Rock Paper Scissors Chapter Six
Summary: Sam should've know Dean would pick scissors. He always picks scissors...
"Please! Please stop this!" Sam cried out from within the entrapment of his own mind, as he felt his fists continuously collide with his brother's battered face. But Lucifer ignored his pleas, taking great pleasure in turning Dean's face into mush.
"Sam, it's okay..." Dean told him. "It's okay; I'm here..." Why was he trying to comfort him? It was Sam's fault this was happening...not his.
Lucifer hit him again. Sam yelled out, again, "Leave him alone! Stop it! You're killing him!"
"I'm here...I'm not gonna leave you... I'm not gonna leave you..."
"Sam!" he heard his brother call out for him; felt his shoulders being shaken. "Sammy, wake up!"
He forced himself to open his eyes, seeing Dean hovering over him in the dimly lit room. He still couldn't move.
"Sam?" Dean's face was washed with worry, and Sam longed to make that go away... "Sammy, breathe!" He realized, then, the desperate need for an intake of air, and followed his brother's instructions, sucking in a breath.
Then, suddenly, he realized it had all been a dream; a memory... He pushed himself up, throwing his arms around Dean and holding onto him as if it were the only thing reminding him that all of that was over.
Dean had been pulled from his own sleep by his brother's screams, and it had terrified him. Seeing Sam's entire body stiff as a board, hands fisting the sheets beneath him in the throes of the nightmare, made him think that he might've unintentionally scratched at the wall again. He wasn't sure what he'd dreamt about, but he couldn't sit by and let him stay in that torture any longer.
When Sam wrapped his arms around him, clinging to the back of his shirt like he had as a child, in incidents of night-terrors, he couldn't respond with anything less than what he'd done back then. He put his arms around the younger, yet slightly heavier, now, man, and supported him. Sam's face was even buried in Dean's shoulder, like he'd done as a child, and his body trembled against his will.
"Sammy? Sam, it's okay," he soothed. "I'm here..."
Sam couldn't hold back the sound of a choked sob as he squeezed tighter to his brother at those words...the very words he'd said to him in that field. "D'n..."
"It was just a dream, Sam..."
"No," he felt him shake his head. "No, it wasn't," he pulled away and scooted back to sit against the headboard, pulling his legs up against his chest. "It was a memory," watery eyes met Dean's.
Dean hated to see his brother cry. It nearly broke his heart, every time. "Aren't they all?" he said with the slightest hint of a smile. Sam's eyes shifted for a moment, absorbing the morbid truth of the statement. "You're not supposed to be thinkin', Sam, remember? No scratchin' the wall."
"I wasn't...how can I control what I dream, Dean?" he asked, incredulously. "Besides, that wasn't it... It was right before I jumped into the pit," he revealed in a low voice. Dean remembered that, all too well. "I couldn't stop him..."
"You did stop him," Dean refreshed his memory.
"Not before he nearly killed you...using my fist," Sam retorted.
If only you knew, Sammy. If only you knew how that had been the plan, all along. When I said I wasn't gonna let you die alone, I didn't mean that I was just gonna be there. If you were gonna die, I wanted you to take me down with you...
"But you did stop him," Dean continued. "And Cas came back, patched me up good as new." Sam looked away, somewhere down at the bedspread, seeming unconvinced. "You think I give a crap about that, Sam?" he took to a different tactic, causing Sam to meet his eyes again. "You think I blame you, even for a minute, what he did? What happened, happened for a reason. Hell, if he hadn't been beatin' the bejesus outta my face, you wouldn't have had the chance to take over. I'd be dead...we all would be."
Sam's eyes darted around as he contemplated what Dean had told him. But his thoughts were interrupted when an alarm sounded from his brother's cell phone on the nightstand. Dean grabbed it and muted the sound as he looked at the screen. A grin broke out on his face as he looked back at Sam.
"Know what today is?" he asked. Sam narrowed his eyes in thought, before shaking his head. "It's your birthday, Sammy! We can do anything you want, today," he said, excitedly, as he stood and made his way toward the bathroom. "Even if it's goin' to the library and buryin' your nose in books all day... I'll be right there with ya, pretending to be excited," he winked before disappearing into the bathroom.
Dean did this every year, since Sam was old enough to remember. It was 24 hours of Sam's choice, no matter what. Which made the other 364 days of the year Dean's... so I guess this made up for it a little.
Dean always managed to do surprisingly well for Sam's day. Sometimes Sam thought Dean might be even more thrilled than he was about it. It didn't really make all that much sense, honestly, since Dean liked to be the boss most of the time. But Sam figured, like always, Dean was happy to be able to do something that made Sam happy, without the possibility of it being claimed as a chick-flick moment.
"I don't suppose you wanna head to the bar, do ya?" Dean called out after flushing the toilet.
"Dean, it's like six in the morning."
"It's five PM somewhere," he grinned as he came out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a white towel.
"Yeah, well...it's my birthday," Sam retorted. "And the first thing I wanna do is go back to sleep."
"Party pooper," he replied.
Sam smirked as he moved to lay back down. "Hey, Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"You stayin' up?" he asked.
Dean looked over at him, seeing the sudden anxiety in his eyes. To wake you up if you have bad dreams again? 'Course, Sammy... "Yep. Can't get back to sleep now anyway," he gave a slight smirk before moving around to the other side of Sam's bed, climbing in and propping back against the headboard; remote in hand.
Sam didn't question the action. It was something Dean had done when they were younger, whenever Sam had nightmares. He wouldn't admit to it (and he didn't have to), but he felt safer with him there. Dean never needed to wake him up, when he was there beside him, because his presence kept the nightmares away.
Sam turned onto his side, facing away from his brother, and allowed his eyes to close again, as Dean turned on the TV, keeping the volume low enough to not bother his younger brother...
