Aftermath, 1/1, Gen, H/C, Sam, Dean, [PG]
Fic: Aftermath
Author: sandymg
Beta: borgmama1of5
Summary: All Dean wants is a single quiet day.
Spoilers: Through Season 6
Wordcount: 1,000 - One-shot
Genre: Gen, H/C
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.
Aftermath
There are moments that seem normal. When he smiles shyly like something funny snuck up on him and he’s not quite sure if it’s okay to see the humor. Dean always makes sure to smile back. Make clear it’s okay. That Sam is allowed to feel good.
That everything is not his goddamn fault.
It’s not without irony that the thought it’s my fault sneaks in. He knows that’s not true, either. They were stuck between a rock and a hard place. The freakin’ world was on the line. Still … you sacrificed your brother.
Some days are easier than others.
He’s hopeful today will be a good day. Quiet morning so far. A sweet trilling floats through the open window. He glances out and spots a brilliant cardinal. Sammy used to like them when he was a kid. Crazy red Mohawks. Would make his little brother giggle. Then Dean would tease him for sounding like a bird when he laughed.
Hell, it has to be a good day. Freakin’ birds are singing outside his window. And the job should be a no brainer. Simple salt ‘n burn like the old days.
He pauses. Had they ever had simple days?
“D’n?”
He looks toward the still-occupied bed. Sam is rubbing his eyes slowly. It’s warm and his brother’s shirtless and Dean can’t help notice the muscle loss.
Maybe that’s good. Kid didn’t need to look like Schwarzenegger after all.
“Yeah, Sam?”
It’s not until the third silent beat that Dean’s heart goes into overdrive. Please please please. Not again.
“Dean?”
Fuck. He walks over and sits on the edge of Sam’s bed, tries for light. It might work. “Ghost ain’t gonna burn its own bones. Up and at’em, Sammy.”
Sharp eyes meet his. “Can’t fool me again. I won’t fall for it.”
Nightmares that don’t end. Dean keeps his distance. Speaks soft and low. “Sam. You need to wake up. You’re not there anymore. You’re out. I … we got you out.”
Sam turns away sharply, presents Dean his stiff back. Dean pulls back the urge to touch. It won’t help. Nothing seems to.
Sometimes Sam talks to him even though he doesn’t believe Dean is there. Dean feels a little odd those times, like he’s reading Sam’s private journal.
At least Sam isn’t screaming. Dean says what he always says. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”
“You’re always sorry. But it’s never your fault.”
He feels like they’ve had this conversation before. Only never when they both were truly present. “I know. But I’m sorry I can’t help it.”
“’S worth it.”
“What is?”
There’s a pause. “Everything. If you fucking listened to me. He says you did. But can’t believe him. He lies.”
“Lucifer?”
There’s a snort. “Michael.”
Dean nods. All angels are liars. He refuses to think about them. One thing too many that could crumble his hastily constructed house of cards. Right now there’s Sam. And that’s about all he can handle.
“I listened to you, Sam. I did. Best I could.”
That thought is no easier.
He really needs Sam to snap back so they can dig up a corpse and light a match. That’s about all he’s ready for today.
“Michael tells me you’re with her and her boy. I need to know that. But when he says it I doubt it. And he knows that. That’s why he says it. I’d rather he said nothing.” There’s a pause and then Sam turns abruptly, eyes flashing, “You hear that! I said shut up. Don’t talk about him. Don’t say anything!”
Dean shuts his eyes because Sam rebelling against them always leads to …
Howling ... high and screechy like talons on a blackboard. It cuts Dean’s insides like a razor. It’s horrible and endless and familiar. It’s Sam and it’s him and it’s everyone Dean sliced through. It’s his little brother in unbearable agony for decades and all Dean wanted … all Dean wants is a single quiet day. Where none of this happened.
“You’re not there, not there … “ Dean repeats like a mantra but his words vanish in the abyss of terror pouring from Sam’s throat. His brother’s skin is flushed and angry and hot to the touch. The fire isn’t visible but it consumes and Dean wants to smother it with a blanket. He wants to grab Sammy and run and not look back.
