SPN: A Promise Broken, A Promise To Keep by Legoline
Title: A Promise Broken, A Promise To Keep
Author: legoline
Notes: PG-13. Gen, angst. This is a missing scene for 4x07, written for ongiara who wanted limp!Sam. 1,600 words.
Summary: Sam runs a light fever that night, but it's other things that torment him.
This is set after Sam has exorcised Samhain.
A Promise Broken, A Promise To Keep
by Steffi
Sam stands for a moment, panting, and Dean just stares, his glance shifting from the demon on the ground to his brother. Sam averts his eyes, wipes the blood from his upper lip with the back of his hand quickly. His shoulders tremble and he looks like someone’s squeezed him into a square, shoulders pulled up and head tilted forward.
He looks accutely ashamed too, waiting for Dean’s reproach. But Dean’s throat is all dried up, his lips suddenly parched. He doesn’t know whether he’s supposed to pat Sam’s back or tell him what he did was stupid, because shit, he can’t get over that sight of Sam fighting a powerful demon with his powers in the first place.
Dean is still busy processing that image when Sam’s face suddenly pales, like white washing over his skin, and his knees buckle. He drops to the floor and his head misses the flagstones just barely.
“Sammy.”
Dean leaps forward, races to his brother who’s trying to push himself up but collapses back to the ground.
“Sammy-” Dean breathes. Sam’s back trembles under his hand, radiating with heat.
“Sorry,” Sam mutters. He shivers as he attempts sitting up, and Dean gently places his hand against Sam’s chest, steadying him.
“Don’t apologise,” Dean replies. His voice surprises him, it’s like it has adapted a much softer tone on its own.
Sam shakes his head. “He…tossed the knife...”
“It’s okay, Sam,” Dean cuts in. Sam seems pretty out of it by now. His fingers are entangled in Dean’s shirt, but their grip is loosening. Blood is still dripping from Sam’s nose, and there is no colour in his face.
Shit.
Shit.
He should have helped Sam when he saw how keeping the demon away had almost torn Sam up inside. Instead, he’d been standing there, watching Sam being in obvious pain, seeing what using his powers did to him, but Dean’s feet just hadn’t moved. He’d just remained where he was, frozen, and watched, trapped in a nightmare that refused to make sense to him. He’d watched his baby brother fighting a demon using his powers. It’d been like looking at a Picasso painting for too long.
When Sam’s head lolls against Dean’s shoulder, Dean cups his hand around Sam’s cheek, brushing his thumb against it. It’s cold.
“Sammy,” Dean nudges him. “Hey man, stay with me.”
Sam slowly opens his eyes, and blinks at Dean. Unsure. Worried. He bites his lip, and mutters another apology.
“Fuck, Sam, stop it.”
Feebly, Sam nods.
Sam sways on his feet on their way back to the Impala, dozes off a couple of times in the car and leans heavily against Dean when Dean helps him out of the passenger seat. He lets Dean help him with his jeans and jacket and shirt, doesn’t object being tucked in and falls asleep the moment his head touches the pillow.
A light fever torments Sam that night, makes him toss and turn, shirt sticking to his torso. His eyes move under his lids, back and forth, back and forth, and sometimes he grabs the sheets tighter and mumbles unintelligible words. He sounds pleading and desperate, and occasionally he shakes his head vehemently.
Dean sits on his bed, ready to spring into action should Sam’s temperature suddenly spike or the nightmares get too bad. Right now, they just seem to be the weird dreams you suffer from when you’re running a fever, but Dean is keeping a close eye on Sam. Seeing his little brother like this is never easy, never has been.
The helplessness drives him crazy, the waiting and watching, knowing that he can’t do anything but hope and sit it out. He wishes he could just take Sam’s pain, endure it for him. But he can’t.
Dean rubs his eyes, and takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee. No way he’s going to bed tonight. For all he knows, Sam could have torn his insides up trying to stop Samhain, so there is no fucking way in Hell he’ll crawl under the sheets and take a nap until he’s sure Sam’s going to be fine.
Around five in the morning, the pattern of Sam’s breathing changes, and Sam’s eyes flutter open. Dean skids to the edge of the mattress, pushing aside the magazines about cars and music that have kept him busy the past few hours.
Sam blinks, stares at the ceiling, and blinks again.
