Fic: Pleiades. SPN. Sam/Dean. PG-13. 2/3
Title: Pleiades 2/3
Author: felisblanco
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: ca. 14500 (all parts together)
Rating: PG-13, I guess
Summary: The boys perform a spell that has disastrous effects, throwing Sam into a world of darkness.
Warnings: None except the Wincest part. Mentions of Faith, Bloody Mary and Something Wicked.
A/N: Beta’d by the lovely hellziggy. Also see some explanation after the third and final part.
Previous chapter here
When he woke up it was to his stomach growling and his bladder threatening to disrupt. Again it took him a few moments to remember, one, why it was so dark when he could clearly hear birds singing and, two, why he was tangled up in his brother's limbs. The first realization filled him with the old fear that he quickly suppressed, the second with a sad sense of nostalgia. It had been years since they slept like this, curled up on a narrow bed, the sound of their father cleaning his guns lulling them to sleep. He turned his head, wishing he could see Dean's face but settling for the warm breath on his cheek instead.
The headache had been reduced to a dull pounding but his head still felt heavy and filled with cotton. Actually his whole body felt heavy, his limbs aching from the fever he could feel burning in his bones and flesh, and licking his skin. His mouth was dry, his breath gurgling through layers of phlegm. He smelled of rancid sweat and sickness. It was a wonder Dean had stood to sleep next to him. He must have been more exhausted than Sam thought.
Dean’s left arm lay heavily across Sam’s chest, one leg thrown in between Sam’s. When Sam moved slowly on his side to face him, Dean sighed and buried his nose into Sam’s neck as his arm slid down to Sam’s waist, tightening his hold. He mumbled something unintelligible and nudged his knee further in between Sam’s thighs before going slack again. Soon the room was filled with the sound of quiet snoring. Sam lay absolutely still, his palm sweating where he’d laid it on Dean’s hip, about to nudge him awake. This was more important than any bathroom break and for the longest time he stayed still, breathing in the close presence of Dean, the way he hadn’t done in years.
The smell of Colgate had faded from Dean’s breath, the soft soap fragrance already replaced by the distinct scent of Just Dean. A blend of leather and car seat and gun oil. Of cheap beer and fries and coffee. Together it spelled Family and Home. It held every memory Sam kept close to his heart, and quite a few he wished he didn’t. The first year he was at Stanford he used to wake up in the middle of the night, reaching out mentally for Dean’s presence and hating himself for the lump forming in his throat when he realized he wasn’t there, the ghost of Dean’s scent disintegrating as the dream that had brought it faded away.
Then, as time passed, other scents became home. Jess’ sun-scented hair tickling his nose, the musky scent of her body as they made love, her chocolate chip cookies burning as he fucked her up against the kitchen counter.
Home, but never family. Maybe with time it would have become but to tell the truth, he wasn’t so sure. Not anymore.
Not like this.
Sam couldn’t help thinking that being blind and feverish and weak as a kitten was almost worth it, for the chance of being this close to Dean again, if only for a short time. Even if they’d pretty much stopped sleeping in the same bed once Sam hit puberty and started to grow so fast he could almost hear his bones stretching, he’d often wished he could go back to the time where Dean’s arms were the safest place he knew. The change from childhood to adolescence was scary and confusing enough without the ghosts and monsters and he’d hated when Dean had judged him too big to be cuddled. Maybe he should have gotten sick more often.
After a while the need to pee became overwhelming and he slowly disengaged himself from Dean's embrace, rolling over on his other side and sitting up slowly. His legs shook as he stood and he took several deep breaths to try and stop swaying. He tried to remember the lay of the room but it was hard since they'd only had time to dump the rest of their gear there before heading into the woods. He knew which way the bathroom lay but he'd have to walk around the bed in order to get there. So simple, and yet...
Sam fumbled around for his clothes but gave up after a few moments when he couldn't find them anywhere within reach. Fuck it, he needed a shower anyway. Slowly, leaning over with one hand running along the edge of the bed, he made his way to the end of it. There he straightened up and turned left. One, two steps, and then his foot hit something lying on the floor. He flailed around in panic, trying to grab for the bed but ended up sprawled on the floor instead, something hard and sharp digging into his hip and his wrist buckling underneath him.
“Sammy? Shit! You ok?”
He wanted to push Dean away, his cheeks burning with humiliation as tears of pain and anger slipped out from under his eyelids. But Dean's warm and familiar hand on his thigh, his strong arm around his shoulders were such a comfort in the utter and terrifying darkness that he fumbled until he could grab a hold on Dean's shoulders, clinging to him like an infant.
“Dean.”
“It's ok. I got you.” Dean held him tight, stroking his back in soothing circles. “I got you.”
“I hate this! I just want to fucking pee!” He'd laugh if he weren’t so damn scared.
Dean didn't laugh either for which Sam was eternally grateful. “Come on, I'll help you.”
He held Sam's hand, his other arm slipping around his waist and then he hauled Sam to his feet. “This way. Easy.” They moved slowly across the floor and into the bathroom where Dean put Sam's hand on top of the toilet. “Here. It's better if you sit down. You want to take a shower after? You should. You really stink, bro.”
“Ye-eah.” Sam's voice shook along with his whole body. “But you don't have to...”
“Dude, I'm the one who has to live with you. I'm doing this for me.” Dean's hand rested on Sam's hip for a second before suddenly slapping his ass. “Or I could always give you a sponge bath?”
“Dean!” Sam swung around, which wasn’t too clever considering the questionable laws of gravity fighting in his head, but he managed to keep from falling over and instead glared at what he hoped was Dean's face. “Keep your dirty hands away from my... things.”
The only answer he got was Dean's laughter moving out the door.
“Dickhead.” He smiled and turned back, reaching out until he found the top of the toilet again and ran his hand down to the seat, flipping it open. It felt weird, sitting down to pee, and for a moment he contemplated just doing it standing up anyway, if only for the pleasure of having Dean mopping up the mess. Instead he pulled down his boxers and sat slowly down, feeling too tired to worry much about the fact that he was peeing like a girl. Except...
“If that's the camera you're holding I'm going to stand up right now and pee on your feet.”
Silence. Then he heard a click and the sound of something small landing softly on the bed. “I wouldn't do that to you, Sammy. What do you think I am?”
“My brother?”
