Underneath a Stretching Skyline verse #01 : Over the Edge of Another Night
Title: Over the Edge of Another Night ; verse #01
Author: LaueHime
Rating: Mature (Be your own judge, really)
Genre/pairing: Angst, H/C, Gen
Characters: Sam, Dean, Lucifer
Word count: +/- 2,600
Warnings: Slightly graphic mentions of torture, gore, minor cussing, spoilers for s7
Summary: Written for spnshannanigans’s prompt on ohsam which is “Sam's memories from hell threaten to overwhelm him every moment of every day. To calm the storm in his head, he comes to rely on either drugs or alcohol (or both). Dean allows this to continue (for now anyway) because he doesn't know how to help Sam and he can't stand the screaming”
Disclaimer: The show belongs to Kripke.
A/N: This will actually be a series of verses instead of a multi-chapter story. This way, every chapter can be read as a standalone story. But of course, eventually it’ll make more sense if you’ve read them all (or at least most of them). They will all be under the big title: Underneath a Stretching Skyline, but have their own titles that are actually taken from the lyrics of the song the fic is named after.
I made a video for these sammyverses too (with aforementioned song). You can watch it HERE.
Feedback is love. Enjoy!
SNSNSNSNSN
The first thing that registered from his senses was the burning heat on his skin. His flesh felt like it was simmering and with it came the smell. His nose scrunched up when the acrid stench of burning meat filled his throat and his lungs until he couldn’t breathe anything but fire. Everything around him was dark but he could hear. The screams, the laughter… until white hot pain tore at his flesh like he’d been assaulted by a red burning ember.
He screamed until no wind could come out of his windpipe. He panted for a few seconds that felt like forever before yelping out again. When there was no air left for him to breathe, he started coughing and choking. His fingers reached his lips before they came away covered in blood. His own.
The laughter echoed louder and beat inside his skull like a jackhammer. It reverberated against every wall of his sanity. It rang him like a bell until he felt too dizzy to stand. That’s when he fell to his knees, powerless. Vulnerable as he was, the heat engulfed him and he felt the blazing pain of the flames licking at him like he was meat on bones.
“Ahhhhhhhh…” coughing and choking and gasping for breath and the heat, God if he could just die already… and then he felt something soft. Cool flesh on his skin. Gentle. But firm. Holding his head up and rubbing his back. Sweat rolled down his forehead like a cascade. And that voice. Whose was it? Right.
“SAM! Sammy! Snap out of it, damn it!”
He opened his eyes and blinked slowly. There were those green eyes staring back at him and which held so much peace. Those concerned eyes; he knew them oh so well. The fire was gone. The burning heat was too but he was still sweating profusely as if he still had an inferno burning on the inside.
“Hey! Sam? You with me?” the voice pressed on.
His brain finally clicked back into place. Those calloused hands were Dean’s. Those piercing greens were no one other than his big brother’s. And that deep melodious voice, not scratchy like nails on a blackboard; the melody that dragged him back into his body, was Dean’s.
“Dean” he breathed out suddenly, as if his airway had just decided to start functioning again after almost drowning.
“Yeah. I’m right here, bud. You back with me now?”
Sam blinked away the fog that slowly dissipated from his consciousness. He could finally get his bearings. The stains on the carpet, the greenish and peeling-off paint on the walls, the scratchy comforter… motel, right. The one where he had fallen asleep on the previous night. He remembered. The rest was a blur that strangely smelled like smoke and burned meat.
“Think so…” he replied breathily. “Wha’ happen’d?”
He heard his brother’s sighs. He saw the dark rings under his brother’s eyes and the way his shoulders hung in defeat. He noticed the tension in his brother’s muscles and how stiff his movements were. He couldn’t help but stare when his older brother rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Dean hadn’t slept. And Sam had a vague idea of what might have kept his brother up.
