Before Tomorrow 2/3
Before Tomorrow
Summary: Dad's missing, November 2nd is approaching, and now Jess is calling saying that there's something up with Sam. Dean heads to Palo Alto to try to figure out what's going on. EpilepticSam 'verse.
Chapter Two
“So the nightmare's about Jess?” Dean asks over coffee the next morning. Jess has already left for an early shift at the coffee shop and it's the perfect time to try to get Sam to open up.
Sam, however, doesn't seem to agree. He's on his second cup of coffee and still slumped over the arm of the couch, rubbing his dark-ringed eyes. He's rocking a serious case of bed-head but all that proves is that he lay down. Dean's not sure how much he actually slept. Probably not much, given that Sam's response is to moan at him and smoosh his face into the couch. “Don't.”
“You know I'm gonna figure it out eventually. May as well just spill.” Dean settles himself down on the couch, leaning up against the arm opposite Sam so he can annoy the kid by kicking at his feet.
This would be nice, he thinks vaguely, if Sam wasn't having some sort of crisis. Mornings at Jess and Sam's house; he can just picture them in a few years with a couple of kids running around, Uncle Dean stopping in between hunts...
“There's nothing to spill,” Sam says into the couch. “It's just epilepsy. You can't stop me from having seizures. Anyway, I bet Dad's already waiting for you, right? What are you two hunting next?”
Dean says nothing. He'd been hoping he could get to the bottom of what's wrong with Sam before this came up and he's been too preoccupied worrying about everyone to come up with an excuse for their father's absence. He doesn't want to lie to the kid anyway.
Sam raises his head and squints at him suspiciously. “Dean?”
Dean finds himself staring into his coffee cup to avoid Sam's gaze. “I kind of don't know where Dad is,” he admits. “He's not answering my calls.”
Sam sits up straight, suddenly looking a lot more awake than Dean's seen him since he got here. “You don't know where he is?” he echoes incredulously, slamming his empty cup down on the coffee table and swinging his legs off the couch, as if he's going to jump up and start searching right now. “What the hell are you doing here then? Why aren't you looking for him?”
“What do you think I've been doing?” Dean huffs indignantly. “He doesn't want to be found, otherwise I would've found him.”
Sam's eyes are wide. “What if he's hurt? What if something took him? Oh my God, Dean, why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I knew you'd freak out like this.” Dean rolls his eyes, setting his coffee cup down calmly and hoping that he's coming off more confident than he feels. He is fairly certain that Dad is avoiding him on purpose but he has no idea why or where or anything and that leaves a decent amount of room for doubt. Still, there's no point piling more stress on Sammy right now. “Trust me, Sam, this is deliberate. We're not amateurs, you know. Me and Dad always have fail-safes in place so the other knows if things go sour, which means he's covering his tracks on purpose. Probably just drinking himself into oblivion somewhere in between hunts.”
“You think it's about Mom?” Sam asks, studying him carefully. Dean can tell that the kid isn't convinced that there's nothing to worry about but he doesn't look quite so ready to run out the door and track their father down.
“What else would it be about at this time of year? November 2nd is only a few days away.” As if either of them need reminding.
“I guess,” Sam says uncertainly.
“Don't think I didn't notice you changing the subject,” Dean adds.
“I didn't change the subject,” Sam denies immediately, sinking back into the couch like a minute of sitting up straight has sapped all the energy he has. “Dad being missing is way more important than a few bad dreams.”
“Seems like more than a few,” Dean says pointedly. “And they're not just bad dreams, they're seizures. Do you have them every time you fall asleep?”
Sam ducks behind his hair. “Pretty much,” he admits, kicking absently at the leg of the coffee table.
“So did they get more or less frequent after you decided to completely fuck up your sleeping schedule?”
He doesn't need to see the kid's face to know that Sam is scowling. “More, okay? I'm not an idiot, Dean. I know I need to sleep.”
Dean ignores that because knowing he needs sleep and actually sleeping are two different things. “What did Doctor Whatshisname say about it?”