“Well...” There was a pause. “You've got a point there.” The shower curtain rustled and then the water was turned on. “You getting done there or you need to take a crap as well?”
“Fuck you.” Sam reached down to shake the few drops lingering, and the fact that he didn't know if Dean was watching or not suddenly made him feel incredibly self-conscious. “If the water is your usual hot-as-hell I'm gonna kick your ass.”
He stood up, swayed, straightened up, flushed, toed his boxers in the general direction of the door and then took a few steps toward the sound of the running water. Dean grabbed his outstretched hand with a hoarse “Get your ass in here” and pulled him under the perfectly adjusted heat.
“This ok?” His voice was back to being gentle, if slightly rough, and Sam nodded gratefully. His head felt heavy, his limbs sluggish and limp with fever.
“Yeah. It's... good. Thanks.”
He closed his eyes and lifted his head to rest his chin on top of Dean's bowed head, one hand braced against the wall while the other clutched Dean's shoulder. It felt oddly comfortable, standing so close together in nothing but their skin, only separated by water and steam and the darkness. Maybe that was what made it not awkward, like the dark clothed them, making it ok for once to touch in other ways than shoving each other around or being all macho. Then he remembered that Dean could see just fine. Which was… a tiny bit awkward but Dean didn’t seem to mind so he guessed it was all right.
He hadn’t really noticed how distant they’d been with each other since Dean came to get him from Stanford; being too bundled up in his own grief and anger to care about much else. But the few moments of closeness his illness had brought on suddenly made it all the more obvious and he felt his chest tighten. God, how he’d missed this. The way they’d cuddle up together on the bed while watching TV. How they’d wrestle until they got tired and just lay on the grass, still tangled up in each other arms, Sam listening to Dean telling stories of monsters and his own bravery. The way Dean always seemed to know when Sam was feeling sad or scared, seeking out his hand to hold across the backseat of dad’s car. The way he’d crawl into Sam’s bed at night to hold him when the storms got too loud or the water dripping in the bathroom echoed in the darkness, bringing up visions of horrible water demons or dripping blood. And apparently, even if he couldn’t remember much of it, Dean had been the one to help him breathe through his panic as fear of the dark overwhelmed him. Not that it surprised him. For as long as Sam could remember Dean had always been there, ready to catch him or protect him, from whatever might happen. Shielding Sam from the truth as well as the lies, listening to his dreams and waking him up from his nightmares.
Things had changed, as they’d gotten older. Dean got more distant, more grown up, and Sam… Sam got angry. At everything. He realized now that he’d taken out his frustration with their whole life on his brother without meaning to. That by cursing his lot in life, he’d practically been cursing Dean. Dean never said anything but he didn’t really have to. It was obvious in the way he withdrew further and further away, keeping his distance as if that would make the words hurt less. Sam stopped telling Dean about his dreams and Dean stopped holding Sam when he woke him up from his nightmares. They grew up and for some reason that meant growing apart.
Dean would call it emo’ing but Sam couldn’t help thinking that, in that aspect, growing up really sucked.
The memories flashed by his worn out brain and he shivered slightly, tightening his hold on Dean’s shoulder. The warm water was softening whatever muscles he had left working and he could feel himself starting to sway again.
Dean shifted, laying a palm on Sam's chest to steady him. “You ok there, Sammy?”
“Ye-eah. Just... weak.”
He shuddered as he tried to draw a deep breath, hating the way his voice shook from weakness and the effort of keeping awake, not to mention upright. The steam should have helped clear his breathing but it only made the air heavier, thicker in his throat, and he gave up, settling for shallow breaths of damp air. His right knee gave way for a second and Dean pushed him up again, groaning softly under the weight.
“Christ, you're heavy. All those granola bars are catching up on you. Health food, my ass.” Dean sighed then chuckled as Sam's stomach growled loud and clear. “Dude, I think your gut is trying to tell you something.”
Sam frowned. “We haven't eaten since... when was it again?”
“Can't remember.” Dean shifted again, one hand leaving Sam's chest, and then the smell of soap filled Sam's nostrils as Dean lathered his burning skin with slow circle movements. “I'll go get us something from that diner we passed yesterday.”
Sam's hand clenched into a fist on Dean's shoulder and the slow stroking stopped instantly.
“Sam?”
“I'm-I'm ok. Just... Fuck, this is stupid.”
“What?”
“I don't... It's... I feel nervous about being left alone while you go out, ok?” He laughed shakily, gasping for air. “Haven't felt this helpless since... since the first time you and dad left me alone to go hunting. It's like I'm nine again and waiting in the dark for you to come home.”
“Sam...”
He shook his head. “I'm ok. I'm just being stupid. Not a kid anymore, right?”
Silence.
Dean's hand moved around to Sam's back, soaping the tense muscles in soothing circles, his voice quiet when he spoke. “We were gone for two days then. I'm just gonna be ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.”
“I know! Just... Forget I said anything.”
“Here.”
The soap was thrust into Sam's hand and he finished washing, feeling oddly at ease doing such an intimate thing with Dean bracing him against the cold tiles. Not like there was any part of him Dean hadn’t seen before and even if it wasn’t quite the same he didn’t feel embarrassed. To tell the truth he probably would only have felt gratitude if Dean had done it for him. He felt closer now to Dean than he had in years and even though this was what it had taken he couldn’t help thinking it was in some ways worth it. He’d swap a few days of sight for the opportunity to bond with his brother any day.
When he held the soap out again Dean took it from his hand, briefly releasing the pressure on Sam's chest. He tried to stand straight but before he knew it he was again leaning against Dean, his wet skin like silk against his own, the muscles moving strong and warm underneath. Sam suddenly childishly wished they could just stay like this, could forget curses and ghosts and people bursting into flames and just… be safe.
Maybe it was the fever, making him feel so weak, softening his heart along with his body. Whatever it was he suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotions, his throat tightening and his breath hitching. Closing his eyes, Sam put one arm across his brother’s shoulders and pulled him closer, his head dropping heavily until it rested in the crook of Dean’s neck. He wanted to mumble Dean’s name, over and over again, so Dean would understand how much this meant to him, how much Dean meant to him. Instead he settled for feeling Dean’s steady pulse pounding against his cheek. Dean seemed to freeze for a moment and then one arm slipped around Sam’s back, hugging him.
“Sammy, it’s gonna be alright.”
Sam swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, ok.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Things already have.”