“Dude, you were like trashing on your bed, screaming your guts out… I thought the neighbors were going to call the cops for suspected cattle mutilation or something”
Dean was trying to be funny to lighten the mood but his heart wasn’t into it. Sam could almost hear it beat from where he sat. His big brother looked beat himself.
“You didn’t sleep, did you?” It wasn’t really a question. It was more like a factual statement.
Dean didn’t want to have to admit it to his hurting brother. Sam could see the eldest trying his best to find the right words. He didn’t think he was worth the trouble.
“Tell me, Dean. I’m not stupid, you know”
“Yeah that’s the thing, Sammy. You’re too good for this” Dean replied sadly.
Sam looked down to the carpet when he found nothing to reply. Dean didn’t even have to confirm anything. It was just written all over his face.
“I’m sorry” the youngest finally said.
“What for? It’s not like you have those nightmares to get back at me. Not your fault, Sam”
The youngest looked up from the floor with his signature dewy puppy dog eyes.
“It’s not just the nightmares, Dean. Ever since the wall went down… it’s just… I feel like I’m holding you back. I should be able to pull my shit together. I hate the fact that I’m putting you through this” he said guiltily. Dean had crossed his arms while he had listened to his brother.
As soon as the statement was out, his arms flung to both sides frustratingly. He wasn’t mad at his brother but he hated this situation. Why couldn’t they ever seem to catch a break? Why did the shit always hit the fan when anything revolved around them?
“Stop that right now, okay! Let’s set things straight once and for all. You’re not putting me through anything. You’re not a burden or whatever the hell you think you are. You’ve been through Hell, Sam! Literally! That kind of crap doesn’t just vanish as soon as you walk out of it!” Dean stated sternly.
Sam looked at him with wary eyes, unsure of what to think. He tried to imagine how he’d feel if he were in Dean’s shoes, as though wondering if he was worthy of his brother’s pledge.
“Now. You know how I feel about the whole touchy-feely thing… but if ever… you know… if you need… I mean…” the eldest was trying to find the words to say without sounding like a total sap or like he was trying to initiate a chick flick, but he could just hear how clumsy he sounded.
“I get it, Dean” Sam interjected before Dean started to stutter and blush at the uncomfortable act of empathy he had tried to pull. The eldest sighed with relief when he realized he didn’t have to search for his words anymore because his message had made it to the one concerned.
“But honestly…” Sam started, his face turning bleak, “…I don’t think you can pull me out of this one” he concluded truthfully. Dean’s face slackened as if he had been slapped. Sam was feeling guilty for being honest but, in the mean time, he hadn’t wanted Dean to get his hopes up because his brother would be disappointed. He didn’t want him to blame himself for that.
“Come on, Sam. Who could understand you better than me? I’ve been to Hell too, remember! Maybe you could relate…” Dean replied tentatively.
Sam remained serious although Dean tried to smile nervously to enlighten the mood. The youngest ultimately shook his head, taking his eyes away from his brother for what he was going to say next.
“So what, we’re supposed to share our experiences and our how-do-you-feel-about-it-s? I’m sorry, Dean. I won’t deny that you’ve seen some crap down there because I know you did. But you and me… it’s different, okay?”
Dean frowned deeply and his arms instinctively wrapped around himself in an attempt at shielding.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he accused, his voice reaching new levels of loud.
Sam still wouldn’t look up. He shook his head and shrugged nervously, instantly tensing at the sound of potential anger in his brother’s voice. Sam finally looked up with wistful eyes.
“You’ve been down there for forty years, man. With Alastair. I’m not belittling what you’ve been through, okay… but take a look at it my way. I was down there for over a century… with Lucifer… you have no idea what I’ve seen, man. And trust me when I say that you don’t wanna know”
Dean softened instantly when he heard his brother’s voice crack at the end of his statement. He shivered as if the room temperature had suddenly taken a proverbial drop. For a few seconds that felt eternal to him, he could hear his brother’s screams of pain. He knew nightmares were assaulting Sam but there was nothing that could be done from him. Nothing he could do to make his brother better or to make the pain go away.