“That lots of people see weird stuff during seizures,” Sam recites dully.
“Okay, so the doc says it's normal, you say it got worse when you stopped sleeping properly, and you still decided that the best plan of action was staying awake for the rest of your life?” The 'you idiot' is heavily implied. “Must be one hell of a dream.”
“It's just a stupid nightmare,” Sam mutters stubbornly. “Just drop it, please?”
Dean would love to drop it and just hang out with his brother without trying to force a chick-flick moment - Hell, Sammy looks so freaking miserable and exhausted that Dean would love to just wrap the kid up in his arms and stay like that until everything miraculously fixes itself - but there's the tonic-clonic seizure last night and the fact that Sam's eyes have slid in and out of focus at least five times already this morning to consider.
“I can't. You're making yourself sick, Sammy.”
“It's Sam,” Sam retorts evasively.
“You're making yourself sick, Sam,” Dean corrects himself sarcastically. “You can't just stay awake forever. Sooner or later you're gonna have to talk about it.”
“Later then,” Sam says.
“That's not what I meant.” Dean has to grit his teeth and tuck his fists under his armpits to stop himself from smacking his brother. Somehow he always manages to forget just how frustrating the kid can be. “Later you'll be knocked out by another tonic-clonic because you haven't fucking slept.”
Sam shakes his head, shrinking further back into the couch. “You don't get it. I'll have a fit if I fall asleep. They always happen when I'm asleep.”
Dean bumps Sam's knee with his foot. “You've never been so scared of sleeping before.”
Sam is silent so Dean goes on.
“You know it's not uncommon for people to see things during fits, Sam. Whatever it is, it's just your crazy brain messing with you.”
“I know.” Sam huffs out a frustrated sigh. “But it doesn't seem like it when it's happening. It feels real. As real as sitting here with you does.”
Dean leans forward, hooking an arm around his knees and peering up under Sam's curtain of hair. “So talk to me about it. Maybe it'll help. It's not like it's gonna hurt and, honestly, Sam, if our only other option is you never sleeping again, I think we're gonna have to take the chick-flick moment.”
Sam turns his face away, dropping his head back onto the couch to avoid Dean's gaze. “It's just a nightmare.”
“It must be a pretty bad one to freak you out like this.”
This time the silence lasts so long that Dean starts weighing the pros and cons of just beating the answers out of Sam (pro - it'll be faster, con - the kid seems liable to have a fit if Dean so much as looks at him funny) but finally Sam speaks.
“It's Jess,” he says quietly, which is no surprise. Dean's already figured out that it's about her. “I think I should tell her.”
Dean frowns at Sam, confused. “About the dream?”
“No. About monsters,” Sam says, which is a surprise, and no less confusing, apart from maybe explaining some of why Sammy's stressing so bad. Dean takes a moment to try to puzzle it out but he's going to need more information for this one.
“Okay, I'm lost. What does the dream have to do with telling Jess about monsters?”
Sam still won't look at Dean. His hands are fidgeting in his lap, anxiously twisting his medical alert bracelet around on his wrist. “Because the dream... it's Jess on the ceiling, just like Mom.”
It seems entirely possible that someone might have just thrown a bucket of ice water over Dean's head. It definitely feels that way, minus the tangible wetness but keeping the sudden cold shock. Of all the things Sammy's brain could've come up with... This definitely wasn't on Dean's mental list of possible problems, but now the kid's waiting for a response and it was Dean's idea to talk about this - he just didn't know that this was this - so come on, Dean, talk.
“Oh. Oh, well, okay, “ he stammers, thinking fast. “Well, that makes sense, I guess.”
Sam looks at him sharply and he can tell that the kid doesn't think it makes sense at all.
“I mean, it's that time of year, isn't it?” Dean continues. “Mom's anniversary. And you have school and epilepsy and that interview to stress about. So your brain's just mashing it all together into nightmares.”
