That's what we do 2/2
Sam takes Dean's elbow and guides him slowly. Dean has to concentrate when he's walking, head bent down to look at his feet, stepping unevenly and limping slightly on his left leg. The Impala's not too far down the parking lot, but when Sam finally settles his brother down on the passenger seat, Dean is shaking and panting hard. They're half an hour away from their house. Sam knows he has to talk to Dean to prevent him from falling asleep, or he's gonna be grumpy and confused when he wakes up. The Chevy is like a sleeping pill for Dean, maybe because that's the place he feels most relaxed and at ease.
"Music?" He asks.
Sam puts an old Motorhead tape and leaves the volume at a low level. Dean doesn't like loud noise anymore.
Less than five minutes further down the highway, Dean's head starts to loll downward. Sam shakes his shoulder lightly and can't repress a smile when his brother blinks lazily at him. "Wha'?"
"What do you feel like eating?"
Dean frowns and tries to get himself together. "Square," he says finally.
"Square isn't a food."
"I kn-n-now. Square m-m-meat."
"Wendy's? Really?"
"Yeah." Dean licks his lips and his stomach rumbles. Sam laughs as his brother blushes and tries to put his hand on his belly. He succeeds after a few tries.
"Hey, Dean?"
"Huh?"
"Do you think I treat you like a kid?"
That's a tough question. Sam knows. Sometimes, Dean seems well aware of his state and of how he used to be. It comes and goes, like the memory of his past life. His brain is still trying to establish new connections, finding paths that haven't been damaged to compensate for what he has lost. That's how his neurologist explains it. It's hard work, and it takes a lot of him. On his bad days, Dean sometimes regresses to an almost catatonic state. He's confused and lost, cries often without knowing why. On his good days, he talks about their dad and Bobby and hunting. He remembers, even if he's not able to identify himself with the events that have forged their lives. He's emotionally detached. Sam doesn't think that's bad. As a matter of fact, he fears the day -if it ever comes- where Dean will be able to relate, really relate, to his previous life.
Between bad and good days, there are the average days, a mix of both, and today is an average day. It's worth taking the chance and asking the question.
"M'not a kid," Dean whispers finally. "I have b-b-brain d-d-dhu… brain damage."
"I know that, man. That's not what I'm asking. Do you think I treat you like a baby?
Dean sights and let his head fall back on the headrest, turning toward Sam. He looks a bit disturbed. "I don't know. You take c-c-care. Of me."
"Yeah well. Maybe I'm kinda overprotective a bit, like you were with me before."
"Watch out for your brother, Dean." Dean states in a perfect imitation of their father.
"So? Do you feel like I'm overdoing it?"
Dean shakes his head. "Grab burgers and watch the game." He says, and he clenches his jaw, lips reduced to a thin white line.
This is bad. This is a sign that Dean is disturbed. He tends to go back to what sooths him whenever he gets upset. Sam knows well enough to drop the conversation.
"Yeah, grab burgers and watch the game."
"G-g-g… ghuh- Gra… G-guh-
Dean is almost choking on his words, face beet red with the effort and eyes scrunched shut. Sam lays a hand on his thigh. "It's okay, Dean. Relax. Listen to the music."
"M'tired," Dean grumbles.
"I know."
"Watch the game. Eat burgers. Watch out for your brother, Dean." He says rapidly.
"It's alright, dude. I-"
"Can't watch out for Sammy because I'm s-s-s-…"
"Dean, stop."
"S-s-s-STUPID!" Dean shouts, and bends his body forward like he wants to curl in on himself.
"No, stop it. You're not stupid. I don't wanna ear you say things like that. Your brain is still healing, Dean. You've made a lot of-"
"NO!"
Dean starts stomping the Impala's floor with his feet, loses control of his hands again. From the corner of his eyes, Sam can see Dean's fingers curling on themselves, folding the mitten's fabric. His right arm flies over his head and presses on the roof as his left one starts shaking. Sam is looking for an exit but it's still a couple of miles down the road. Way too far.
Flashing the right turn indicator, Sam rapidly slows down and stops the Impala on the side of the road, pulling over onto the grass to make sure they're out of harm's way. By the time he's done, Dean is shaking his head violently, growling and still stomping the floor as hard as he can.
"Dean, stop it."
Sam is already moving towards his brother. He takes him by the shoulders and keeps talking in a soothing voice. It's not the first time Dean has thrown a fit like this and Sam has learned how to deal with it.
The first time it had happened, back at the hospital, Sam hadn't been there. He'll always remember the rage he had felt when he found Dean's wrists and ankles tied to the bed in those big cotton restraints. Dean had cried so hard when he had seen Sam he'd hyperventilated.
"Come on, man. I know it's hard. I know," Sam consoles, trying to gather Dean's upper body into his arms. His brother is still fighting, though.
"H-huh-HATE this… I hate this, S'my!" He stutters, spiting saliva everywhere.
"Yeah, I know you do. Deep breaths, Dean."
Dean's wild green eyes find Sam's worried ones and he tries to stop moving his legs, gulping air convulsively. "M-m-my a-ha-arms…" He moans, silently pleading for help.
"Okay, I got you." Sam nods, releasing his grip to take hold of Dean's hands again. It takes longer this time before he can feel them relax. It has started to rain outside and the noise of the drops hitting the Impala's roof is deafening. Dean looks around nervously. He doesn't like the rain now, is almost scared of it. Sam wonders if this is because there was a rainstorm the night he hit his head against a tree's trunk. Their last hunt.
"Relax and we can go home, okay? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you Dean. It's been a long day. For both of us."
Dean nods and yawns, fighting the exhaustion. His harms finally starts to unwind. "Are you tired of taking c-c-care of m-m-muh… me?"
"No. That's bullshit. We've always taken care of each other, dude. That's what we do. You don't remember everything, but I've been a shitload of a mess lots of times and you were there for me every time."
"Yeah," Dean whispers, his voice shallow and hoarse. "I g-g-got your soul out of the cage."
"You remember that?" Sam asks, shivering.
"Don't wanna talk about it."
"Okay."
Sam lets go of his brother and starts the car. Yeah. It's been a long day. There's no way Dean is not gonna fall asleep now, and no way Sam's gonna stop him. The heavy rain forces him to drive slower. He cranks the heater before the windows start to steam up.
He takes a look at Dean who's eyes are already closing, his chin resting on his chest and his nose buried in the scarf. God, he looks younger than when he had came to Stanford to ask for Sam's help, almost ten years ago.
Am I treating you like a kid, Dean? Sam asks silently.
"Oh for fuck's sake, shut up, Sam." Dean answers in his head, annoyed and impatient. "You're doing what you can with the mess I've become."
Don't talk like that.
"Hey, I'm the older brother I can say whatever I want."
Sam smiles despite himself. Next to him, Dean sighs in his sleep as his face softens.
They're gonna be alright. For now.
Fin