“Try me” he finally pleaded with hopeful good-intentioned eyes. Sam knew that his big brother really only wanted to help and he would’ve accepted it openly if he thought that it could benefit the both of them. But he knew better. He clenched his jaw and pursed his lips.
“But maybe I don’t want you to know either. I don’t… I… I’m sorry, Dean. This one is on me. I gotta deal with this alone” he sighed deeply. His expression was grim.
Dean held his breath until he realized he couldn’t argue with this. That was his brother’s final answer and that was all he was going to get. As he had put it before, Sam was as much of an open book as he’d always been. And Sam had always been adamant about dealing with shit on his own. His brother was a Winchester alright; a damn hardheaded son of a bitch that is.
The eldest stared his little brother down sullenly. He wished there was more he could do but without Sam’s consent, he would get nowhere. His little brother had to be ready to admit that he needed help before he’d even let anyone in. Dean would wait patiently. At least that’s what he thought he would do.
But a couple of sleepless mornings later made him start to doubt. Every night, Sam would toss and turn and jostle himself out of bed; panting, raving, screaming… and the only thing Dean could do was to sit back and stare. When Sam accepted help, he’d be by his side in a heartbeat. But his brother hardly ever asked for anything.
Words echoed in his head. They brought him back to a time when he thought he was doing the right thing. Ever since, he had asked himself that question. Every day. Did I do the right thing? Castiel had warned him against putting Sam’s soul back into place. Let me tell you what his soul felt like when I touched it - like it had been skinned alive, Dean.
Castiel. The one responsible for Sam’s wall crumbling. The angel was gone now and Dean was having mixed feelings about the celestial being. Sam’s screams always made him clench his fists with the idea of breaking down what had caused his brother’s pain. But he had nothing to swing at, this time.
Every night, Dean listened to Sam’s tearless cries. Every night, if he closed his eyes, he could imagine Lucifer peeling the skin off of his brother. Strips after strips. The image made him nauseous. He ran to the commode and retched.
He must have made a lot of noise because, when he looked back up, Sam was staring at him with a concerned look. The kid was deathly pale himself and appeared to be a gory makeup away from being an extra for the Walking Dead.
“You okay?” his little brother mumbled, his voice still raw from all the screaming.
He moaned. Why the fuck would his brother worry about his little bout of nausea when he was the one ripping his throat out from afflicting nightmares? It made him angry that Sam actually cared about him. For once, he wanted the kid to take care of himself and of himself only.
“’M fine… I should be the one asking you that. Dude, have you seen your face lately?”
Sam snorted.
“Gee, right back at you, Dean”
Dean didn’t flinch. He’d been expecting the comeback but didn’t mean to start bantering. His concern was all the more genuine when Sam’s stare blanked in a matter of seconds.
“Sam? Hey Sam!” he tried to reach out to his brother but his attempts with fruitless.
Sam was staring at the wall behind Dean where Lucifer, with the face of his first vessel Nick, was standing. The archangel was smiling scornfully.
“You know, he’s right though. You do look like Hell. I wonder what happened to you… oh right! You’re actually in Hell”
Lucifer laughed at his own puns, the sound of him a whistling hiss. Sam cringed and pulled his hand close, palm-up, where a fresh row of swollen stitches stood out. He pressed his thumb to the wound and pushed until the pain made him nauseous. Dean hadn’t missed a thing of the whole scene.
Sam’s eyes blurred and when he regained his focus, Lucifer was gone. In his place, Dean stood wide eyed.
“Are you seeing him again?”
The tone sounded accusatory. Sam could almost hear what, haven’t you gotten rid of him already? But he had to force himself to remember that Dean was worried too. He’d be cautious too if it were Dean who had Lucifer riding shotgun.
“Was. He’s gone now”
“Is that supposed to sound comforting?”
Sam sighed and gaped. He didn’t want to get mad. Didn’t have the energy to, either.
