Nessun Dorma for Annie46 1/3
Title: Nessun Dorma
Author: mamapranayama
Recipient: Annie 46
Genre: Gen/Hurt!Sam/heroic!Dean
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Word Count: ~9600
Summary: Spoilers for 7x17. Sam is exhausted after his stay in the mental ward, but something is after him and sleeping may be the death of him.
For Annie46 and this prompt: Sam and Dean investigate an old legend or myth such as Selkies or the Green Man.
Nessun Dorma
He doesn’t know what it is, but he does know that it’s scary as shit.
He wills his arms to move, to call out to his brother and let him know he can’t breathe - that he’s dying -- but he can’t. Nothing responds to the panic flooding his mind - he can’t even get his lungs to inflate.
If he could only get one finger to move - one muscle to twitch …
Inside his head is the noise of screaming, but none of it can break free from his throat and on his chest, it feels as though a heavy presence is weighing down on him, pinning him and paralyzing his muscles.
His thoughts race and he struggles against the invisible bonds holding him down.
Suddenly it’s as if a rubber band snaps and breaks and his body jerks in response, free at last. He gasps, taking in great gulps of air to help feed oxygen to his galloping heart and starving lungs. Energy jolts through his arms and legs, up and down his nerves until he’s bolting upright, ensnaring his limbs in wet, sweat-soaked fabric.
His eyes take in his surroundings and he’s in bed - the same bed he collapsed into just after Dean sprung him from the hospital and he tells himself that it was only a dream - it has to be -- even if it’s not like any nightmare he’s ever had before.
Whatever presence he thought he had felt before is gone, but the bed next to his is occupied and the soft, snoring noises issuing from under the blankets helps to calm his racing pulse and push the last lingering vestiges of the nightmare he had been caught in out of his mind.
He turns his head to the only artificial light in the room and looks at the digital numbers on the clock. It’s 3:38 am and he’s only been asleep for four hours, but compared to the last week - it might has well have been only minutes as his body is still aching for more rest.
Collapsing back down on his pillow, he looks up at the ceiling and the streaks of light coming through the blinds of the window before he chances to close his eyes again and give himself back over to his exhaustion. The silence is a blessing and welcome, yet at the same time, it’s too noisy and sleep doesn’t come back to him as easily as it should. It’s hard to believe that he would actually miss Lucifer’s voice, but something soft and melodic begins to fill his head, lulling him back into darkness and he gives in to its pull.
------------------
She hums and he relaxes, slipping back into his dreams.
This one is special, like a glowing beacon in the night that she couldn’t help but be drawn to. His dreams are rich and plentiful - terrifying and so nourishing, but he is prone to wake up before she’s done with him, his nightmares almost too powerful for him to remain in sleep long enough to get her fill. But she needs him to sleep in order to feed - she’s so hungry and he’s too delicious to pass up.
Yes … she would gorge herself on this one until there was nothing left but bones to pick on.
------------------
“Hey …” Dean shakes Sam’s shoulder gently, “C’mon - I know you need to catch up on your beauty sleep, but do you think 30 hours is enough for now?”
Sam rubs his eyes against the bright light coming through the wide open shades of the window and groans loudly, “What time is it?”
“Oh … about noon.”
Sam scrunches his face, doing the math, “That’s only like twelve hours, not thirty.”
“Not when you consider the fact that it’s Sunday and not Friday anymore.” Dean states with a smirk.
Sam is confused and disoriented by the length of time he must have slept, but he grins back and he can’t begin to tell his brother how grateful he is that he came back for him. He had given up - he really had - more than a week without so much as a minute of sleep and Sam had become too tired to even want to live anymore and with Lucifer running commentary at all times, he would have welcomed death.
But Dean hadn’t given up - as Sam should have known he wouldn’t and he came back for him. While Cas may have taken Lucifer from his waking nightmares, it was Dean that had really pulled him back from the brink and for that, he doesn’t know how to repay him.
Sam’s throat threatens to knot up and he chokes a little, but his emotions are tempered by Dean’s next words.