Chapter Seven
"Please! Please stop this!" Sam cried out from within the entrapment of his own mind, as he felt his fists continuously collide with his brother's battered face. But Lucifer ignored his pleas, taking great pleasure in turning Dean's face into mush.
"Sam, it's okay..." Dean told him. "It's okay; I'm here..." Why was he trying to comfort him? It was Sam's fault this was happening...not his.
Lucifer hit him again. Sam yelled out, again, "Leave him alone! Stop it! You're killing him!"
"I'm here...I'm not gonna leave you... I'm not gonna leave you..."
"Sam!" he heard his brother call out for him; felt his shoulders being shaken. "Sammy, wake up!"
He forced himself to open his eyes, seeing Dean hovering over him in the dimly lit room. He still couldn't move.
"Sam?" Dean's face was washed with worry, and Sam longed to make that go away... "Sammy, breathe!" He realized, then, the desperate need for an intake of air, and followed his brother's instructions, sucking in a breath.
Then, suddenly, he realized it had all been a dream; a memory... He pushed himself up, throwing his arms around Dean and holding onto him as if it were the only thing reminding him that all of that was over.
Dean had been pulled from his own sleep by his brother's screams, and it had terrified him. Seeing Sam's entire body stiff as a board, hands fisting the sheets beneath him in the throes of the nightmare, made him think that he might've unintentionally scratched at the wall again. He wasn't sure what he'd dreamt about, but he couldn't sit by and let him stay in that torture any longer.
When Sam wrapped his arms around him, clinging to the back of his shirt like he had as a child, in incidents of night-terrors, he couldn't respond with anything less than what he'd done back then. He put his arms around the younger, yet slightly heavier, now, man, and supported him. Sam's face was even buried in Dean's shoulder, like he'd done as a child, and his body trembled against his will.
"Sammy? Sam, it's okay," he soothed. "I'm here..."
Sam couldn't hold back the sound of a choked sob as he squeezed tighter to his brother at those words...the very words he'd said to him in that field. "D'n..."
"It was just a dream, Sam..."
"No," he felt him shake his head. "No, it wasn't," he pulled away and scooted back to sit against the headboard, pulling his legs up against his chest. "It was a memory," watery eyes met Dean's.
Dean hated to see his brother cry. It nearly broke his heart, every time. "Aren't they all?" he said with the slightest hint of a smile. Sam's eyes shifted for a moment, absorbing the morbid truth of the statement. "You're not supposed to be thinkin', Sam, remember? No scratchin' the wall."
"I wasn't...how can I control what I dream, Dean?" he asked, incredulously. "Besides, that wasn't it... It was right before I jumped into the pit," he revealed in a low voice. Dean remembered that, all too well. "I couldn't stop him..."
"You did stop him," Dean refreshed his memory.
"Not before he nearly killed you...using my fist," Sam retorted.
If only you knew, Sammy. If only you knew how that had been the plan, all along. When I said I wasn't gonna let you die alone, I didn't mean that I was just gonna be there. If you were gonna die, I wanted you to take me down with you...
"But you did stop him," Dean continued. "And Cas came back, patched me up good as new." Sam looked away, somewhere down at the bedspread, seeming unconvinced. "You think I give a crap about that, Sam?" he took to a different tactic, causing Sam to meet his eyes again. "You think I blame you, even for a minute, what he did? What happened, happened for a reason. Hell, if he hadn't been beatin' the bejesus outta my face, you wouldn't have had the chance to take over. I'd be dead...we all would be."
Sam's eyes darted around as he contemplated what Dean had told him. But his thoughts were interrupted when an alarm sounded from his brother's cell phone on the nightstand. Dean grabbed it and muted the sound as he looked at the screen. A grin broke out on his face as he looked back at Sam.
"Know what today is?" he asked. Sam narrowed his eyes in thought, before shaking his head. "It's your birthday, Sammy! We can do anything you want, today," he said, excitedly, as he stood and made his way toward the bathroom. "Even if it's goin' to the library and buryin' your nose in books all day... I'll be right there with ya, pretending to be excited," he winked before disappearing into the bathroom.
Dean did this every year, since Sam was old enough to remember. It was 24 hours of Sam's choice, no matter what. Which made the other 364 days of the year Dean's... so I guess this made up for it a little.
Dean always managed to do surprisingly well for Sam's day. Sometimes Sam thought Dean might be even more thrilled than he was about it. It didn't really make all that much sense, honestly, since Dean liked to be the boss most of the time. But Sam figured, like always, Dean was happy to be able to do something that made Sam happy, without the possibility of it being claimed as a chick-flick moment.
"I don't suppose you wanna head to the bar, do ya?" Dean called out after flushing the toilet.
"Dean, it's like six in the morning."
"It's five PM somewhere," he grinned as he came out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a white towel.
"Yeah, well...it's my birthday," Sam retorted. "And the first thing I wanna do is go back to sleep."
"Party pooper," he replied.
Sam smirked as he moved to lay back down. "Hey, Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"You stayin' up?" he asked.
Dean looked over at him, seeing the sudden anxiety in his eyes. To wake you up if you have bad dreams again? 'Course, Sammy... "Yep. Can't get back to sleep now anyway," he gave a slight smirk before moving around to the other side of Sam's bed, climbing in and propping back against the headboard; remote in hand.
Sam didn't question the action. It was something Dean had done when they were younger, whenever Sam had nightmares. He wouldn't admit to it (and he didn't have to), but he felt safer with him there. Dean never needed to wake him up, when he was there beside him, because his presence kept the nightmares away.
Sam turned onto his side, facing away from his brother, and allowed his eyes to close again, as Dean turned on the TV, keeping the volume low enough to not bother his younger brother...
Chapter Seven