“Take it the way you want, Dean”
He sounded tired and done for the night. Dean couldn’t blame him for he was exhausted too. He puckered his lips and nodded his head. He then raised his hands up in surrender and didn’t add anything before walking out of the bathroom.
The sour taste of vomit still remained and the only thing he could think about was a shot of Jack and bad television. He clutched the bottle to his chest and walked over the bed where he let himself fall. He rested his back against the wall and poured himself a considerable amount of liquor. He let the bottle on the night stand and gulped the alcohol down.
Sam dragged his feet over to his own bed. His stare traveled between the bottle, his big brother and the television. He slumped on his own bed and rubbed his head vigorously as if chasing the ghost of a headache.
“Anything on?” he finally asked after both boys had remained quiet for a while.
Dean swallowed another sip of Whiskey.
“Nah, just crap” he replied, not taking his eyes from the screen.
“Yet, you’re watching it” Sam said softly.
Dean turned to look at him and blinked. A second later, he was standing and grabbing another glass. He poured another copious amount of liquor and handed the glass to his brother. Sam stared at the glass and then up at his brother.
“Thanks”
“You’re welcome”
They cheered and drank. One shot led to another and then another. At the end, Sam was out like a light and snoring like an eighteen wheeler. Dean couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips. A thought then hit him. It was the first night in a long series of night that his brother was actually quiet. No trashing, no screaming…
He smiled sadly. His friend Jack was a good friend at that. Dean didn’t like the idea of having to rely on it but he’d be a hypocrite if he did anything against it. Jack had been his best friend when he’d been back from Hell himself and refusing to talk about it. Sam had been indignant about that. That was then. He'd never thought the situation would ever actually be reversed. Funny how people never really knew how they would act when faced to a situation until they actually were put in front of it.
Still, a drunken brother wasn’t as painful to see as a screaming and terrorized brother. He’d deal for now and maybe try to find something else that was more Sam-like.
He poured himself another shot and leaned back against the headrest.
“We’ll get you there eventually, Sammy. You just wait and see”
Author: LaueHime
Rating: Mature (Be your own judge, really)
Genre/pairing: Angst, H/C, Gen
Characters: Sam, Dean, Lucifer
Word count: +/- 2,600
Warnings: Slightly graphic mentions of torture, gore, minor cussing, spoilers for s7
Summary: Written for spnshannanigans’s prompt on ohsam which is “Sam's memories from hell threaten to overwhelm him every moment of every day. To calm the storm in his head, he comes to rely on either drugs or alcohol (or both). Dean allows this to continue (for now anyway) because he doesn't know how to help Sam and he can't stand the screaming”
Disclaimer: The show belongs to Kripke.
A/N: This will actually be a series of verses instead of a multi-chapter story. This way, every chapter can be read as a standalone story. But of course, eventually it’ll make more sense if you’ve read them all (or at least most of them). They will all be under the big title: Underneath a Stretching Skyline, but have their own titles that are actually taken from the lyrics of the song the fic is named after.
I made a video for these sammyverses too (with aforementioned song). You can watch it HERE.
Feedback is love. Enjoy!
SNSNSNSNSN
The first thing that registered from his senses was the burning heat on his skin. His flesh felt like it was simmering and with it came the smell. His nose scrunched up when the acrid stench of burning meat filled his throat and his lungs until he couldn’t breathe anything but fire. Everything around him was dark but he could hear. The screams, the laughter… until white hot pain tore at his flesh like he’d been assaulted by a red burning ember.
He screamed until no wind could come out of his windpipe. He panted for a few seconds that felt like forever before yelping out again. When there was no air left for him to breathe, he started coughing and choking. His fingers reached his lips before they came away covered in blood. His own.
The laughter echoed louder and beat inside his skull like a jackhammer. It reverberated against every wall of his sanity. It rang him like a bell until he felt too dizzy to stand. That’s when he fell to his knees, powerless. Vulnerable as he was, the heat engulfed him and he felt the blazing pain of the flames licking at him like he was meat on bones.
