Fic: From The Other Side or The "Five Times Dean Was Saved" Remix. SPN. Sam, Dean. G
So, a year ago I was writing this little Five things... ficlet for poisontaster's birthday on the 12th of December but it got out of hand and turned into 6 ficlets called Five Times Dean Was Saved. And One Time He Wasn't.
Well, ever since then I've been working on a remix of that thing from Sam's POV. And since it is a year ago today since I posted the other one (which means it's poisontaster's birthday again. Happy birthday!! You can consider this your birthday present if you want. *g*) I thought it was fitting to finally show it to the public. I'm not 100% happy with it but it refuses to get any better so here you go.
Title: From The Other Side or The "Five Times Dean Was Saved. And One Time He Wasn't" Remix
Author: felisblanco
Fandom: SPN
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam, John, Dean/Sam mildly implied, OC
Rating: G
Word Count: 8076
Summary: The title says it all
Warnings: Angst, drama, character death (not the boys), blasphemy. No spoilers beyond 2.01 (despite the title this is not a deathfic or any such thing, rest assured)
Author's Note: This can be read on its own but I strongly advice reading the original first because it will make things hinted to in this make more sense. Beta'd by spangels_girl but I've changed it a lot since then so all mistakes are mine.
1. A Brother's Worst Nightmare. Remix of The Menace of Strangers
The mini-mall is a new and exciting experience that has Sam looking around in awe at all the different stores. They usually keep to the small shops in even smaller towns but Dean had ripped his last pair of jeans climbing a tree and Dad had muttered something about socks and underwear and “Are you boys ever gonna stop growing?” which had Sam giggling and rolling his eyes because hello! He’s not even six! He has a lot of growing to do yet even if Dean says he’ll never be as tall as his big brother. Sam vows that he’ll grow even taller which is what makes Dean climb that tree, yelling, “You’ll never catch me! See how tall I am!” and then laugh right until the moment he loses his balance and falls down, leaving half his jeans dangling from a branch five feet above.
And so they end up here, in what is probably the smallest mini-mall on this side of the border, but to Sam it’s huge. It has multiple fashion stores and shoe shops and specialized candy stalls and… wow! A Barnes and Nobles! Shelves stacked with books and magazines that seem to shout at him with their glossy and tantalizing covers. But Dad stalks right by, Sam’s hand clutched in his own, and Sam has no choice but to go along, a pout on his lips as he throws the bookstore a last backward glance. Maybe Dad won’t mind them going in for just a little while, once they’ve bought what they came for?
Clothes for Sam are easy to find, but Dean is turning into a right fashion freak and huffs and puffs at whatever their dad thrusts into his arms, until they’re both flushed and growling in frustration. Sam looks from Dad, clenching a pair of good ol’ Lee’s in his fists, to Dean, hanging on to a scruffy pair of Levi’s with holes on the thighs and back pockets.
It’s not like they’ll even notice him gone…
He slips between racks of clothes and stacks of shoeboxes until he’s finally out of the store and then he runs as fast as he can over to the Promised Land. He’s just going to have a quick look. No more than five minutes. He checks the old watch on his wrist. He’s still having trouble telling time but he’s pretty sure five minutes means the time it takes the little arm to move from two, where it is now, to three. He’ll be back soon enough.
Entering the bookstore is so different from entering a library that he can feel his face splitting into a huge grin. Libraries smell of old paper, leather and dust, a smell he actually loves, but in here… In here it smells of glue and ink and the fresh scent of paper.
The woman behind the desk smiles at him, and he smiles back, for once feeling right at home. He makes his way through the stacks of magazines and cooking books, the history books and newest novels, until he reaches the back where there are small chairs and soft pillows. Here the books have brightly colored pictures and fit his hands like they belong there. Sam’s not sure whether to laugh out loud or bow his head in awe.
He walks right by the simple kiddie books. He’s been reading for over a year now - the fruit of long nights alone with Dean and his relentless patience - and by now Sam reads just as well as Dean himself. He needs help pronouncing some of the longer words (only silently in his head since that whole fire incident after which Dad forbade him to ever read aloud in Latin again unless explicitly instructed to do so) but all in all he’s doing fine, so fine indeed that Dean says he’s gonna be bored out of his skull when he starts school this fall.
