got to be kidding me! Nightmares when he's awake and now nightmares when he's asleep?" He glared up at the ceiling. "This is bloody unfair, you know that?"
He hesitated, wondering whether waking Sam would make it better or worse. A soft plea of "Dean" decided him: at least awake Sammy would know he was there.
Dean laid a hand on Sam's shoulder and gave him a light shake. Hazel eyes shot open, staring at Dean in the darkness for several seconds before Sam rolled over, facing away from Dean, and started to sob. Dean sighed - the clock on the nightstand said they'd had four hours: more sleep than he expected, and he knew he wouldn't get Sam to doze off again now.
"Since you're up anyway…" He got to his feet, grabbed Sam under the arms and swung him up in the air. "Bath time."
That got Sam's attention.
"What? Dude, no. You are so not bathing me."
"You are so not bathing yourself."
"Dean. No. Just - just put me down. I don't need you to - just no. Look, why don't you go downstairs and wax the Impala or something? I'll come down when I'm ready."
"Go downstairs and wax the Impala? Why, so you can have an attack while you're in the bathroom by yourself, fall down, knock yourself out and drown in the shower? Not happening, Sammy." Sam tried the bitchface. "Still not happening, Sam." Puppy-dog eyes. Dean sighed. "Fine. I'll meet you halfway. I'll stand in the bathroom, you draw the curtain, and you talk to me while you're taking your shower. As long as you keep talking, I'll know you're OK and I won't interfere."
Sam grumbled but agreed.
It went well for the first few minutes. Then Sam abruptly stuck his head out between the curtains.
"Dean. Clothes."
"Sammy?" Dean drew back the curtains, reached over Sam's head to turn off the water, and tossed him a towel, all in the space of about three seconds. "You OK?"
"Going to start. I can… feel… it."
"I'm taking him out." Bobby looked as though he thought Dean had lost his mind. Dean found himself rolling his eyes impatiently. "I've been out, you've been out, the only one who hasn't been out of the house is Sam! And considering that he's trying to get over memories of being trapped in a box for two centuries, he's the one who needs to get out."
"Dean, he can't be around other people."
"Not other people. I'll put him in the Impala and we'll just drive, maybe stop somewhere in the woods and get out for a bit."
"You can keep an eye on Sam in the woods?"
Dean pointedly rubbed Sam's back. After the last attack, Sam had just about managed half a glass of milk before he'd fallen into a fitful doze with his head nestled in the crook of Dean's elbow. Sam had become so emo and clingy since the de-aging that Dean almost couldn't recognize him - sure, Sam had always liked to talk, but crying himself to sleep in his big brother's arms on a regular basis? Sam was so lucky that Dean was too awesome a brother to try to blackmail him.
And, although Dean would never say it aloud, he kind of liked this. He'd missed being needed.
After what seemed like half an hour, Bobby shook his head. "Fine. I suppose he does need fresh air. Just be careful. And don't stop to pass the time of day with anyone."
Dean raised an eyebrow. You need to tell me to be careful when Sam's involved?
Chapter VII: Things which Cannot Be