He instantly regretted his words as Dean stiffened, knowing he’d taken them personally, as if he’d let things happen to Sam. As if he had killed their mother and Jess, and now had caused this. Sam tried to find something to say, to fix it, but his brain was so muddled and all he could come up with was:
“I’m just scared. I didn’t mean…”
“I know. It’s ok.”
But it wasn’t. He felt like a total asshole. And so very, very tired. He wanted to weep. “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you, Dean. I mean that. And if we can’t reverse this I want you to know-“
The gentle slap at the back of his head shut him up instantly. “Are you kidding me? Sam, seriously, shut up. I’m not gonna have a Hallmark moment standing naked in the shower with my brother, ok? Jeez!”
Dean shook his head in exasperation, muttering curses under his breath, and Sam couldn’t help laughing, even if it sounded half-hysterical. After some shifting Dean started rubbing Sam’s hair, this time filling the small space with the smell of his herbal shampoo.
“Anyway…” The emo moment had obviously been deemed over. “We could just order in.”
“Yeah, right.” Sam would have rolled his eyes but for one thing they felt pretty numb and besides bubbles of shampoo were starting to run down his face along with warm water so he just closed them instead. “Rule number five hundred and fifty six:” He spit out soapy water that slipped into his mouth. “'Never invite strangers to your home, boys. That includes pizza delivery, Sam, and I don't care how hungry you were.'” He sucked in breath, the effort of deepening his voice leaving his throat sore.
He could feel Dean smiling against his collarbone while his fingers rubbed the soap out of Sam's long hair. “You have them numbered? You’re such a geek, Sam.”
“I have everything numbered. You should see my 'Bullshit Dean Pulls' list. It's very long.”
Dean snorted. “Better not be longer than the 'Reasons Why I Love My Brother' list.”
Sam smiled but his hold on Dean's shoulder tightened slightly. “No. Not nearly as long as that one.”
Dean stilled, then his hands slid down Sam's shoulder and down to his chest. “Think that is as clean as you're gonna get.” His voice was slightly hoarse and he cleared his throat. “Can you lean against the wall while I get the towels?”
“Ye-eah, I think so.”
The water turned off and then cool air licked his wet skin when Dean brushed the curtain aside. Sam shivered and tried to concentrate on keeping his knees locked and not sliding down the cool tiles.
“Come on. Better get your pretty ass out of there before you fall over.”
The arm around Sam's waist held tight but Sam could still feel the slight tremble in Dean's hand, resting on his hip as he hung onto Dean's shoulders. He was sat down on the toilet again, his heavy head falling forward to rest on Dean's stomach. It gave a slight shake under his forehead, muscles rippling underneath the wet skin before turning hard and tense.
“Dean?”
The towel drying his back stilled. “Yeah?”
Dean's voice sounded cautious and Sam hesitated. “Nothing.”
The relieved breath was hardly audible. “Whatever, dude.”
Soon Sam was lying in bed again, wearing what he hoped were clean boxers, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead. He felt as limp as boiled spaghetti and just turning his head was a struggle. He could hear Dean moving around the room, the sound of cloth sliding over skin, a zipper running up, the soft creaking of leather. Metal against metal as a gun was cocked, and then fingers flipping paper. Money. The bed next to him squeaked and he envisioned Dean leaning over to tug on his boots. Then silence.
“I won't be long.” Dean’s voice was low, worried.
“I'm all right, Dean. Really.” He tried for a careless laugh. “I'll probably fall asleep before you close the door. Just wake me up when you get back, ok?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
The bed creaked again and heavy steps crossed the room to the door. Only to turn back and then soft lips were pressed against Sam's forehead. “I'll be right back.” And like that Dean was gone, leaving Sam with a lump in his throat and a nervous flutter in his stomach.
He strained his ears, listening until the rumble from the Impala died away in the distance. Everything went quiet. Then one by one the disturbed birds started chirping again and if he closed his eyes he could imagine that it was just another day, lazing in a motel room with nothing to do but watch TV (or not), read (damn), or jerk off (well...).
He began to reach down but his hand gave up halfway, falling limp and useless by his thigh. Not that there was anything happening down below anyway. He snorted at his own pathetic state. The sound echoed in the empty room and he could feel his heartbeat picking up. He felt unnervingly vulnerable. Not only couldn't he see a damn thing, but he was totally bereft of strength. The simple act of taking a shower, even aided, had been enough to drain him of all energy. If anyone, or anything, came through that door with malicious intent he wouldn't be able to do any more than curse at it.
What if Dean didn't find a cure? What if this blindness was permanent and he'd be like this, trapped in this utter darkness for the rest of his life? And how short would that life be, considering what was out there? And Dean... Dean wouldn't leave him. Dean would stay with him until either the curse killed him or being cooped up with nothing to do but take care of his invalid brother drove Dean insane.
Sam could feel tears stinging behind his eyelids and he angrily turned over on his other side, burying his face in the pillow. It smelled of Dean, his skin and hair and sweet breath. Sam inhaled the scent, hiccoughing as a sob tried to force its way out. The realization that he was crying into his brother's pillow only made him angrier and he growled in frustration. 'Get a hold of yourself. Stop this pathetic pity party you're throwing yourself, you goddamn pussy.' For some reason the voice in his head sounded a lot like Dean's and Sam bit down the hysteric laughter threatening to burst out. Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe that was another side effect Dean had failed to mention. Maybe...
The darkness suddenly felt threatening, charged with evil energy. He reached out, fumbling for the knife Dean always kept under his pillow. It wasn’t there. His heart jumped, then proceeded to speed on until he thought it would burst out of his chest. There was something in the room, breathing. He could feel it, hovering over him, and he was paralyzed with fear. His lungs seemed to be shrinking, until he was sucking in air in shallow painful gaps. How long had Dean been gone? Ten minutes? Five? He was all alone with whatever was just about to…
Something touched his shoulder and he struck out with all his strength. He hit something... someone… and there was a loud crash as whatever it was fell over.
“Goddammit!”
“Dean? Dean!” He sat up, gasping for air, his chest hurting from the pounding of his heart. There was a shuffle and a groan and something warm splattered on Sam's cheek. No! “Dean!”
“Yeah, yeah. Crap. I've got coffee all over my shirt! Shit.”
Coffee. Not blood, coffee. He wanted to cry in relief. “I didn't hear you. I thought you were...” His voice broke. “Sorry. Did I... Did it burn you?”
