Guess what day it is? Comment-fic day!
Once again, it's everyone's favourite day in Supernatural: May 2nd! You know what that means, right? Time to hurt Sam! ;)
You know the drill, right? Allow me to post a refresher:
( Read more... )
You know the drill, right? Allow me to post a refresher:
( Read more... )
It's three cuts under his elbow and two breathless crying lags while Dean's in the shower where he whispers to himself that he can't remember the last time it wasn't this bad before he realizes that he can.
Because as much as the psych ward sucked, as much as playing ring-around-the-rosey with Lucifer left him tasting blood and bile and sent him spiraling back to the cage, there was something there that he hadn't felt since the wall fell. There was something, something like a rope, something he could grip and pull on and climb and it wasn't easy, of course it wasn't fucking easy, but it was there.
Sam Winchester is not an idiot.
He knows it was the drugs.
And that realization gets itself one more cut and a few more minutes of crying (thank God for girly big brothers who wash their hair for half an hour) because that isn't a fucking option, okay? This isn't a hospital room and it isn't being forced into him, and what the fuck kind of hunter ever took anti-depressants and anti-psychotics and anti-anxiety and anti-ALL THE BAD SHIT? They're supposed to feel like shit. That's supposed to keep them going. Sam's supposed to fucking handle this. He's supposed to drown it in whiskey like Dean and be bigger than it. Be fucking big, Sam.
He pictures himself crumpled like a piece of paper at Lucifer's feet and curls up small on the bed and waits for Dean to come back.
**
"Come on, kiddo. I've nursed your sick ass long enough. Let's change motels before this gross walls make me start hurling."
"Hmmmmfff." He pushes his face into Dean's shoulder.
"Still so sleepy?"
"Yeah."
"Fuck, man."
"I'll get over it."
"I know you will. C'mon, nap in the car."
**
Sam's a fucking idiot and thinks the change of scenery might make a difference.
But now he's sitting on the motel bed while Dean grabs the rest of their shit from the car and he just plain naked wants to die and this time Dean walks in before he's finished crying.
The words are out before he has time to stop them.
"I need the drugs. I'm sorry, I just do, I just...fuck, I just do, I'm sorry, I know I...God FUCK."
"Sammy. Whoa. Sammy."
Then Sam gets a face full of flannel, shoulder, Dean.
"Don't you apologize to me," Dean growls. "Don't you dare do that."
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Dean counts out pills, dropping a few of each into the ridiculous little pill-organizer he insisted on stealing from the pharmacy along with the ten orange bottles. He double checks dosages on the internet and Sam knows this isn't the way they're supposed to do this, but they've been to Hell and they just get to do this, okay?
"When people invented hammers, they stopped banging shit against rocks, you know?"
Sam looks up. "The fuck are you talking about?"
Dean snaps the boxes closed. "I'm talking about my little brother gets whatever tools he fucking wants, obviously."
Sam rolls a bottle around his hand. "You could probably stand to take some of these too."
"Yeah, whatever, crazy kid."
"Mmm."
Dean tugs on the skin on the back of Sam's neck. "C'mon, kiddo, let's dope you up."
**
It takes a month and a half, one gaspy, out-of-control crying fit that scares the shit out of Sam and one night huddled sweating and heaving over the toilet that scares the shit out of Dean before they reach a balance, but they do.
There are shitty days. There probably always will be. But there's a rope. There are tools.
Sam doesn't say anything, but he kind of feels like his big brother discovered fire. (Instead, he lets Dean sleep on his shoulder in the car and doesn't say anything when he notices one fewer Zoloft in his bottle every morning. You go, big brother.)
And it's manageable, now. It just is.
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"Sammy. Whoa. Sammy."
Then Sam gets a face full of flannel, shoulder, Dean.
"Don't you apologize to me," Dean growls. "Don't you dare do that."
Wibble
I loved him wanting to check the salt lines. And check on Dean. *G*
Love Dean managing the pills and them feeling entitled and... Dean's girly half hour hair-washing sessions. LOL
This was great!
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/end rant
anyway, I loved it <3
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thank you sooo much.
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Saaaaaaaammmm...
But yeah, that's exactly how it is. (And I totally buy that Sam's never been 100% ever, not in his whole life, poor little OCD freak that he is)
And of course Dean would get his little brother whatever tools he wanted. Of course!
(And yay Dean for figuring out that he's allowed to be okay too!)
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Saaaaaaaaaaammmmmm is right. It's really not healthy for me to love a character this much, I'm pretty sure.
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