“Well, you gonna get your lazy ass outta bed sometime today and take a shower? I mean, my God, Sammy, you’d think you just spent the last week holed up in a petting zoo instead of the funny farm.”
Sam snarls and turns onto his side, petulantly showing his back to his brother, “I’ll take one in a little while, just let me sleep another hour or so.” He pleads, his body still craving rest.
A pillow smacks into the back of Sam’s head which he grabs and tosses back at Dean, “C’mon, Sam. You need to get up, get cleaned up, get something to eat and drink and then we gotta hit the road. We’re still a little too close to that hospital for comfort and I’d like to get a few more hundred miles between that place and us. You can sleep in the car if you’re still tired.
Sam really can’t argue with that logic even though he suspects that some of Dean’s motivation to leave town stems more from boredom than anything else, but he can’t really fault his brother either - watching someone sleep for two days can’t be all that exciting. Despite being desperately tired still, Sam decides that he can force himself to go through the motions of getting a shower and a meal if it means he can sleep for the rest of the day - and probably night afterwards.
Dean pulls the covers off Sam and practically shoves him towards the bathroom and Sam doesn’t protest when his brother hands him his shaving kit and toiletries, “Alright - get a move on - daylight’s wasting.”
Sam takes his time - Dean can wait a little bit longer.
He showers until the hot water runs out, hoping the steady stream of warmth will invigorate him and pull him out of the sleepy fog he’s operating in, but he’s still thinking about the comfortable bed and blankets he just came from and how nice it would be to have stayed asleep just a little while longer.
If Dean was annoyed by how long his slow-moving brother took in the shower, he doesn’t say anything but, when Sam comes out of the bathroom and still hasn’t shaved, Dean looks at him with a flash of irritation until Sam’s eyes cast down at his torn up fingers. He still isn’t completely sure how he injured them in the hospital as his memories of the last few days are kinda fuzzy, but they’re too sore from his stinging shampoo to steadily use his razor. Dean just seems to understand and reaches into his own toiletry bag and hands him his electric shaver so he won’t rip up his face.
“Thanks, Dean.” Sam says.
“Clean it when you’re done - I don’t want Sasquatch fur jamming it up.”
After Sam has all of the stubble removed from his face, he looks in the mirror, feeling closer to alive than he has in a very long time. He still has some dark circles under his eyes and his face is thinner thanks to his loss of appetite while in the hospital, but Sam thinks that it’s all a big improvement, especially when Satan doesn’t appear behind him and make some kind of snide comment. He just wishes he could shake off some of his lingering exhaustion.
Dean’s patience must have finally reached its maximum because he is soon knocking forcefully on the door and demanding that they both get a move on because he’s starving and needs lunch ‘right the hell now!’
Sam’s stomach rumbles at the mention of food and he realizes that he too is getting increasingly hungry and he can’t remember the last time he ate of full meal - or when he actually didn’t feel nauseous just looking at food or expecting maggots to crawl out of it. He still shudders at the memory of that particular hallucination, but his hunger is winning out and he hurries to get dressed, pack up, and leave with Dean for the nearest diner.
---------------------
Dean casts a look at the passenger seat and his sleeping brother - his still sleeping brother.
Sam may have one helluva sleep debt, but he was seriously starting to drive Dean bonkers with boredom. He’s hardly had a chance to say more than a few words here and there to his brother since he sprung him from the nuthouse - and God - he misses the sound of his brother’s rational, albeit bitchy voice.
He’s half-tempted to wake him up just so he doesn’t fall asleep himself behind the wheel, but Sam looks about as peacefully asleep as he’s ever seen him - he’s hardly moved a muscle since he dozed off after lunch and for the first time in months, he doesn’t hear his brother whimpering or making those fearful noises that signals he’s having a bad dream.
So, Dean drives on for another hundred miles in silence, not even turning on the radio so he can let his brother sleep on.
He stops at a McDonald’s drive thru for dinner. Sam doesn’t so much as stir and it’s only a thin line of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth that provides any sign of life from his brother.