“Some. Fuck, Sam. I told you it was me.”
“I didn't hear you,” he repeated lamely. He must have fallen asleep. “I'm sorry. I... Dean, you ok?”
“We need to do laundry.” A wet palm came to rest on his forehead, the bed dipping under Dean's weight as he sat down. “Crap, your fever is spiking again.”
Dean's thumb rubbed at Sam's temple and he closed his eyes, leaning into the touch until he rested his head against his brother's shoulder. Dean had ditched the shirt, his skin damp with the smell of coffee.
“Sorry. About the coffee and...” Sam waved his hand weakly, “... you know.”
“Don't worry about it.”
An arm came around Sam's shoulders, hovering hesitantly before tightening into a hug, and again the rare show of affection shoved the lump back into his throat, bigger than before. He swallowed and put his arm around Dean’s waist, making a weak attempt at hugging Dean back.
Dean chuckled softly. “Dude, you’re weak as a kitten. Need to get some food into you.” He let go of Sam to lean over, picking something up from the floor. “I bought you a bran muffin to ease your conscience and some real food to give you your strength back.”
“Real food being...?” But he knew the answer already, the tantalizing smell making his mouth water.
“Burger and fries.”
Sam licked his lips. “You can keep the muffin. Want junk food.”
Dean gasped theatrically. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”
“Shut up. I'm sick. Gimme fries.”
Dean shuffled up until they were sitting side by side with their legs stretched out on the bed before handing Sam his burger, placing the bag of fries between his own knees. Despite his hunger Sam only managed a few bites before putting the burger aside on the bedside table. He reached over and picked a handful of fries out of the bag and started eating them one by one, so slowly that when he bit into the last one it was cold and tasteless. The blackness was once again playing with his head, making him feel like he was constantly falling forward and he leaned against Dean for support, head again falling on his shoulder.
“Thanks.”
“You should eat more.”
“Maybe later.”
He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Dean eating. A tiny click in his jaw, teeth grinding against teeth, tongue licking salt and ketchup off his lips. The rustling of the paper bag, Coke fizzing in his throat as he swallowed it down. He breathed in the smell of sunshine and diner grease underneath the bittersweet smell of coffee.
“I called dad.”
Sam lifted his head with an effort, staring at what he hoped was Dean's eyes. “What? You talked to him?”
“Voicemail.” Dean shrugged but Sam could hear the tension in his voice. “The usual. If he can he'll call back.”
“Like he did the other times?”
The tension rolled of Dean in waves, so strong Sam thought he could feel it vibrate the air around them. “Sam, don't.”
Anger gave him enough energy to sit up, clenching his hands into fists. “You know I called him that time you were... were fucking dying, Dean! He didn't... He never even called back!”
“This is different.”
“Why? Because it's me?” The silence was answer enough. “Dean, you or me... he doesn't care.”
“Don't say that.”
“Why not? It's true. You know it's true.” Sam gritted his teeth. “It’s all about the hunt with him, about that fucking demon.”
“Shut up, Sam. He cares, ok? He cares, Sammy. He...” Dean stopped, drawing in a shaky breath. “He's got to care.”
Sam wasn’t sure whether he wanted to punch Dean or hug him. “Why? ‘Cause he's our dad? ‘Cause-?”
“Because if he doesn't care and you don't get better I don't know what I'll do, ok? So he cares and you'll get better and that's the way it's gonna be.” Dean stood up abruptly, tossing the bag of fries in Sam's lap. “I need to make some more calls. Eat and then get some rest.”
“Dean...”
“Sam.” Dean sounded exhausted and Sam once again wished he could see him even if he knew Dean was probably running his hand over his face, eyes closed in exasperation. “Do as I say for once, alright?”
Sam put the bag of fries on the bed and swung his legs over the side. He stood up slowly, refusing to give into the exhaustion and weakness pulling him downwards as he steadied himself with a hand upon the bed and gazed in the direction of Dean's voice. “I'll get better. And it’s got nothing to do with dad or whether he cares or not.”
“Sammy...”
He took a step forward, letting go of the bed and stretching his arms to his sides to try and keep his balance. It was harder than it should be and he could feel the fear creeping up on him again.
“I've got you, right? You... you'll figure it out, I know you will.”
He took a few steps further. The bedspread brushed against his left knee, a few birds were still chirping outside the window to his right, the smell of fries and spilled coffee was right under his nose. He reached slowly out, his fingers bumping into smooth skin a few inches in front of him, and he flattened his palm, laying it on Dean's warm chest. He could feel Dean’s heart beating under his fingers, a bit faster than usual, and Sam wished he could take his words back. Why could he never keep his mouth shut?
“If dad doesn't... it's ok. I've got you, Dean. Right?”
He could feel the ribcage expanding and contracting under the soft skin and then a warm palm was splayed over Sam’s heart. “You've got me, Sammy.” Dean's voice was raw, the words half-choked. “No matter what.”
“I know.”
They stood still for a while just breathing and then Sam blinked. “Huh. This is either turning into a chick-flick moment, us gazing into each others eyes, or you’re just about to tell me to stop being such a girl and slap my head. Except...” He fumbled with his other hand until he found Dean's shoulder and grabbed it hard. “I'm not really gazing, am I? And if you slap me I think I’ll fall on my ass.”
“Not gonna slap you, Sammy.” Dean moved closer, the heat of his skin brushing against Sam’s and then his forehead came to rest on Sam’s shoulder. “And I think this warrants a chick-flick moment, just this once.” There was no smile in Dean’s voice, his breath shallow and warm against Sam’s collarbone.
Sam’s breath hitched. “Ok. Ok.” His hot skin felt raw and sensitive, picking up every molecule of Dean’s breath, the light sweeping of Dean’s eyelashes brushing it as he blinked, the slight shiver in Dean’s fingers were they rested over Sam’s heart. God, this was…
Everything began spinning. A throbbing suddenly started and quickly escalated between his eyes and he locked his fingers into Dean’s shoulders, holding on for dear life as the world crashed around him.
“Sammy? Sam!”
Strong arms came around his chest, catching him just as his knees buckled. With some effort they stumbled toward the bed and Sam half-fell, half-sat down, still clinging to his brother's tense shoulders. Something warm and squishy flattened under him and he too late remembered the bag of fries he'd left there.
“Fuck, Dean. The-the frie-.”