“Ahhhhhhhh…” coughing and choking and gasping for breath and the heat, God if he could just die already… and then he felt something soft. Cool flesh on his skin. Gentle. But firm. Holding his head up and rubbing his back. Sweat rolled down his forehead like a cascade. And that voice. Whose was it? Right.
“SAM! Sammy! Snap out of it, damn it!”
He opened his eyes and blinked slowly. There were those green eyes staring back at him and which held so much peace. Those concerned eyes; he knew them oh so well. The fire was gone. The burning heat was too but he was still sweating profusely as if he still had an inferno burning on the inside.
“Hey! Sam? You with me?” the voice pressed on.
His brain finally clicked back into place. Those calloused hands were Dean’s. Those piercing greens were no one other than his big brother’s. And that deep melodious voice, not scratchy like nails on a blackboard; the melody that dragged him back into his body, was Dean’s.
“Dean” he breathed out suddenly, as if his airway had just decided to start functioning again after almost drowning.
“Yeah. I’m right here, bud. You back with me now?”
Sam blinked away the fog that slowly dissipated from his consciousness. He could finally get his bearings. The stains on the carpet, the greenish and peeling-off paint on the walls, the scratchy comforter… motel, right. The one where he had fallen asleep on the previous night. He remembered. The rest was a blur that strangely smelled like smoke and burned meat.
“Think so…” he replied breathily. “Wha’ happen’d?”
He heard his brother’s sighs. He saw the dark rings under his brother’s eyes and the way his shoulders hung in defeat. He noticed the tension in his brother’s muscles and how stiff his movements were. He couldn’t help but stare when his older brother rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Dean hadn’t slept. And Sam had a vague idea of what might have kept his brother up.
“Dude, you were like trashing on your bed, screaming your guts out… I thought the neighbors were going to call the cops for suspected cattle mutilation or something”
Dean was trying to be funny to lighten the mood but his heart wasn’t into it. Sam could almost hear it beat from where he sat. His big brother looked beat himself.
“You didn’t sleep, did you?” It wasn’t really a question. It was more like a factual statement.
Dean didn’t want to have to admit it to his hurting brother. Sam could see the eldest trying his best to find the right words. He didn’t think he was worth the trouble.
“Tell me, Dean. I’m not stupid, you know”
“Yeah that’s the thing, Sammy. You’re too good for this” Dean replied sadly.
Sam looked down to the carpet when he found nothing to reply. Dean didn’t even have to confirm anything. It was just written all over his face.
“I’m sorry” the youngest finally said.
“What for? It’s not like you have those nightmares to get back at me. Not your fault, Sam”
The youngest looked up from the floor with his signature dewy puppy dog eyes.
“It’s not just the nightmares, Dean. Ever since the wall went down… it’s just… I feel like I’m holding you back. I should be able to pull my shit together. I hate the fact that I’m putting you through this” he said guiltily. Dean had crossed his arms while he had listened to his brother.
As soon as the statement was out, his arms flung to both sides frustratingly. He wasn’t mad at his brother but he hated this situation. Why couldn’t they ever seem to catch a break? Why did the shit always hit the fan when anything revolved around them?
“Stop that right now, okay! Let’s set things straight once and for all. You’re not putting me through anything. You’re not a burden or whatever the hell you think you are. You’ve been through Hell, Sam! Literally! That kind of crap doesn’t just vanish as soon as you walk out of it!” Dean stated sternly.
Sam looked at him with wary eyes, unsure of what to think. He tried to imagine how he’d feel if he were in Dean’s shoes, as though wondering if he was worthy of his brother’s pledge.
“Now. You know how I feel about the whole touchy-feely thing… but if ever… you know… if you need… I mean…” the eldest was trying to find the words to say without sounding like a total sap or like he was trying to initiate a chick flick, but he could just hear how clumsy he sounded.