“Dean?” His voice echoes with panic.
“I’m here,” Dean replies. A moment later, he’s over by Sam’s bed, the mattress sagging under his weight. He switches Sam’s night light on.
Sam glances up at him, eyes wide and glassy. Dean puts the back of his hand against Sam’s forehead and tries to give Sam an encouraging smile. “Fever’s not come down completely yet. You better get some more sleep, okay?”
“I thought you’d left,” Sam’s voice pipes up. Fear shapes his voice. He sounds terrified.
“Why would I do that?” Dean replies, automatically. The irony of his words becomes clear to him only after he’s spoken, like a slap into his face. Wasn’t leaving exactly what he’d wanted to do after he found out about Sam using his powers the first time around?
“I’m sorry I broke my promise,” Sam whimpers, ignoring Dean’s question. Maybe he’s not heard Dean. Maybe he’s so afraid that he’s already forgotten. Shit, when did Sam transform into a scared little five-year old? Dean’s stomach ties into knots. “Samhain, he tossed the knife away…”
“Don’t worry about it, Sammy.”
“Please don’t leave.”
Dean’s throat dries up, and he has to clear it a couple of times before he can speak. He runs his hand over his face, wondering where in between of Dad leaving and this here, everything went so terribly wrong.
Sam stares at him, lips pressed tight and eyes shining with fever. The fever makes him vulnerable, lets him say things he would keep locked up otherwise. Still, the fear, the anguish-that one is real. Dean can feel it with every fibre of his being.
For the first time, Dean gets a glimpse of how much all of this, the powers and having demon blood, having a destiny that everyone expects and fears Sam to fulfil, eats his brother up alive. How scared he really is, scared that Dean will turn away and leave for good.
Oh, fuck. Way to do your job, Dean Winchester. You’re supposed to keep him safe, dammit. Not make everything worse.
“I’m not going to,” Dean finally answers. He tries to put as much of a promise into his voice as he can. “I’d never leave you behind, okay?”
Sam frowns. “But…after you saw…you wanted…”
“I was angry,” Dean says softly. “I would have returned after a day or so. I wouldn’t have left for good. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”
“You hate what I am,” Sam says flatly. He looks tiny in between the sheets, dares not to keep eye contact with Dean as he says the words.
And that right there is the punch to Dean’s gut, the final blow. Shit, shit, shit. He’d been so angry that day, angry and terrified, and he’d said and done things that he’d never thought would shake Sam up so much. Mostly, he’d been angry with himself because he’d failed to see the signs, because he should have noticed something was going on. And he’d been terrified because all the words, Dad’s and Azazel’s and Gordon’s, had come tumbling back into his head, spinning on a carousel.
“I don’t,” Dean replies. It’s weak. It’s the most meaningless thing he could possibly say.
“I’m just worried,” he explains, hoping Sam will understand. “And I said things that I shouldn’t have. You’re still my brother, right?” Dean pauses, glances at the floor and back to Sam. “I taught to ride a bicycle. I picked you up from school. If I remember correctly, we even went as Batman and Robin one Halloween because you’d begged for it for days.”
There. A smile ghosts over Sam’s face. At least this time, Dean is doing his job right.
“That hasn’t changed, right?” Dean continues. It almost feels like he’s repeating these memories for himself too. Not that he ever hated Sam, but putting things in perspective-it helps. Slowly, the knots in his stomach begin to untie.
Sam considers this for a second, then shakes his head.
“I could never hate you, okay?” Dean says softly. He’s past the point of no chick-flick moments now, needs the assurance as much as Sam does. “You understand me? Never.”
Sam nods slowly.
“And I’m never going to leave you behind. That’s a promise.”
He means every word of it. Every damn single word.
Sam nods once more. Hs lids are at half-mast now; he’s struggling to stay awake. He seems more relaxed now, though, still beaten but less feverish. Dean’s pretty sure that by morning, the temperature will be completely gone. It’s a relief, and he hasn’t had many of those lately.
“Just go back to sleep, okay? Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”
Sam, too tired to nod again, just smiles, before his lids drop and his breath evens out. Dean watches for a while, sees the strain fade from Sam’s face, before he gets up and walks over to the window.
Outside is dark and lonely, the road a black stream of tar in the stillness of the night. Tomorrow, they will have to hit the road again, go some place new.