That was all he managed before everything disappeared.
Concluded in part 3
Author: felisblanco
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word count: ca. 14500 (all parts together)
Rating: PG-13, I guess
Summary: The boys perform a spell that has disastrous effects, throwing Sam into a world of darkness.
Warnings: None except the Wincest part. Mentions of Faith, Bloody Mary and Something Wicked.
A/N: Beta’d by the lovely hellziggy. Also see some explanation after the third and final part.
Previous chapter here
When he woke up it was to his stomach growling and his bladder threatening to disrupt. Again it took him a few moments to remember, one, why it was so dark when he could clearly hear birds singing and, two, why he was tangled up in his brother's limbs. The first realization filled him with the old fear that he quickly suppressed, the second with a sad sense of nostalgia. It had been years since they slept like this, curled up on a narrow bed, the sound of their father cleaning his guns lulling them to sleep. He turned his head, wishing he could see Dean's face but settling for the warm breath on his cheek instead.
The headache had been reduced to a dull pounding but his head still felt heavy and filled with cotton. Actually his whole body felt heavy, his limbs aching from the fever he could feel burning in his bones and flesh, and licking his skin. His mouth was dry, his breath gurgling through layers of phlegm. He smelled of rancid sweat and sickness. It was a wonder Dean had stood to sleep next to him. He must have been more exhausted than Sam thought.
Dean’s left arm lay heavily across Sam’s chest, one leg thrown in between Sam’s. When Sam moved slowly on his side to face him, Dean sighed and buried his nose into Sam’s neck as his arm slid down to Sam’s waist, tightening his hold. He mumbled something unintelligible and nudged his knee further in between Sam’s thighs before going slack again. Soon the room was filled with the sound of quiet snoring. Sam lay absolutely still, his palm sweating where he’d laid it on Dean’s hip, about to nudge him awake. This was more important than any bathroom break and for the longest time he stayed still, breathing in the close presence of Dean, the way he hadn’t done in years.
The smell of Colgate had faded from Dean’s breath, the soft soap fragrance already replaced by the distinct scent of Just Dean. A blend of leather and car seat and gun oil. Of cheap beer and fries and coffee. Together it spelled Family and Home. It held every memory Sam kept close to his heart, and quite a few he wished he didn’t. The first year he was at Stanford he used to wake up in the middle of the night, reaching out mentally for Dean’s presence and hating himself for the lump forming in his throat when he realized he wasn’t there, the ghost of Dean’s scent disintegrating as the dream that had brought it faded away.
Then, as time passed, other scents became home. Jess’ sun-scented hair tickling his nose, the musky scent of her body as they made love, her chocolate chip cookies burning as he fucked her up against the kitchen counter.
Home, but never family. Maybe with time it would have become but to tell the truth, he wasn’t so sure. Not anymore.
Not like this.
Sam couldn’t help thinking that being blind and feverish and weak as a kitten was almost worth it, for the chance of being this close to Dean again, if only for a short time. Even if they’d pretty much stopped sleeping in the same bed once Sam hit puberty and started to grow so fast he could almost hear his bones stretching, he’d often wished he could go back to the time where Dean’s arms were the safest place he knew. The change from childhood to adolescence was scary and confusing enough without the ghosts and monsters and he’d hated when Dean had judged him too big to be cuddled. Maybe he should have gotten sick more often.
After a while the need to pee became overwhelming and he slowly disengaged himself from Dean's embrace, rolling over on his other side and sitting up slowly. His legs shook as he stood and he took several deep breaths to try and stop swaying. He tried to remember the lay of the room but it was hard since they'd only had time to dump the rest of their gear there before heading into the woods. He knew which way the bathroom lay but he'd have to walk around the bed in order to get there. So simple, and yet...
Sam fumbled around for his clothes but gave up after a few moments when he couldn't find them anywhere within reach. Fuck it, he needed a shower anyway. Slowly, leaning over with one hand running along the edge of the bed, he made his way to the end of it. There he straightened up and turned left. One, two steps, and then his foot hit something lying on the floor. He flailed around in panic, trying to grab for the bed but ended up sprawled on the floor instead, something hard and sharp digging into his hip and his wrist buckling underneath him.
“Sammy? Shit! You ok?”
He wanted to push Dean away, his cheeks burning with humiliation as tears of pain and anger slipped out from under his eyelids. But Dean's warm and familiar hand on his thigh, his strong arm around his shoulders were such a comfort in the utter and terrifying darkness that he fumbled until he could grab a hold on Dean's shoulders, clinging to him like an infant.
“Dean.”
“It's ok. I got you.” Dean held him tight, stroking his back in soothing circles. “I got you.”
“I hate this! I just want to fucking pee!” He'd laugh if he weren’t so damn scared.
Dean didn't laugh either for which Sam was eternally grateful. “Come on, I'll help you.”
He held Sam's hand, his other arm slipping around his waist and then he hauled Sam to his feet. “This way. Easy.” They moved slowly across the floor and into the bathroom where Dean put Sam's hand on top of the toilet. “Here. It's better if you sit down. You want to take a shower after? You should. You really stink, bro.”
“Ye-eah.” Sam's voice shook along with his whole body. “But you don't have to...”
“Dude, I'm the one who has to live with you. I'm doing this for me.” Dean's hand rested on Sam's hip for a second before suddenly slapping his ass. “Or I could always give you a sponge bath?”
“Dean!” Sam swung around, which wasn’t too clever considering the questionable laws of gravity fighting in his head, but he managed to keep from falling over and instead glared at what he hoped was Dean's face. “Keep your dirty hands away from my... things.”
The only answer he got was Dean's laughter moving out the door.
“Dickhead.” He smiled and turned back, reaching out until he found the top of the toilet again and ran his hand down to the seat, flipping it open. It felt weird, sitting down to pee, and for a moment he contemplated just doing it standing up anyway, if only for the pleasure of having Dean mopping up the mess. Instead he pulled down his boxers and sat slowly down, feeling too tired to worry much about the fact that he was peeing like a girl. Except...
“If that's the camera you're holding I'm going to stand up right now and pee on your feet.”
Silence. Then he heard a click and the sound of something small landing softly on the bed. “I wouldn't do that to you, Sammy. What do you think I am?”
“My brother?”
“Well...” There was a pause. “You've got a point there.” The shower curtain rustled and then the water was turned on. “You getting done there or you need to take a crap as well?”
