Untitled #22 (Gen, PG)
Title: Untitled #22
Rating: PG
Category: Gen oneshot
Word Count: 1358
Characters: Sam and Dean
Spoilers: 4.16
Summary: They drive east out of Wyoming and Sam thinks
Author’s Notes: From here. For legoline who asked for an angsty h/c coda for 4x16.
Disclaimer: The following characters and situations are used without permission of the creators, owners, and further affiliates of the television show, Supernatural, to whom they rightly belong. I claim only what is mine, and I make no money off what is theirs.
- - - - -
They stay in the hospital for a little less than a week. Once Dean's vitals stabilize after the first couple days, Sam can tell there's something more than his physical wounds that are bothering him. So, even though they could have left earlier, they stay in the hospital. He doesn't want to force Dean back into something that he's clearly not ready for.
They don't talk much, he and Dean. There's a heavy weight on Dean, and Sam's sure Castiel had something to do with it. But, the angel's not making an appearance and Dean's not talking, so Sam's forced to pace the room with silent questions running mad.
At last, one morning, Dean says, "Let's get going." There's still an IV line leading into his hand, but the oxygen tubes are gone. Both of his eyes wear dark rings, and he can barely open his left one. He looks worse than he has in a long time, and considering how often they get thrown around by supernatural bitches, that's saying something.
"You sure?" Sam asks. He wants Dean to admit--for once in his life--that he's not strong enough to go on. To stop pretending that he's some twisted version of a modern day G.I. Joe in a leather jacket. To let Sam carry the weight for once and break free of Dad's words of "be strong" and "don't cry" and, above all else, "watch out for Sammy." He wants Dean to admit he's human and he's weak.
But, Dean doesn't. He gives a faint nod and says, "Yeah. Let's go."
Sam sighs. He considers arguing, but he knows Dean doesn't have the strength for it. Besides, it wouldn't do any good anyway. So, he goes and calls the nurse for the discharge papers.
- - - - -
Dean sleeps in the backseat of the Impala as Sam drives them out of Wyoming. He doesn't have any real direction in mind. No place to go because he doesn't give a rat's ass about a hunt anymore. No hunt except the Big One, that is. But, it's not time for that. He has to worry about Dean before he can go after Lilith.
So, he merges onto I-80 to take them east through Nebraska and Iowa. The land's flat out this way, and the drive's easy enough. Gives him a chance to turn his mind on cruise control while Dean sleeps behind him.
Finally, though, ten, maybe closer to eleven hours later when he can no longer ignore the cramping in his legs, he turns off the interstate to find a motel for them to spend the night. His mind feels fuzzy and thick--too much time running circles in his own head.
It's well past midnight when he pulls into the motel parking lot, and the lady at the desk is curt with him when he first enters and asks for two queens on the first floor. But, after he explains that his brother just got out of the hospital and can't climb stairs very well, her features soften and she says, "Yeah, sure, sweetie, of course." She hands him the keys and asks, "You need some help with your brother? I can get my husband..."
Sam shakes his head. "No, no thanks. I can do it." He hopes his smile doesn't appear as tight and fake to her as it feels to him.
Back at the Impala, the corners of Dean's lips are twitching and he's mumbling something about the apocalypse when Sam wakes him.
"C'mon," Sam says, "I got us a place to crash." He pushes the driver's seat forward so Dean can climb out. "You need help?" he asks as Dean clambers out and onto the pavement.
"No. 'm fine," Dean replies, but he sways and Sam manages to catch him before he goes crashing into the Impala.
Dean begins to protest when Sam wraps an arm around Dean's waist and loops Dean's arm over his neck.
"Yeah, I know," Sam says as they walk slowly into the motel, "if I ever tell anybody, you'll kill me, blah, blah, blah and all that."
Dean snorts and says nothing.
- - - - -
Sam helps Dean into the bed closest to the door. Dean says something under his breath that might be a thanks before he rolls over onto his side, away from Sam. He brings his knees close to his chest, forming into an instinctive fetal position.
After a beat, wondering if Dean will say something more, Sam goes back out to the car to grab their duffels. He then locks the car and returns to the motel room, dumping the bags on the floor between their beds and heading to the bathroom.
He leaves the door cracked--just in case--and flicks on the light. Turning on the faucet, he stares at himself in the mirror while he lets the water run cold. He looks like shit, frankly speaking. Dark bags beneath his eyes, skin greasy and pale, and eyes bloodshot.
