My obligatory "Running Up That Hill"-titled fic.
Title: keep running up that road (no problem)
Rating: G.
Characters: Sam, Dean
Summary: He can't stop running, and Dean won't let him.
A/N: Set after "My Bloody Valentine", presumably during Teh Great Sammy Detox of '10.
A/N 2: Also, it occurs to me that all of my fanfiction is angsty and not-happy. I'm going to have to work on that. :/
Sam runs, on and on until his legs hurt and his hands shake and his chest burns from the strain. Whenever he falls, everything gets confused and then he's in a clearing, the grass cold and wet and soft and he doesn't want to get up anymore. Dean is pacing around him, wearing armor like some kind of medieval knight and holding a shotgun instead of a sword.
"Don't stop," he barks, like Dad on a training mission, "Get up!"
Sam gets up and he runs, but he always falls again and then he's right back where he started. "What do you want me to do?!" he screams at Dean once, and Dean thrusts into his personal space.
"Get up!" he yells, and Sam does, God help him he always does. This has to be a dream, he thinks once, before he falls and rips his jeans and tears the skin off his knee. He's so thirsty, he just wants one drink just one couldn't hurt please.
Sam runs until the bottoms of his shoes are worn so thin he can feel the ground under him as if he were running barefoot, until there are blisters on his heel and toe and scrapes on his knees and palms and elbows and face.
His legs give out, and then he's looking up at Dean, still in full armor. Dean crouches, with a creak of leather instead of the clank of armor, and his face is kind and almost smiling. "Sammy," he says gently, "Get up." Then he grabs Sam's hands and pulls him to his feet.
Sam opens his eyes and stares at the grid above him, the Devil's Trap beaten into metal. His throat feels raw and his muscles ache. Hinges creak, and he turns his head to see Dean peering in at him.
"Sam, you up?" he asks cautiously. Sam turns his face back to the pale light and smiles.
"Yeah, I'm up."