Sam’s gyrating now, vibrating wildly and spewing staccato grunts that echo in Dean’s own gut like he’s riding a runaway train. Tremors tear Sam from the inside out. Sam’s going to implode and Dean will be left in the bile and blood and flinging entrails that used to be Sam.
“Sam … Sam … please. You’re not there. You’re safe.”
A lifetime passes.
“Dean?”
His heart skips because there’s something present in Sam’s tone. “I’m here.”
A hand grips his arm so tightly that it’ll bruise. Another in the collection of blue finger-shapes along his forearm. That match the huge one wrapped around his heart.
“S-sorry,” Sam stutters. He abruptly lets go as he realizes how hard he’s gripping Dean.
“’S okay.”
Sam sits up slowly. He brings the scratchy blanket up like he’s embarrassed. Dean remembers that, too. Scars that can’t fade even if they aren’t there.
“Dream.”
Dean nods. “Yeah. I know. Not a problem.”
And that’s another lie in a long line of lies. But he doesn’t have anything else he can say.
Sam’s slipping his tee-shirt on. Yep. Definitely skinnier. Still, he looks good. Strong.
Has to be.
Sam turns to him. Dean watches the thoughts gather behind his furrowed forehead. “So … simple today, right? Salt ‘n burn? Like the old days?”
“Yep. Real simple. Sounds good, right?”
Dean’s started stuffing things into his duffel and thinking of where he can pick up coffee. Sam’s disappeared into the small bathroom but a couple of seconds later he’s back out, holding his dry toothbrush. “We ever have simple days?”
They hold a long look and Dean doesn’t bother to answer.
Sam’s head tilts slightly. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Birds. Hear ‘em?”
“Cardinals. Saw a glimpse of red out the window.”
The smile lifts the corner of Sam’s lips before he can stop himself. The slightest indentation of dimples starts to form. It's light years away from a giggle. But it helps unfurl the clenched fist around Dean’s heart just a tiny bit.
They’ll get through this, too.
fin
Author: sandymg
Beta: borgmama1of5
Summary: All Dean wants is a single quiet day.
Spoilers: Through Season 6
Wordcount: 1,000 - One-shot
Genre: Gen, H/C
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.
Aftermath
There are moments that seem normal. When he smiles shyly like something funny snuck up on him and he’s not quite sure if it’s okay to see the humor. Dean always makes sure to smile back. Make clear it’s okay. That Sam is allowed to feel good.
That everything is not his goddamn fault.
It’s not without irony that the thought it’s my fault sneaks in. He knows that’s not true, either. They were stuck between a rock and a hard place. The freakin’ world was on the line. Still … you sacrificed your brother.
Some days are easier than others.
He’s hopeful today will be a good day. Quiet morning so far. A sweet trilling floats through the open window. He glances out and spots a brilliant cardinal. Sammy used to like them when he was a kid. Crazy red Mohawks. Would make his little brother giggle. Then Dean would tease him for sounding like a bird when he laughed.
Hell, it has to be a good day. Freakin’ birds are singing outside his window. And the job should be a no brainer. Simple salt ‘n burn like the old days.
He pauses. Had they ever had simple days?
“D’n?”
He looks toward the still-occupied bed. Sam is rubbing his eyes slowly. It’s warm and his brother’s shirtless and Dean can’t help notice the muscle loss.
Maybe that’s good. Kid didn’t need to look like Schwarzenegger after all.
“Yeah, Sam?”
It’s not until the third silent beat that Dean’s heart goes into overdrive. Please please please. Not again.
“Dean?”
Fuck. He walks over and sits on the edge of Sam’s bed, tries for light. It might work. “Ghost ain’t gonna burn its own bones. Up and at’em, Sammy.”
Sharp eyes meet his. “Can’t fool me again. I won’t fall for it.”
Nightmares that don’t end. Dean keeps his distance. Speaks soft and low. “Sam. You need to wake up. You’re not there anymore. You’re out. I … we got you out.”