But wherever it will take them, they will go there together.
-end-
Author: legoline
Notes: PG-13. Gen, angst. This is a missing scene for 4x07, written for ongiara who wanted limp!Sam. 1,600 words.
Summary: Sam runs a light fever that night, but it's other things that torment him.
This is set after Sam has exorcised Samhain.
A Promise Broken, A Promise To Keep
by Steffi
Sam stands for a moment, panting, and Dean just stares, his glance shifting from the demon on the ground to his brother. Sam averts his eyes, wipes the blood from his upper lip with the back of his hand quickly. His shoulders tremble and he looks like someone’s squeezed him into a square, shoulders pulled up and head tilted forward.
He looks accutely ashamed too, waiting for Dean’s reproach. But Dean’s throat is all dried up, his lips suddenly parched. He doesn’t know whether he’s supposed to pat Sam’s back or tell him what he did was stupid, because shit, he can’t get over that sight of Sam fighting a powerful demon with his powers in the first place.
Dean is still busy processing that image when Sam’s face suddenly pales, like white washing over his skin, and his knees buckle. He drops to the floor and his head misses the flagstones just barely.
“Sammy.”
Dean leaps forward, races to his brother who’s trying to push himself up but collapses back to the ground.
“Sammy-” Dean breathes. Sam’s back trembles under his hand, radiating with heat.
“Sorry,” Sam mutters. He shivers as he attempts sitting up, and Dean gently places his hand against Sam’s chest, steadying him.
“Don’t apologise,” Dean replies. His voice surprises him, it’s like it has adapted a much softer tone on its own.
Sam shakes his head. “He…tossed the knife...”
“It’s okay, Sam,” Dean cuts in. Sam seems pretty out of it by now. His fingers are entangled in Dean’s shirt, but their grip is loosening. Blood is still dripping from Sam’s nose, and there is no colour in his face.
Shit.
Shit.
He should have helped Sam when he saw how keeping the demon away had almost torn Sam up inside. Instead, he’d been standing there, watching Sam being in obvious pain, seeing what using his powers did to him, but Dean’s feet just hadn’t moved. He’d just remained where he was, frozen, and watched, trapped in a nightmare that refused to make sense to him. He’d watched his baby brother fighting a demon using his powers. It’d been like looking at a Picasso painting for too long.
When Sam’s head lolls against Dean’s shoulder, Dean cups his hand around Sam’s cheek, brushing his thumb against it. It’s cold.
“Sammy,” Dean nudges him. “Hey man, stay with me.”
Sam slowly opens his eyes, and blinks at Dean. Unsure. Worried. He bites his lip, and mutters another apology.
“Fuck, Sam, stop it.”
Feebly, Sam nods.
Sam sways on his feet on their way back to the Impala, dozes off a couple of times in the car and leans heavily against Dean when Dean helps him out of the passenger seat. He lets Dean help him with his jeans and jacket and shirt, doesn’t object being tucked in and falls asleep the moment his head touches the pillow.
A light fever torments Sam that night, makes him toss and turn, shirt sticking to his torso. His eyes move under his lids, back and forth, back and forth, and sometimes he grabs the sheets tighter and mumbles unintelligible words. He sounds pleading and desperate, and occasionally he shakes his head vehemently.
Dean sits on his bed, ready to spring into action should Sam’s temperature suddenly spike or the nightmares get too bad. Right now, they just seem to be the weird dreams you suffer from when you’re running a fever, but Dean is keeping a close eye on Sam. Seeing his little brother like this is never easy, never has been.
The helplessness drives him crazy, the waiting and watching, knowing that he can’t do anything but hope and sit it out. He wishes he could just take Sam’s pain, endure it for him. But he can’t.
Dean rubs his eyes, and takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee. No way he’s going to bed tonight. For all he knows, Sam could have torn his insides up trying to stop Samhain, so there is no fucking way in Hell he’ll crawl under the sheets and take a nap until he’s sure Sam’s going to be fine.
Around five in the morning, the pattern of Sam’s breathing changes, and Sam’s eyes flutter open. Dean skids to the edge of the mattress, pushing aside the magazines about cars and music that have kept him busy the past few hours.
Sam blinks, stares at the ceiling, and blinks again.
“Dean?” His voice echoes with panic.