“Fuck you.” Sam reached down to shake the few drops lingering, and the fact that he didn't know if Dean was watching or not suddenly made him feel incredibly self-conscious. “If the water is your usual hot-as-hell I'm gonna kick your ass.”
He stood up, swayed, straightened up, flushed, toed his boxers in the general direction of the door and then took a few steps toward the sound of the running water. Dean grabbed his outstretched hand with a hoarse “Get your ass in here” and pulled him under the perfectly adjusted heat.
“This ok?” His voice was back to being gentle, if slightly rough, and Sam nodded gratefully. His head felt heavy, his limbs sluggish and limp with fever.
“Yeah. It's... good. Thanks.”
He closed his eyes and lifted his head to rest his chin on top of Dean's bowed head, one hand braced against the wall while the other clutched Dean's shoulder. It felt oddly comfortable, standing so close together in nothing but their skin, only separated by water and steam and the darkness. Maybe that was what made it not awkward, like the dark clothed them, making it ok for once to touch in other ways than shoving each other around or being all macho. Then he remembered that Dean could see just fine. Which was… a tiny bit awkward but Dean didn’t seem to mind so he guessed it was all right.
He hadn’t really noticed how distant they’d been with each other since Dean came to get him from Stanford; being too bundled up in his own grief and anger to care about much else. But the few moments of closeness his illness had brought on suddenly made it all the more obvious and he felt his chest tighten. God, how he’d missed this. The way they’d cuddle up together on the bed while watching TV. How they’d wrestle until they got tired and just lay on the grass, still tangled up in each other arms, Sam listening to Dean telling stories of monsters and his own bravery. The way Dean always seemed to know when Sam was feeling sad or scared, seeking out his hand to hold across the backseat of dad’s car. The way he’d crawl into Sam’s bed at night to hold him when the storms got too loud or the water dripping in the bathroom echoed in the darkness, bringing up visions of horrible water demons or dripping blood. And apparently, even if he couldn’t remember much of it, Dean had been the one to help him breathe through his panic as fear of the dark overwhelmed him. Not that it surprised him. For as long as Sam could remember Dean had always been there, ready to catch him or protect him, from whatever might happen. Shielding Sam from the truth as well as the lies, listening to his dreams and waking him up from his nightmares.
Things had changed, as they’d gotten older. Dean got more distant, more grown up, and Sam… Sam got angry. At everything. He realized now that he’d taken out his frustration with their whole life on his brother without meaning to. That by cursing his lot in life, he’d practically been cursing Dean. Dean never said anything but he didn’t really have to. It was obvious in the way he withdrew further and further away, keeping his distance as if that would make the words hurt less. Sam stopped telling Dean about his dreams and Dean stopped holding Sam when he woke him up from his nightmares. They grew up and for some reason that meant growing apart.
Dean would call it emo’ing but Sam couldn’t help thinking that, in that aspect, growing up really sucked.
The memories flashed by his worn out brain and he shivered slightly, tightening his hold on Dean’s shoulder. The warm water was softening whatever muscles he had left working and he could feel himself starting to sway again.
Dean shifted, laying a palm on Sam's chest to steady him. “You ok there, Sammy?”
“Ye-eah. Just... weak.”
He shuddered as he tried to draw a deep breath, hating the way his voice shook from weakness and the effort of keeping awake, not to mention upright. The steam should have helped clear his breathing but it only made the air heavier, thicker in his throat, and he gave up, settling for shallow breaths of damp air. His right knee gave way for a second and Dean pushed him up again, groaning softly under the weight.
“Christ, you're heavy. All those granola bars are catching up on you. Health food, my ass.” Dean sighed then chuckled as Sam's stomach growled loud and clear. “Dude, I think your gut is trying to tell you something.”
Sam frowned. “We haven't eaten since... when was it again?”
“Can't remember.” Dean shifted again, one hand leaving Sam's chest, and then the smell of soap filled Sam's nostrils as Dean lathered his burning skin with slow circle movements. “I'll go get us something from that diner we passed yesterday.”
Sam's hand clenched into a fist on Dean's shoulder and the slow stroking stopped instantly.
“Sam?”
“I'm-I'm ok. Just... Fuck, this is stupid.”
“What?”
“I don't... It's... I feel nervous about being left alone while you go out, ok?” He laughed shakily, gasping for air. “Haven't felt this helpless since... since the first time you and dad left me alone to go hunting. It's like I'm nine again and waiting in the dark for you to come home.”
“Sam...”
He shook his head. “I'm ok. I'm just being stupid. Not a kid anymore, right?”
Silence.
Dean's hand moved around to Sam's back, soaping the tense muscles in soothing circles, his voice quiet when he spoke. “We were gone for two days then. I'm just gonna be ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.”
“I know! Just... Forget I said anything.”
“Here.”
The soap was thrust into Sam's hand and he finished washing, feeling oddly at ease doing such an intimate thing with Dean bracing him against the cold tiles. Not like there was any part of him Dean hadn’t seen before and even if it wasn’t quite the same he didn’t feel embarrassed. To tell the truth he probably would only have felt gratitude if Dean had done it for him. He felt closer now to Dean than he had in years and even though this was what it had taken he couldn’t help thinking it was in some ways worth it. He’d swap a few days of sight for the opportunity to bond with his brother any day.
When he held the soap out again Dean took it from his hand, briefly releasing the pressure on Sam's chest. He tried to stand straight but before he knew it he was again leaning against Dean, his wet skin like silk against his own, the muscles moving strong and warm underneath. Sam suddenly childishly wished they could just stay like this, could forget curses and ghosts and people bursting into flames and just… be safe.
Maybe it was the fever, making him feel so weak, softening his heart along with his body. Whatever it was he suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotions, his throat tightening and his breath hitching. Closing his eyes, Sam put one arm across his brother’s shoulders and pulled him closer, his head dropping heavily until it rested in the crook of Dean’s neck. He wanted to mumble Dean’s name, over and over again, so Dean would understand how much this meant to him, how much Dean meant to him. Instead he settled for feeling Dean’s steady pulse pounding against his cheek. Dean seemed to freeze for a moment and then one arm slipped around Sam’s back, hugging him.
“Sammy, it’s gonna be alright.”
Sam swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, ok.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Things already have.”