It’s still early evening, but Dean’s tired from driving in silence and watching Sam sleep, so he pulls into the nearest motel and gets a room where they can eat their dinner and crash for the night.
As soon as he parks, he reaches over and shakes Sam’s shoulder.
“Hey … Sam …” He starts off, trying to wake him without being a dick, but when Sam just kinda mumbles something and turns his head away from Dean, he loses some - okay all - of his gentleness. “I’m not carrying you over the threshold, Sammy … get your ass up.”
Sam slowly blinks awake then rubs the sleep from his eyes and starts to look around in a haze, “We at a motel already?”
Dean shakes his head, “Excellent deduction, Sherlock.”
Sam stretches and yawns loudly, looking like he could curl up and go right back into the arms of Morpheus, but Dean isn’t having any of that - Sam needs to eat just as much as he needs sleep, so he punches his brother in the shoulder to fully wake him up. “C’mon. I got dinner.” Dean says. Sam shoots him a grumpy, and sleepy face, but pushes his door open, pulling himself out of the car.
Dean opens the door to the room and dumps the McDonald’s bags onto the table as Sam drags his feet inside, going straight for the bed. If it’s even possible after so much rest, Sam actually looks even more exhausted than he did the night Dean got him out of the hospital, but their food is getting cold and his little brother has to be hungry after eating only a couple slices of toast and some coffee at lunch.
“Hey … not going back to bed already, are ya?”
Sam flops down face first into the pillow, “M’ tired.” He replies, voice muffled by the pillow.
“Yeah, I can kinda see that, but you gotta eat to stay alive. I’m sure that’s something they taught you in college, right?”
Sam turns his head and glares at Dean, but forces himself up and into a sitting position. A burger nearly hits him in the face, but he catches it at the last moment. Sam looks a little green around the gills as he opens the wrapped cheeseburger, but he lifts it to his mouth and takes a tentative nibble. Sam hasn’t told him much about the things he was seeing while Satan took up residence in his head, but it’s plain to read on Sam’s face that food must have been some kind of issue for him because he examines his food very closely with each bite and chews very carefully. After only a quarter of the burger is gone, he’s got that ‘I’m gonna hurl at any moment’ look about him and Dean takes some pity on him.
“I got fries too if you don’t want the burger.” Dean says as he hands his brother the take-out bag. Sam looks relieved and wraps his mostly uneaten burger back up and puts it in the bag before pulling out the fries and munching on them instead. It’s not exactly what Dean would call a complete meal, but at least Sam is eating and that’s a win in his book - now, if only he can keep his brother awake for more than ten minutes …
Sam yawns loudly once he’s done eating and drinks a bottle of water before lying back down on his pillow and closing his eyes.
So much for trying to keep him awake, Dean commiserates with himself. As boring as the prospect of another night watching his brother snooze is, Dean is just glad to have Sam back minus his costar, Lucifer. It was just going to take some time for him to recover and get back into fighting form even if Dean is impatient for things to return to whatever version of ‘normal’ is for them these days.
Dean pulls Bobby’s flask out of his jacket pocket and twists the cap off before chugging a few large mouthfuls of bourbon as soon as Sam starts to snore. Well … at least he had his good friend Jack to keep him company for a while.
---------------------
She’s so hungry.
At last, evening comes and she is able to come out of hiding. She flies through the doorway, feeling a sharp burn as she crosses over a line of salt, but that isn’t enough to stop her - nothing can stop her when she is this famished.
She hovers over the first bed for a moment. The older one is an interesting creature, filled with bitterness and bile and he too could provide her with plenty to consume as soon as she is through with the more nourishing prize, but she’s repulsed by the smell of alcohol on his lips and she moves on to the one she really wants.
She can almost taste him from there and she can no longer resist the pull of his exhaustion and fear.
She lands on his chest and breathes in the scents of pain and terror that dwell deep in his mind then she starts to feed, pulling delicious nightmares to the surface and savoring them as she takes them into herself and hums a gentle lullaby to coax him further into his dreams.