“I get it, Dean” Sam interjected before Dean started to stutter and blush at the uncomfortable act of empathy he had tried to pull. The eldest sighed with relief when he realized he didn’t have to search for his words anymore because his message had made it to the one concerned.
“But honestly…” Sam started, his face turning bleak, “…I don’t think you can pull me out of this one” he concluded truthfully. Dean’s face slackened as if he had been slapped. Sam was feeling guilty for being honest but, in the mean time, he hadn’t wanted Dean to get his hopes up because his brother would be disappointed. He didn’t want him to blame himself for that.
“Come on, Sam. Who could understand you better than me? I’ve been to Hell too, remember! Maybe you could relate…” Dean replied tentatively.
Sam remained serious although Dean tried to smile nervously to enlighten the mood. The youngest ultimately shook his head, taking his eyes away from his brother for what he was going to say next.
“So what, we’re supposed to share our experiences and our how-do-you-feel-about-it-s? I’m sorry, Dean. I won’t deny that you’ve seen some crap down there because I know you did. But you and me… it’s different, okay?”
Dean frowned deeply and his arms instinctively wrapped around himself in an attempt at shielding.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he accused, his voice reaching new levels of loud.
Sam still wouldn’t look up. He shook his head and shrugged nervously, instantly tensing at the sound of potential anger in his brother’s voice. Sam finally looked up with wistful eyes.
“You’ve been down there for forty years, man. With Alastair. I’m not belittling what you’ve been through, okay… but take a look at it my way. I was down there for over a century… with Lucifer… you have no idea what I’ve seen, man. And trust me when I say that you don’t wanna know”
Dean softened instantly when he heard his brother’s voice crack at the end of his statement. He shivered as if the room temperature had suddenly taken a proverbial drop. For a few seconds that felt eternal to him, he could hear his brother’s screams of pain. He knew nightmares were assaulting Sam but there was nothing that could be done from him. Nothing he could do to make his brother better or to make the pain go away.
“Try me” he finally pleaded with hopeful good-intentioned eyes. Sam knew that his big brother really only wanted to help and he would’ve accepted it openly if he thought that it could benefit the both of them. But he knew better. He clenched his jaw and pursed his lips.
“But maybe I don’t want you to know either. I don’t… I… I’m sorry, Dean. This one is on me. I gotta deal with this alone” he sighed deeply. His expression was grim.
Dean held his breath until he realized he couldn’t argue with this. That was his brother’s final answer and that was all he was going to get. As he had put it before, Sam was as much of an open book as he’d always been. And Sam had always been adamant about dealing with shit on his own. His brother was a Winchester alright; a damn hardheaded son of a bitch that is.
The eldest stared his little brother down sullenly. He wished there was more he could do but without Sam’s consent, he would get nowhere. His little brother had to be ready to admit that he needed help before he’d even let anyone in. Dean would wait patiently. At least that’s what he thought he would do.
But a couple of sleepless mornings later made him start to doubt. Every night, Sam would toss and turn and jostle himself out of bed; panting, raving, screaming… and the only thing Dean could do was to sit back and stare. When Sam accepted help, he’d be by his side in a heartbeat. But his brother hardly ever asked for anything.
Words echoed in his head. They brought him back to a time when he thought he was doing the right thing. Ever since, he had asked himself that question. Every day. Did I do the right thing? Castiel had warned him against putting Sam’s soul back into place. Let me tell you what his soul felt like when I touched it - like it had been skinned alive, Dean.
Castiel. The one responsible for Sam’s wall crumbling. The angel was gone now and Dean was having mixed feelings about the celestial being. Sam’s screams always made him clench his fists with the idea of breaking down what had caused his brother’s pain. But he had nothing to swing at, this time.
Every night, Dean listened to Sam’s tearless cries. Every night, if he closed his eyes, he could imagine Lucifer peeling the skin off of his brother. Strips after strips. The image made him nauseous. He ran to the commode and retched.