He instantly regretted his words as Dean stiffened, knowing he’d taken them personally, as if he’d let things happen to Sam. As if he had killed their mother and Jess, and now had caused this. Sam tried to find something to say, to fix it, but his brain was so muddled and all he could come up with was:
“I’m just scared. I didn’t mean…”
“I know. It’s ok.”
But it wasn’t. He felt like a total asshole. And so very, very tired. He wanted to weep. “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you, Dean. I mean that. And if we can’t reverse this I want you to know-“
The gentle slap at the back of his head shut him up instantly. “Are you kidding me? Sam, seriously, shut up. I’m not gonna have a Hallmark moment standing naked in the shower with my brother, ok? Jeez!”
Dean shook his head in exasperation, muttering curses under his breath, and Sam couldn’t help laughing, even if it sounded half-hysterical. After some shifting Dean started rubbing Sam’s hair, this time filling the small space with the smell of his herbal shampoo.
“Anyway…” The emo moment had obviously been deemed over. “We could just order in.”
“Yeah, right.” Sam would have rolled his eyes but for one thing they felt pretty numb and besides bubbles of shampoo were starting to run down his face along with warm water so he just closed them instead. “Rule number five hundred and fifty six:” He spit out soapy water that slipped into his mouth. “'Never invite strangers to your home, boys. That includes pizza delivery, Sam, and I don't care how hungry you were.'” He sucked in breath, the effort of deepening his voice leaving his throat sore.
He could feel Dean smiling against his collarbone while his fingers rubbed the soap out of Sam's long hair. “You have them numbered? You’re such a geek, Sam.”
“I have everything numbered. You should see my 'Bullshit Dean Pulls' list. It's very long.”
Dean snorted. “Better not be longer than the 'Reasons Why I Love My Brother' list.”
Sam smiled but his hold on Dean's shoulder tightened slightly. “No. Not nearly as long as that one.”
Dean stilled, then his hands slid down Sam's shoulder and down to his chest. “Think that is as clean as you're gonna get.” His voice was slightly hoarse and he cleared his throat. “Can you lean against the wall while I get the towels?”
“Ye-eah, I think so.”
The water turned off and then cool air licked his wet skin when Dean brushed the curtain aside. Sam shivered and tried to concentrate on keeping his knees locked and not sliding down the cool tiles.
“Come on. Better get your pretty ass out of there before you fall over.”
The arm around Sam's waist held tight but Sam could still feel the slight tremble in Dean's hand, resting on his hip as he hung onto Dean's shoulders. He was sat down on the toilet again, his heavy head falling forward to rest on Dean's stomach. It gave a slight shake under his forehead, muscles rippling underneath the wet skin before turning hard and tense.
“Dean?”
The towel drying his back stilled. “Yeah?”
Dean's voice sounded cautious and Sam hesitated. “Nothing.”
The relieved breath was hardly audible. “Whatever, dude.”
Soon Sam was lying in bed again, wearing what he hoped were clean boxers, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead. He felt as limp as boiled spaghetti and just turning his head was a struggle. He could hear Dean moving around the room, the sound of cloth sliding over skin, a zipper running up, the soft creaking of leather. Metal against metal as a gun was cocked, and then fingers flipping paper. Money. The bed next to him squeaked and he envisioned Dean leaning over to tug on his boots. Then silence.
“I won't be long.” Dean’s voice was low, worried.
“I'm all right, Dean. Really.” He tried for a careless laugh. “I'll probably fall asleep before you close the door. Just wake me up when you get back, ok?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
The bed creaked again and heavy steps crossed the room to the door. Only to turn back and then soft lips were pressed against Sam's forehead. “I'll be right back.” And like that Dean was gone, leaving Sam with a lump in his throat and a nervous flutter in his stomach.
He strained his ears, listening until the rumble from the Impala died away in the distance. Everything went quiet. Then one by one the disturbed birds started chirping again and if he closed his eyes he could imagine that it was just another day, lazing in a motel room with nothing to do but watch TV (or not), read (damn), or jerk off (well...).
He began to reach down but his hand gave up halfway, falling limp and useless by his thigh. Not that there was anything happening down below anyway. He snorted at his own pathetic state. The sound echoed in the empty room and he could feel his heartbeat picking up. He felt unnervingly vulnerable. Not only couldn't he see a damn thing, but he was totally bereft of strength. The simple act of taking a shower, even aided, had been enough to drain him of all energy. If anyone, or anything, came through that door with malicious intent he wouldn't be able to do any more than curse at it.
What if Dean didn't find a cure? What if this blindness was permanent and he'd be like this, trapped in this utter darkness for the rest of his life? And how short would that life be, considering what was out there? And Dean... Dean wouldn't leave him. Dean would stay with him until either the curse killed him or being cooped up with nothing to do but take care of his invalid brother drove Dean insane.
Sam could feel tears stinging behind his eyelids and he angrily turned over on his other side, burying his face in the pillow. It smelled of Dean, his skin and hair and sweet breath. Sam inhaled the scent, hiccoughing as a sob tried to force its way out. The realization that he was crying into his brother's pillow only made him angrier and he growled in frustration. 'Get a hold of yourself. Stop this pathetic pity party you're throwing yourself, you goddamn pussy.' For some reason the voice in his head sounded a lot like Dean's and Sam bit down the hysteric laughter threatening to burst out. Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe that was another side effect Dean had failed to mention. Maybe...
The darkness suddenly felt threatening, charged with evil energy. He reached out, fumbling for the knife Dean always kept under his pillow. It wasn’t there. His heart jumped, then proceeded to speed on until he thought it would burst out of his chest. There was something in the room, breathing. He could feel it, hovering over him, and he was paralyzed with fear. His lungs seemed to be shrinking, until he was sucking in air in shallow painful gaps. How long had Dean been gone? Ten minutes? Five? He was all alone with whatever was just about to…
Something touched his shoulder and he struck out with all his strength. He hit something... someone… and there was a loud crash as whatever it was fell over.
“Goddammit!”
“Dean? Dean!” He sat up, gasping for air, his chest hurting from the pounding of his heart. There was a shuffle and a groan and something warm splattered on Sam's cheek. No! “Dean!”
“Yeah, yeah. Crap. I've got coffee all over my shirt! Shit.”
Coffee. Not blood, coffee. He wanted to cry in relief. “I didn't hear you. I thought you were...” His voice broke. “Sorry. Did I... Did it burn you?”