Part 2
Author: mamapranayama
Recipient: Annie 46
Genre: Gen/Hurt!Sam/heroic!Dean
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Word Count: ~9600
Summary: Spoilers for 7x17. Sam is exhausted after his stay in the mental ward, but something is after him and sleeping may be the death of him.
For Annie46 and this prompt: Sam and Dean investigate an old legend or myth such as Selkies or the Green Man.
Nessun Dorma
He doesn’t know what it is, but he does know that it’s scary as shit.
He wills his arms to move, to call out to his brother and let him know he can’t breathe - that he’s dying -- but he can’t. Nothing responds to the panic flooding his mind - he can’t even get his lungs to inflate.
If he could only get one finger to move - one muscle to twitch …
Inside his head is the noise of screaming, but none of it can break free from his throat and on his chest, it feels as though a heavy presence is weighing down on him, pinning him and paralyzing his muscles.
His thoughts race and he struggles against the invisible bonds holding him down.
Suddenly it’s as if a rubber band snaps and breaks and his body jerks in response, free at last. He gasps, taking in great gulps of air to help feed oxygen to his galloping heart and starving lungs. Energy jolts through his arms and legs, up and down his nerves until he’s bolting upright, ensnaring his limbs in wet, sweat-soaked fabric.
His eyes take in his surroundings and he’s in bed - the same bed he collapsed into just after Dean sprung him from the hospital and he tells himself that it was only a dream - it has to be -- even if it’s not like any nightmare he’s ever had before.
Whatever presence he thought he had felt before is gone, but the bed next to his is occupied and the soft, snoring noises issuing from under the blankets helps to calm his racing pulse and push the last lingering vestiges of the nightmare he had been caught in out of his mind.
He turns his head to the only artificial light in the room and looks at the digital numbers on the clock. It’s 3:38 am and he’s only been asleep for four hours, but compared to the last week - it might has well have been only minutes as his body is still aching for more rest.
Collapsing back down on his pillow, he looks up at the ceiling and the streaks of light coming through the blinds of the window before he chances to close his eyes again and give himself back over to his exhaustion. The silence is a blessing and welcome, yet at the same time, it’s too noisy and sleep doesn’t come back to him as easily as it should. It’s hard to believe that he would actually miss Lucifer’s voice, but something soft and melodic begins to fill his head, lulling him back into darkness and he gives in to its pull.
------------------
She hums and he relaxes, slipping back into his dreams.
This one is special, like a glowing beacon in the night that she couldn’t help but be drawn to. His dreams are rich and plentiful - terrifying and so nourishing, but he is prone to wake up before she’s done with him, his nightmares almost too powerful for him to remain in sleep long enough to get her fill. But she needs him to sleep in order to feed - she’s so hungry and he’s too delicious to pass up.
Yes … she would gorge herself on this one until there was nothing left but bones to pick on.
------------------
“Hey …” Dean shakes Sam’s shoulder gently, “C’mon - I know you need to catch up on your beauty sleep, but do you think 30 hours is enough for now?”
Sam rubs his eyes against the bright light coming through the wide open shades of the window and groans loudly, “What time is it?”
“Oh … about noon.”
Sam scrunches his face, doing the math, “That’s only like twelve hours, not thirty.”
“Not when you consider the fact that it’s Sunday and not Friday anymore.” Dean states with a smirk.
Sam is confused and disoriented by the length of time he must have slept, but he grins back and he can’t begin to tell his brother how grateful he is that he came back for him. He had given up - he really had - more than a week without so much as a minute of sleep and Sam had become too tired to even want to live anymore and with Lucifer running commentary at all times, he would have welcomed death.
But Dean hadn’t given up - as Sam should have known he wouldn’t and he came back for him. While Cas may have taken Lucifer from his waking nightmares, it was Dean that had really pulled him back from the brink and for that, he doesn’t know how to repay him.
Sam’s throat threatens to knot up and he chokes a little, but his emotions are tempered by Dean’s next words.