Sam frowns dubiously. “You really think that's all it is?”
“Well, we should probably throw in some weird med side effects. You're on so many pills I'm surprised you're not seeing crazy stuff while you're awake, you junkie.”
The jibe startles a smile out of Sam but it's fleeting and Dean knows he's not convinced.
“Okay, well, how about this? Can you remember what was going on when the nightmares started? Did something happen with Jess?”
Sam shakes his head slowly. “No, I don't think so. Everything was fine - more than fine, it was... oh.”
“Oh?” Dean encourages, because Sam's 'oh' is definitely the sound of sudden clarity. They might just be getting to the bottom of all this.
“Oh,” Sam says again, apparently, and infuriatingly, too deep in thought to share his revelation with the rest of the damn class, geez, this kid.
“Oh what, Sam? The suspense is killing me here.”
Sam glances at him, looking a little too surprised to see him sitting there for Dean's liking, but whatever, if the kid zoned out for a moment, it was only a brief one.
“Well, before the nightmares started... I was sort of thinking... well, I kind of decided...”
“Oh my God, Sam, spit it out.”
“I'm going to ask Jess to marry me,” Sam says finally, ducking back behind his hair like he's embarrassed. “I decided right before the nightmares started, and then I just sort of put the planning on hold while I tried to get a handle on them...”
Dean can tell his jaw has dropped and he's definitely staring at Sam like a big goofy idiot and his mind is going haywire with the sudden surge of elation hitting so soon after such an ice cold shock. He can't think of anything to say other than, “Holy shit, Sam, really?!” and, like he just can't help it, Sammy's face breaks into the first smile Dean's seen since he got here.
“Oh my God, Sammy, that's... that's fucking awesome! Oh my God.” Jesus Christ, he sounds like a thirteen year old girl but he can't seem to stop himself and, what with the way Sammy's grinning self-consciously at him from under all that ridiculous hair, he doesn't really want to, instead choosing to drag Sam into a giddy embrace.
Sam laughs. “I haven't actually asked her yet, remember. She could say no.”
“She's not going to say no,” Dean says, pulling away so Sam can have some breathing room. Kid's looking a little light-headed. “There is no way she would say no. When are you going to ask her?”
“I'm not sure yet. I'd only just decided to do it when the nightmares started, so I got kind of distracted... Not now, anyway.”
Of course, it's not the best time of the year for proposals, not with the anniversary of Mom's death hanging over them all like a dark, gloomy cloud, the stress of Dad's disappearance, and Sam's big interview coming up.
“I should tell her the truth first though, shouldn't I? That's probably what the nightmare means...” Sam trails off with a sigh. “She's going to think I'm crazy.”
“She's not going to think you're crazy,” Dean scoffs, determined not to let Sammy rain on his own parade. “She already knows you're not crazy.”
Sam makes a face at him. “Monsters, Dean. She'll think I've got drug-induced psychosis or something.”
“So tell her when I'm around. I'll back you up.” Dean can't help grinning to himself, trying to imagine Jess's face. “I could show her what's in the Impala's trunk.”
Sam smacks his shoulder. “It's not an excuse for you to show off, Dean! Anyway, if she sees that, she'll think you're a serial killer.”
“No, she won't. She's not an idiot, Sam. She already knows we're hiding something from her. All you need to do is tell the truth.”
“It's not that simple,” Sam says.
“No,” Dean concedes, “But it's not that hard either.”
“Not now,” Sam warns him. “I can't do it now, there's way too much going on. And I still need to save for a ring anyway... I don't want anything to change yet.”
“Not now,” Dean agrees.
“And don't you dare drop any hints around Jess about me asking her to marry me. Not even jokes, Dean, or I swear I won't ask you to be my best man.” Sam waves a finger at him threateningly, a smile creeping back onto his face.
“Cross my heart,” Dean swears, trying to sound solemn, but Sam's grin is contagious and he can't keep a straight face. Best man, huh. He likes the sound of that.
Chapter Three