“Some. Fuck, Sam. I told you it was me.”
“I didn't hear you,” he repeated lamely. He must have fallen asleep. “I'm sorry. I... Dean, you ok?”
“We need to do laundry.” A wet palm came to rest on his forehead, the bed dipping under Dean's weight as he sat down. “Crap, your fever is spiking again.”
Dean's thumb rubbed at Sam's temple and he closed his eyes, leaning into the touch until he rested his head against his brother's shoulder. Dean had ditched the shirt, his skin damp with the smell of coffee.
“Sorry. About the coffee and...” Sam waved his hand weakly, “... you know.”
“Don't worry about it.”
An arm came around Sam's shoulders, hovering hesitantly before tightening into a hug, and again the rare show of affection shoved the lump back into his throat, bigger than before. He swallowed and put his arm around Dean’s waist, making a weak attempt at hugging Dean back.
Dean chuckled softly. “Dude, you’re weak as a kitten. Need to get some food into you.” He let go of Sam to lean over, picking something up from the floor. “I bought you a bran muffin to ease your conscience and some real food to give you your strength back.”
“Real food being...?” But he knew the answer already, the tantalizing smell making his mouth water.
“Burger and fries.”
Sam licked his lips. “You can keep the muffin. Want junk food.”
Dean gasped theatrically. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”
“Shut up. I'm sick. Gimme fries.”
Dean shuffled up until they were sitting side by side with their legs stretched out on the bed before handing Sam his burger, placing the bag of fries between his own knees. Despite his hunger Sam only managed a few bites before putting the burger aside on the bedside table. He reached over and picked a handful of fries out of the bag and started eating them one by one, so slowly that when he bit into the last one it was cold and tasteless. The blackness was once again playing with his head, making him feel like he was constantly falling forward and he leaned against Dean for support, head again falling on his shoulder.
“Thanks.”
“You should eat more.”
“Maybe later.”
He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Dean eating. A tiny click in his jaw, teeth grinding against teeth, tongue licking salt and ketchup off his lips. The rustling of the paper bag, Coke fizzing in his throat as he swallowed it down. He breathed in the smell of sunshine and diner grease underneath the bittersweet smell of coffee.
“I called dad.”
Sam lifted his head with an effort, staring at what he hoped was Dean's eyes. “What? You talked to him?”
“Voicemail.” Dean shrugged but Sam could hear the tension in his voice. “The usual. If he can he'll call back.”
“Like he did the other times?”
The tension rolled of Dean in waves, so strong Sam thought he could feel it vibrate the air around them. “Sam, don't.”
Anger gave him enough energy to sit up, clenching his hands into fists. “You know I called him that time you were... were fucking dying, Dean! He didn't... He never even called back!”
“This is different.”
“Why? Because it's me?” The silence was answer enough. “Dean, you or me... he doesn't care.”
“Don't say that.”
“Why not? It's true. You know it's true.” Sam gritted his teeth. “It’s all about the hunt with him, about that fucking demon.”
“Shut up, Sam. He cares, ok? He cares, Sammy. He...” Dean stopped, drawing in a shaky breath. “He's got to care.”
Sam wasn’t sure whether he wanted to punch Dean or hug him. “Why? ‘Cause he's our dad? ‘Cause-?”
“Because if he doesn't care and you don't get better I don't know what I'll do, ok? So he cares and you'll get better and that's the way it's gonna be.” Dean stood up abruptly, tossing the bag of fries in Sam's lap. “I need to make some more calls. Eat and then get some rest.”
“Dean...”
“Sam.” Dean sounded exhausted and Sam once again wished he could see him even if he knew Dean was probably running his hand over his face, eyes closed in exasperation. “Do as I say for once, alright?”
Sam put the bag of fries on the bed and swung his legs over the side. He stood up slowly, refusing to give into the exhaustion and weakness pulling him downwards as he steadied himself with a hand upon the bed and gazed in the direction of Dean's voice. “I'll get better. And it’s got nothing to do with dad or whether he cares or not.”
“Sammy...”
He took a step forward, letting go of the bed and stretching his arms to his sides to try and keep his balance. It was harder than it should be and he could feel the fear creeping up on him again.
“I've got you, right? You... you'll figure it out, I know you will.”
He took a few steps further. The bedspread brushed against his left knee, a few birds were still chirping outside the window to his right, the smell of fries and spilled coffee was right under his nose. He reached slowly out, his fingers bumping into smooth skin a few inches in front of him, and he flattened his palm, laying it on Dean's warm chest. He could feel Dean’s heart beating under his fingers, a bit faster than usual, and Sam wished he could take his words back. Why could he never keep his mouth shut?
“If dad doesn't... it's ok. I've got you, Dean. Right?”
He could feel the ribcage expanding and contracting under the soft skin and then a warm palm was splayed over Sam’s heart. “You've got me, Sammy.” Dean's voice was raw, the words half-choked. “No matter what.”
“I know.”
They stood still for a while just breathing and then Sam blinked. “Huh. This is either turning into a chick-flick moment, us gazing into each others eyes, or you’re just about to tell me to stop being such a girl and slap my head. Except...” He fumbled with his other hand until he found Dean's shoulder and grabbed it hard. “I'm not really gazing, am I? And if you slap me I think I’ll fall on my ass.”
“Not gonna slap you, Sammy.” Dean moved closer, the heat of his skin brushing against Sam’s and then his forehead came to rest on Sam’s shoulder. “And I think this warrants a chick-flick moment, just this once.” There was no smile in Dean’s voice, his breath shallow and warm against Sam’s collarbone.
Sam’s breath hitched. “Ok. Ok.” His hot skin felt raw and sensitive, picking up every molecule of Dean’s breath, the light sweeping of Dean’s eyelashes brushing it as he blinked, the slight shiver in Dean’s fingers were they rested over Sam’s heart. God, this was…
Everything began spinning. A throbbing suddenly started and quickly escalated between his eyes and he locked his fingers into Dean’s shoulders, holding on for dear life as the world crashed around him.
“Sammy? Sam!”
Strong arms came around his chest, catching him just as his knees buckled. With some effort they stumbled toward the bed and Sam half-fell, half-sat down, still clinging to his brother's tense shoulders. Something warm and squishy flattened under him and he too late remembered the bag of fries he'd left there.
“Fuck, Dean. The-the frie-.”
That was all he managed before everything disappeared.
Concluded in part 3