“Well, you gonna get your lazy ass outta bed sometime today and take a shower? I mean, my God, Sammy, you’d think you just spent the last week holed up in a petting zoo instead of the funny farm.”
Sam snarls and turns onto his side, petulantly showing his back to his brother, “I’ll take one in a little while, just let me sleep another hour or so.” He pleads, his body still craving rest.
A pillow smacks into the back of Sam’s head which he grabs and tosses back at Dean, “C’mon, Sam. You need to get up, get cleaned up, get something to eat and drink and then we gotta hit the road. We’re still a little too close to that hospital for comfort and I’d like to get a few more hundred miles between that place and us. You can sleep in the car if you’re still tired.
Sam really can’t argue with that logic even though he suspects that some of Dean’s motivation to leave town stems more from boredom than anything else, but he can’t really fault his brother either - watching someone sleep for two days can’t be all that exciting. Despite being desperately tired still, Sam decides that he can force himself to go through the motions of getting a shower and a meal if it means he can sleep for the rest of the day - and probably night afterwards.
Dean pulls the covers off Sam and practically shoves him towards the bathroom and Sam doesn’t protest when his brother hands him his shaving kit and toiletries, “Alright - get a move on - daylight’s wasting.”
Sam takes his time - Dean can wait a little bit longer.
He showers until the hot water runs out, hoping the steady stream of warmth will invigorate him and pull him out of the sleepy fog he’s operating in, but he’s still thinking about the comfortable bed and blankets he just came from and how nice it would be to have stayed asleep just a little while longer.
If Dean was annoyed by how long his slow-moving brother took in the shower, he doesn’t say anything but, when Sam comes out of the bathroom and still hasn’t shaved, Dean looks at him with a flash of irritation until Sam’s eyes cast down at his torn up fingers. He still isn’t completely sure how he injured them in the hospital as his memories of the last few days are kinda fuzzy, but they’re too sore from his stinging shampoo to steadily use his razor. Dean just seems to understand and reaches into his own toiletry bag and hands him his electric shaver so he won’t rip up his face.
“Thanks, Dean.” Sam says.
“Clean it when you’re done - I don’t want Sasquatch fur jamming it up.”
After Sam has all of the stubble removed from his face, he looks in the mirror, feeling closer to alive than he has in a very long time. He still has some dark circles under his eyes and his face is thinner thanks to his loss of appetite while in the hospital, but Sam thinks that it’s all a big improvement, especially when Satan doesn’t appear behind him and make some kind of snide comment. He just wishes he could shake off some of his lingering exhaustion.
Dean’s patience must have finally reached its maximum because he is soon knocking forcefully on the door and demanding that they both get a move on because he’s starving and needs lunch ‘right the hell now!’
Sam’s stomach rumbles at the mention of food and he realizes that he too is getting increasingly hungry and he can’t remember the last time he ate of full meal - or when he actually didn’t feel nauseous just looking at food or expecting maggots to crawl out of it. He still shudders at the memory of that particular hallucination, but his hunger is winning out and he hurries to get dressed, pack up, and leave with Dean for the nearest diner.
---------------------
Dean casts a look at the passenger seat and his sleeping brother - his still sleeping brother.
Sam may have one helluva sleep debt, but he was seriously starting to drive Dean bonkers with boredom. He’s hardly had a chance to say more than a few words here and there to his brother since he sprung him from the nuthouse - and God - he misses the sound of his brother’s rational, albeit bitchy voice.
He’s half-tempted to wake him up just so he doesn’t fall asleep himself behind the wheel, but Sam looks about as peacefully asleep as he’s ever seen him - he’s hardly moved a muscle since he dozed off after lunch and for the first time in months, he doesn’t hear his brother whimpering or making those fearful noises that signals he’s having a bad dream.
So, Dean drives on for another hundred miles in silence, not even turning on the radio so he can let his brother sleep on.
He stops at a McDonald’s drive thru for dinner. Sam doesn’t so much as stir and it’s only a thin line of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth that provides any sign of life from his brother.