He shakes his head. It's been a long last couple of days. He bends down to cup his hands beneath the running faucet and splash water on his face. The brisk coldness feels good, and when he looks back at himself in the mirror, he looks a bit more refreshed. Not great, but maybe a bit better. Maybe.
He turns to the leave the bathroom when he sees Dean staring at him from his bed. Sam hesitates for a moment, inhales, and turns off the bathroom light. He crosses the room and sits down on his bed across from Dean.
"You want to talk about it?" he says, keeping his eyes on the floor between his feet, even though he knows what the answer will be.
"Nope," Dean answers--just as expected.
Sam sighs. They sit in silence a while longer until he says, "Whatever Alastair said, you know it's not true. He was just trying to mess with your head. He--"
"It's not about Alastair," Dean interrupts sharply.
Sam stays silent, waiting.
"It's not about Alastair," Dean repeats. The words are softer, more resigned.
"Castiel?"
Dean's silence is enough of an answer. After a few moments pass, Sam rises to his feet. "I'm going to grab something to drink. Want something?"
Dean shrugs. He's fallen back inside his own mind where something stronger than even Alastair is eating away at him. Sam sighs and pushes open the door to leave the room.
Outside, by the soda vending machine, Sam stands in the glow of the machine. He stands for longer than is necessary, thinking and staring.
He knows what he has to do--what he wants to do. Kill Lilith who dragged Dean into Hell, who broke Dean and made him into this person Sam doesn't recognize most of the time. After Lilith, there will be others. Any demon that ever laid a finger on Dean while he was in Hell. Any of them who laughed at him or spit blood in his face.
Sam curls his hand into a fist and feels a rush of heat between his fingers. He could do it, he knows, remembering the feel of Alastair's soul shredding in his hand. Just a little more practice and a little more power, and the demons will regret making the deal with Dean. They'll be the ones running from the Winchesters instead of the other way around for once.
From behind him, he hears a sound like the flapping of wings and a whisper of his name on the wind.
"Not now," he says to the vending machine. "Stay away."
The wings recede and the sound disappears.
He waits for a moment, listening, before shoving his money into the machine and letting two cans of soda fall to the bottom. He glances over his shoulder, cans in hand, before he goes back inside the room to be with Dean. The war is coming, he knows, and soon enough, he will be out there fighting in it. But, for now, his brother is broken, and he needs him. That, Sam knows, is where he belongs.
End
Rating: PG
Category: Gen oneshot
Word Count: 1358
Characters: Sam and Dean
Spoilers: 4.16
Summary: They drive east out of Wyoming and Sam thinks
Author’s Notes: From here. For legoline who asked for an angsty h/c coda for 4x16.
Disclaimer: The following characters and situations are used without permission of the creators, owners, and further affiliates of the television show, Supernatural, to whom they rightly belong. I claim only what is mine, and I make no money off what is theirs.
- - - - -
They stay in the hospital for a little less than a week. Once Dean's vitals stabilize after the first couple days, Sam can tell there's something more than his physical wounds that are bothering him. So, even though they could have left earlier, they stay in the hospital. He doesn't want to force Dean back into something that he's clearly not ready for.
They don't talk much, he and Dean. There's a heavy weight on Dean, and Sam's sure Castiel had something to do with it. But, the angel's not making an appearance and Dean's not talking, so Sam's forced to pace the room with silent questions running mad.
At last, one morning, Dean says, "Let's get going." There's still an IV line leading into his hand, but the oxygen tubes are gone. Both of his eyes wear dark rings, and he can barely open his left one. He looks worse than he has in a long time, and considering how often they get thrown around by supernatural bitches, that's saying something.
"You sure?" Sam asks. He wants Dean to admit--for once in his life--that he's not strong enough to go on. To stop pretending that he's some twisted version of a modern day G.I. Joe in a leather jacket. To let Sam carry the weight for once and break free of Dad's words of "be strong" and "don't cry" and, above all else, "watch out for Sammy." He wants Dean to admit he's human and he's weak.
But, Dean doesn't. He gives a faint nod and says, "Yeah. Let's go."
Sam sighs. He considers arguing, but he knows Dean doesn't have the strength for it. Besides, it wouldn't do any good anyway. So, he goes and calls the nurse for the discharge papers.
- - - - -
Dean sleeps in the backseat of the Impala as Sam drives them out of Wyoming. He doesn't have any real direction in mind. No place to go because he doesn't give a rat's ass about a hunt anymore. No hunt except the Big One, that is. But, it's not time for that. He has to worry about Dean before he can go after Lilith.