Sam turns away sharply, presents Dean his stiff back. Dean pulls back the urge to touch. It won’t help. Nothing seems to.
Sometimes Sam talks to him even though he doesn’t believe Dean is there. Dean feels a little odd those times, like he’s reading Sam’s private journal.
At least Sam isn’t screaming. Dean says what he always says. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”
“You’re always sorry. But it’s never your fault.”
He feels like they’ve had this conversation before. Only never when they both were truly present. “I know. But I’m sorry I can’t help it.”
“’S worth it.”
“What is?”
There’s a pause. “Everything. If you fucking listened to me. He says you did. But can’t believe him. He lies.”
“Lucifer?”
There’s a snort. “Michael.”
Dean nods. All angels are liars. He refuses to think about them. One thing too many that could crumble his hastily constructed house of cards. Right now there’s Sam. And that’s about all he can handle.
“I listened to you, Sam. I did. Best I could.”
That thought is no easier.
He really needs Sam to snap back so they can dig up a corpse and light a match. That’s about all he’s ready for today.
“Michael tells me you’re with her and her boy. I need to know that. But when he says it I doubt it. And he knows that. That’s why he says it. I’d rather he said nothing.” There’s a pause and then Sam turns abruptly, eyes flashing, “You hear that! I said shut up. Don’t talk about him. Don’t say anything!”
Dean shuts his eyes because Sam rebelling against them always leads to …
Howling ... high and screechy like talons on a blackboard. It cuts Dean’s insides like a razor. It’s horrible and endless and familiar. It’s Sam and it’s him and it’s everyone Dean sliced through. It’s his little brother in unbearable agony for decades and all Dean wanted … all Dean wants is a single quiet day. Where none of this happened.
“You’re not there, not there … “ Dean repeats like a mantra but his words vanish in the abyss of terror pouring from Sam’s throat. His brother’s skin is flushed and angry and hot to the touch. The fire isn’t visible but it consumes and Dean wants to smother it with a blanket. He wants to grab Sammy and run and not look back.
Sam’s gyrating now, vibrating wildly and spewing staccato grunts that echo in Dean’s own gut like he’s riding a runaway train. Tremors tear Sam from the inside out. Sam’s going to implode and Dean will be left in the bile and blood and flinging entrails that used to be Sam.
“Sam … Sam … please. You’re not there. You’re safe.”
A lifetime passes.
“Dean?”
His heart skips because there’s something present in Sam’s tone. “I’m here.”
A hand grips his arm so tightly that it’ll bruise. Another in the collection of blue finger-shapes along his forearm. That match the huge one wrapped around his heart.
“S-sorry,” Sam stutters. He abruptly lets go as he realizes how hard he’s gripping Dean.
“’S okay.”
Sam sits up slowly. He brings the scratchy blanket up like he’s embarrassed. Dean remembers that, too. Scars that can’t fade even if they aren’t there.
“Dream.”
Dean nods. “Yeah. I know. Not a problem.”
And that’s another lie in a long line of lies. But he doesn’t have anything else he can say.
Sam’s slipping his tee-shirt on. Yep. Definitely skinnier. Still, he looks good. Strong.
Has to be.
Sam turns to him. Dean watches the thoughts gather behind his furrowed forehead. “So … simple today, right? Salt ‘n burn? Like the old days?”
“Yep. Real simple. Sounds good, right?”
Dean’s started stuffing things into his duffel and thinking of where he can pick up coffee. Sam’s disappeared into the small bathroom but a couple of seconds later he’s back out, holding his dry toothbrush. “We ever have simple days?”
They hold a long look and Dean doesn’t bother to answer.
Sam’s head tilts slightly. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Birds. Hear ‘em?”
“Cardinals. Saw a glimpse of red out the window.”
The smile lifts the corner of Sam’s lips before he can stop himself. The slightest indentation of dimples starts to form. It's light years away from a giggle. But it helps unfurl the clenched fist around Dean’s heart just a tiny bit.
They’ll get through this, too.
fin