It’s still early evening, but Dean’s tired from driving in silence and watching Sam sleep, so he pulls into the nearest motel and gets a room where they can eat their dinner and crash for the night.
As soon as he parks, he reaches over and shakes Sam’s shoulder.
“Hey … Sam …” He starts off, trying to wake him without being a dick, but when Sam just kinda mumbles something and turns his head away from Dean, he loses some - okay all - of his gentleness. “I’m not carrying you over the threshold, Sammy … get your ass up.”
Sam slowly blinks awake then rubs the sleep from his eyes and starts to look around in a haze, “We at a motel already?”
Dean shakes his head, “Excellent deduction, Sherlock.”
Sam stretches and yawns loudly, looking like he could curl up and go right back into the arms of Morpheus, but Dean isn’t having any of that - Sam needs to eat just as much as he needs sleep, so he punches his brother in the shoulder to fully wake him up. “C’mon. I got dinner.” Dean says. Sam shoots him a grumpy, and sleepy face, but pushes his door open, pulling himself out of the car.
Dean opens the door to the room and dumps the McDonald’s bags onto the table as Sam drags his feet inside, going straight for the bed. If it’s even possible after so much rest, Sam actually looks even more exhausted than he did the night Dean got him out of the hospital, but their food is getting cold and his little brother has to be hungry after eating only a couple slices of toast and some coffee at lunch.
“Hey … not going back to bed already, are ya?”
Sam flops down face first into the pillow, “M’ tired.” He replies, voice muffled by the pillow.
“Yeah, I can kinda see that, but you gotta eat to stay alive. I’m sure that’s something they taught you in college, right?”
Sam turns his head and glares at Dean, but forces himself up and into a sitting position. A burger nearly hits him in the face, but he catches it at the last moment. Sam looks a little green around the gills as he opens the wrapped cheeseburger, but he lifts it to his mouth and takes a tentative nibble. Sam hasn’t told him much about the things he was seeing while Satan took up residence in his head, but it’s plain to read on Sam’s face that food must have been some kind of issue for him because he examines his food very closely with each bite and chews very carefully. After only a quarter of the burger is gone, he’s got that ‘I’m gonna hurl at any moment’ look about him and Dean takes some pity on him.
“I got fries too if you don’t want the burger.” Dean says as he hands his brother the take-out bag. Sam looks relieved and wraps his mostly uneaten burger back up and puts it in the bag before pulling out the fries and munching on them instead. It’s not exactly what Dean would call a complete meal, but at least Sam is eating and that’s a win in his book - now, if only he can keep his brother awake for more than ten minutes …
Sam yawns loudly once he’s done eating and drinks a bottle of water before lying back down on his pillow and closing his eyes.
So much for trying to keep him awake, Dean commiserates with himself. As boring as the prospect of another night watching his brother snooze is, Dean is just glad to have Sam back minus his costar, Lucifer. It was just going to take some time for him to recover and get back into fighting form even if Dean is impatient for things to return to whatever version of ‘normal’ is for them these days.
Dean pulls Bobby’s flask out of his jacket pocket and twists the cap off before chugging a few large mouthfuls of bourbon as soon as Sam starts to snore. Well … at least he had his good friend Jack to keep him company for a while.
---------------------
She’s so hungry.
At last, evening comes and she is able to come out of hiding. She flies through the doorway, feeling a sharp burn as she crosses over a line of salt, but that isn’t enough to stop her - nothing can stop her when she is this famished.
She hovers over the first bed for a moment. The older one is an interesting creature, filled with bitterness and bile and he too could provide her with plenty to consume as soon as she is through with the more nourishing prize, but she’s repulsed by the smell of alcohol on his lips and she moves on to the one she really wants.
She can almost taste him from there and she can no longer resist the pull of his exhaustion and fear.
She lands on his chest and breathes in the scents of pain and terror that dwell deep in his mind then she starts to feed, pulling delicious nightmares to the surface and savoring them as she takes them into herself and hums a gentle lullaby to coax him further into his dreams.
Part 2