So, he merges onto I-80 to take them east through Nebraska and Iowa. The land's flat out this way, and the drive's easy enough. Gives him a chance to turn his mind on cruise control while Dean sleeps behind him.
Finally, though, ten, maybe closer to eleven hours later when he can no longer ignore the cramping in his legs, he turns off the interstate to find a motel for them to spend the night. His mind feels fuzzy and thick--too much time running circles in his own head.
It's well past midnight when he pulls into the motel parking lot, and the lady at the desk is curt with him when he first enters and asks for two queens on the first floor. But, after he explains that his brother just got out of the hospital and can't climb stairs very well, her features soften and she says, "Yeah, sure, sweetie, of course." She hands him the keys and asks, "You need some help with your brother? I can get my husband..."
Sam shakes his head. "No, no thanks. I can do it." He hopes his smile doesn't appear as tight and fake to her as it feels to him.
Back at the Impala, the corners of Dean's lips are twitching and he's mumbling something about the apocalypse when Sam wakes him.
"C'mon," Sam says, "I got us a place to crash." He pushes the driver's seat forward so Dean can climb out. "You need help?" he asks as Dean clambers out and onto the pavement.
"No. 'm fine," Dean replies, but he sways and Sam manages to catch him before he goes crashing into the Impala.
Dean begins to protest when Sam wraps an arm around Dean's waist and loops Dean's arm over his neck.
"Yeah, I know," Sam says as they walk slowly into the motel, "if I ever tell anybody, you'll kill me, blah, blah, blah and all that."
Dean snorts and says nothing.
- - - - -
Sam helps Dean into the bed closest to the door. Dean says something under his breath that might be a thanks before he rolls over onto his side, away from Sam. He brings his knees close to his chest, forming into an instinctive fetal position.
After a beat, wondering if Dean will say something more, Sam goes back out to the car to grab their duffels. He then locks the car and returns to the motel room, dumping the bags on the floor between their beds and heading to the bathroom.
He leaves the door cracked--just in case--and flicks on the light. Turning on the faucet, he stares at himself in the mirror while he lets the water run cold. He looks like shit, frankly speaking. Dark bags beneath his eyes, skin greasy and pale, and eyes bloodshot.
He shakes his head. It's been a long last couple of days. He bends down to cup his hands beneath the running faucet and splash water on his face. The brisk coldness feels good, and when he looks back at himself in the mirror, he looks a bit more refreshed. Not great, but maybe a bit better. Maybe.
He turns to the leave the bathroom when he sees Dean staring at him from his bed. Sam hesitates for a moment, inhales, and turns off the bathroom light. He crosses the room and sits down on his bed across from Dean.
"You want to talk about it?" he says, keeping his eyes on the floor between his feet, even though he knows what the answer will be.
"Nope," Dean answers--just as expected.
Sam sighs. They sit in silence a while longer until he says, "Whatever Alastair said, you know it's not true. He was just trying to mess with your head. He--"
"It's not about Alastair," Dean interrupts sharply.
Sam stays silent, waiting.
"It's not about Alastair," Dean repeats. The words are softer, more resigned.
"Castiel?"
Dean's silence is enough of an answer. After a few moments pass, Sam rises to his feet. "I'm going to grab something to drink. Want something?"
Dean shrugs. He's fallen back inside his own mind where something stronger than even Alastair is eating away at him. Sam sighs and pushes open the door to leave the room.
Outside, by the soda vending machine, Sam stands in the glow of the machine. He stands for longer than is necessary, thinking and staring.
He knows what he has to do--what he wants to do. Kill Lilith who dragged Dean into Hell, who broke Dean and made him into this person Sam doesn't recognize most of the time. After Lilith, there will be others. Any demon that ever laid a finger on Dean while he was in Hell. Any of them who laughed at him or spit blood in his face.
Sam curls his hand into a fist and feels a rush of heat between his fingers. He could do it, he knows, remembering the feel of Alastair's soul shredding in his hand. Just a little more practice and a little more power, and the demons will regret making the deal with Dean. They'll be the ones running from the Winchesters instead of the other way around for once.
From behind him, he hears a sound like the flapping of wings and a whisper of his name on the wind.
"Not now," he says to the vending machine. "Stay away."
The wings recede and the sound disappears.
He waits for a moment, listening, before shoving his money into the machine and letting two cans of soda fall to the bottom. He glances over his shoulder, cans in hand, before he goes back inside the room to be with Dean. The war is coming, he knows, and soon enough, he will be out there fighting in it. But, for now, his brother is broken, and he needs him. That, Sam knows, is where he belongs.
End