He must have made a lot of noise because, when he looked back up, Sam was staring at him with a concerned look. The kid was deathly pale himself and appeared to be a gory makeup away from being an extra for the Walking Dead.
“You okay?” his little brother mumbled, his voice still raw from all the screaming.
He moaned. Why the fuck would his brother worry about his little bout of nausea when he was the one ripping his throat out from afflicting nightmares? It made him angry that Sam actually cared about him. For once, he wanted the kid to take care of himself and of himself only.
“’M fine… I should be the one asking you that. Dude, have you seen your face lately?”
Sam snorted.
“Gee, right back at you, Dean”
Dean didn’t flinch. He’d been expecting the comeback but didn’t mean to start bantering. His concern was all the more genuine when Sam’s stare blanked in a matter of seconds.
“Sam? Hey Sam!” he tried to reach out to his brother but his attempts with fruitless.
Sam was staring at the wall behind Dean where Lucifer, with the face of his first vessel Nick, was standing. The archangel was smiling scornfully.
“You know, he’s right though. You do look like Hell. I wonder what happened to you… oh right! You’re actually in Hell”
Lucifer laughed at his own puns, the sound of him a whistling hiss. Sam cringed and pulled his hand close, palm-up, where a fresh row of swollen stitches stood out. He pressed his thumb to the wound and pushed until the pain made him nauseous. Dean hadn’t missed a thing of the whole scene.
Sam’s eyes blurred and when he regained his focus, Lucifer was gone. In his place, Dean stood wide eyed.
“Are you seeing him again?”
The tone sounded accusatory. Sam could almost hear what, haven’t you gotten rid of him already? But he had to force himself to remember that Dean was worried too. He’d be cautious too if it were Dean who had Lucifer riding shotgun.
“Was. He’s gone now”
“Is that supposed to sound comforting?”
Sam sighed and gaped. He didn’t want to get mad. Didn’t have the energy to, either.
“Take it the way you want, Dean”
He sounded tired and done for the night. Dean couldn’t blame him for he was exhausted too. He puckered his lips and nodded his head. He then raised his hands up in surrender and didn’t add anything before walking out of the bathroom.
The sour taste of vomit still remained and the only thing he could think about was a shot of Jack and bad television. He clutched the bottle to his chest and walked over the bed where he let himself fall. He rested his back against the wall and poured himself a considerable amount of liquor. He let the bottle on the night stand and gulped the alcohol down.
Sam dragged his feet over to his own bed. His stare traveled between the bottle, his big brother and the television. He slumped on his own bed and rubbed his head vigorously as if chasing the ghost of a headache.
“Anything on?” he finally asked after both boys had remained quiet for a while.
Dean swallowed another sip of Whiskey.
“Nah, just crap” he replied, not taking his eyes from the screen.
“Yet, you’re watching it” Sam said softly.
Dean turned to look at him and blinked. A second later, he was standing and grabbing another glass. He poured another copious amount of liquor and handed the glass to his brother. Sam stared at the glass and then up at his brother.
“Thanks”
“You’re welcome”
They cheered and drank. One shot led to another and then another. At the end, Sam was out like a light and snoring like an eighteen wheeler. Dean couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips. A thought then hit him. It was the first night in a long series of night that his brother was actually quiet. No trashing, no screaming…
He smiled sadly. His friend Jack was a good friend at that. Dean didn’t like the idea of having to rely on it but he’d be a hypocrite if he did anything against it. Jack had been his best friend when he’d been back from Hell himself and refusing to talk about it. Sam had been indignant about that. That was then. He'd never thought the situation would ever actually be reversed. Funny how people never really knew how they would act when faced to a situation until they actually were put in front of it.
Still, a drunken brother wasn’t as painful to see as a screaming and terrorized brother. He’d deal for now and maybe try to find something else that was more Sam-like.
He poured himself another shot and leaned back against the headrest.
“We’ll get you there eventually, Sammy. You just wait and see”