“I’m here,” Dean replies. A moment later, he’s over by Sam’s bed, the mattress sagging under his weight. He switches Sam’s night light on.
Sam glances up at him, eyes wide and glassy. Dean puts the back of his hand against Sam’s forehead and tries to give Sam an encouraging smile. “Fever’s not come down completely yet. You better get some more sleep, okay?”
“I thought you’d left,” Sam’s voice pipes up. Fear shapes his voice. He sounds terrified.
“Why would I do that?” Dean replies, automatically. The irony of his words becomes clear to him only after he’s spoken, like a slap into his face. Wasn’t leaving exactly what he’d wanted to do after he found out about Sam using his powers the first time around?
“I’m sorry I broke my promise,” Sam whimpers, ignoring Dean’s question. Maybe he’s not heard Dean. Maybe he’s so afraid that he’s already forgotten. Shit, when did Sam transform into a scared little five-year old? Dean’s stomach ties into knots. “Samhain, he tossed the knife away…”
“Don’t worry about it, Sammy.”
“Please don’t leave.”
Dean’s throat dries up, and he has to clear it a couple of times before he can speak. He runs his hand over his face, wondering where in between of Dad leaving and this here, everything went so terribly wrong.
Sam stares at him, lips pressed tight and eyes shining with fever. The fever makes him vulnerable, lets him say things he would keep locked up otherwise. Still, the fear, the anguish-that one is real. Dean can feel it with every fibre of his being.
For the first time, Dean gets a glimpse of how much all of this, the powers and having demon blood, having a destiny that everyone expects and fears Sam to fulfil, eats his brother up alive. How scared he really is, scared that Dean will turn away and leave for good.
Oh, fuck. Way to do your job, Dean Winchester. You’re supposed to keep him safe, dammit. Not make everything worse.
“I’m not going to,” Dean finally answers. He tries to put as much of a promise into his voice as he can. “I’d never leave you behind, okay?”
Sam frowns. “But…after you saw…you wanted…”
“I was angry,” Dean says softly. “I would have returned after a day or so. I wouldn’t have left for good. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”
“You hate what I am,” Sam says flatly. He looks tiny in between the sheets, dares not to keep eye contact with Dean as he says the words.
And that right there is the punch to Dean’s gut, the final blow. Shit, shit, shit. He’d been so angry that day, angry and terrified, and he’d said and done things that he’d never thought would shake Sam up so much. Mostly, he’d been angry with himself because he’d failed to see the signs, because he should have noticed something was going on. And he’d been terrified because all the words, Dad’s and Azazel’s and Gordon’s, had come tumbling back into his head, spinning on a carousel.
“I don’t,” Dean replies. It’s weak. It’s the most meaningless thing he could possibly say.
“I’m just worried,” he explains, hoping Sam will understand. “And I said things that I shouldn’t have. You’re still my brother, right?” Dean pauses, glances at the floor and back to Sam. “I taught to ride a bicycle. I picked you up from school. If I remember correctly, we even went as Batman and Robin one Halloween because you’d begged for it for days.”
There. A smile ghosts over Sam’s face. At least this time, Dean is doing his job right.
“That hasn’t changed, right?” Dean continues. It almost feels like he’s repeating these memories for himself too. Not that he ever hated Sam, but putting things in perspective-it helps. Slowly, the knots in his stomach begin to untie.
Sam considers this for a second, then shakes his head.
“I could never hate you, okay?” Dean says softly. He’s past the point of no chick-flick moments now, needs the assurance as much as Sam does. “You understand me? Never.”
Sam nods slowly.
“And I’m never going to leave you behind. That’s a promise.”
He means every word of it. Every damn single word.
Sam nods once more. Hs lids are at half-mast now; he’s struggling to stay awake. He seems more relaxed now, though, still beaten but less feverish. Dean’s pretty sure that by morning, the temperature will be completely gone. It’s a relief, and he hasn’t had many of those lately.
“Just go back to sleep, okay? Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”
Sam, too tired to nod again, just smiles, before his lids drop and his breath evens out. Dean watches for a while, sees the strain fade from Sam’s face, before he gets up and walks over to the window.
Outside is dark and lonely, the road a black stream of tar in the stillness of the night. Tomorrow, they will have to hit the road again, go some place new.
But wherever it will take them, they will go there together.
-end-