How the Winchesters got their groove back: the commentfic meme you totally knew you wanted
BECAUSE SAM AND DEAN STILL LOVE EACH OTHER (OR ARE INTELLECTUALLY FOND OF EACH OTHER, SAM WINCHESTER I’M LOOKIN AT YOU) AND I STILL LOVE THEM.
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“You should put me in the panic room,” Sam says, in one of his rare waking moments.
Dean, standing by this bedside, nearly drops the mug of tea he’s holding. “What?”
“At least you won’t be able to hear me down there,” Sam says.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean says, though his shaking hands and the dark circles under his eyes give away just how little sleep he’s been getting.
“Dean,” Sam says, and his small is fond. “There’s no sense us both suffering.”
“I can’t,” Dean insists, “I just can’t have you so far away again. Not now that you’re back.”
“Okay,” Sam says, words already slurred with exhaustion. “You’re so stubborn.”
“That’s me,” Dan agrees, but Sam is already asleep, biting his lip so hard Dean worries it might bleed.
Dean knows he should go downstairs and see if Bobby has another book for him, or try to catch a few minutes of sleep himself. Instead, he puts down Sam’s untouched tea, and sits at the edge of the bed.
Sam gasps every few moments, and kicks his legs feebly, like he’s running from something -Hellhounds, maybe. Dean remembers Hell, and it’s not hard to imagine what might be haunting Sam’s dreams.
Dean’s tired. He lies down carefully next to Sam on the bed, resting his head on the single pillow, next to Sam’s. Sam cries out, right into Dean’s ear, and Dean briefly goes deaf.
Dean reaches across Sam’s shaking shoulders and strokes the back of Sam’s neck, under hair that has gotten far too long. Sam shivers and shuffles closer to Dean, burying his face in Dean’s throat. The room is perfectly silent and Dean discovers he’s been holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable scream.
The scream doesn’t come, and Dean exhales carefully, unwilling to move or make noise for fear of triggering something in Sam. But Dean can feel Sam’s heartbeat -slowing- and the rise and fall of his chest - steady.
“Dean,” Sam mumbles, hands resting limply on his brother’s chest. His voice is soft and familiar and warm.
“Sam,” Dean answers, though he knows his brother can’t hear him, and then he finally lets himself go to sleep.
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This is exactly the kind of angst I've been looking for. Lovely.
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“I can’t,” Dean insists, “I just can’t have you so far away again. Not now that you’re back.”
*sniffles* and loves it more.
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♥♥♥
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