Sam can’t quite believe that. School sounds awesome. He’s already read all of Dean’s schoolbooks, both with Dean and a few times by himself. There isn’t much else to do on the road but read or count. Trees and cars and cows. By four Sam could already count up to a thousand, even if he still tends to get lost after 666 because Dean always starts making these creepy ghost sounds when he says it, widening his eyes and baring his teeth. Dean can be such a dumbass sometimes.
Sam grabs a book with a picture of a dragon on the cover and let’s himself sink down in one of the huge bean bag chairs. Within seconds he’s lost in a world of magic and heroes, where fighting evil means bright swords and shining armors instead of graveyard dirt and sticky blood. Where people cheer their saviors and women weep in gratitude and no one has to leave town in the middle of the night to escape Children’s Services.
He is so engrossed in the story that at first he doesn’t realize that the screams he’s hearing aren’t part of the battle being fought on the pages in front of him but instead they are coming from somewhere outside the bookstore. But then Dean’s shrill voice, crying out his name, suddenly penetrates Sam’s consciousness like a gunshot. Dean sounds like he’s dying. Like every demon Dad’s ever hunted have him by the teeth and are tearing him apart. Panicking, Sam throws the book on the floor, scrambles to his feet, and runs out of the bookstore as fast as he can. He’s halfway to where he left Dad and Dean when he screeches to a halt, staring shocked at the scene before him.
Dean. Lying on the hard granite tiles of the mall floor, head in Dad’s lap, sobbing messily as he cries out Sam’s name over and over again. “Sammy! Sammy! Nooo!”
His voice is high-pitched and hysterical and Sam feels paralyzed with fear. What’s happening? Dad?
“Don’t take him! Don’t take him!” Dean screams, wide eyes staring sightlessly. “Daddy, help! He’s got Sammy! He’s got my Sammy!”
Dad looks stricken, his eyes glittering and wide with panic and when he spots Sam standing frozen ten feet away, Sam swears he sees their dad’s shoulders shake as his face crumbles with relief. Sam braces himself for the yelling but Dad just closes his eyes and pulls Dean tighter, one trembling hand stroking Dean’s hair repeatedly as he rocks him back and forth.
“Sshh, it’s alright. Sammy’s here, Dean. Look, he’s right there. It’s okay, son. Everything’s fine. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”
His voice is rough and shaky, the relieved look on his face making way for fear when Dean doesn’t respond but only continues to fight to get away, his shallow breathing sounding laboured and painful. “Dean, kiddo, c’mon. Dean, stop it.”
“Sammy! Sa-ammy!” Dean gasps. “Nononono…” His eyes close as his struggling turns weaker.
Sam nervously edges closer, lip trembling. “Dean?”
Dad lifts his head, blinking up at Sam. He looks scared and lost and like Sam has never seen him before. Their dad is never afraid. Never!
“Where were you? Where the hell were you?”
Sam can’t help it, he starts to cry. “I just… Dad?” he hiccups. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with Dean?”
Dad shakes his head, clutching Dean tighter to his chest. “I don’t know. I… Come here. Tell him, Sam. Tell him you’re okay. Tell him!”
Sam nods, breath hitching, and he drops down by Dean’s side, grabbing one sweaty hand between his own. “Dean, I’m right here. I’m okay. I was just looking at the books. I’m sorry, Dean. Please. Please don’t cry, Dean. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”
He’s sobbing heavily now, snot running from his nose, and he shakes Dean, trying to make him listen. Dean’s eyes snap to him then, staring wildly at Sam as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing, that Sam couldn’t possibly be there. Sam keeps still, holding his brother’s gaze even if he wants nothing more than to back away. He’s terrified and with horror he feels something warm trickling down his thighs. He’s peed his pants and Dean is gonna make fun of him, call him a big baby. Everyone’s gonna laugh at him.
But Dean just grabs Sam by the neck and pulls him down, squeezing him so tight he can’t breathe.
“Sammysammysammy. I thought he’d taken you too. I thought… I… I … Sam-m-my.”
Dean’s fingers are digging into Sam’s shoulders, his tears wetting Sam’s face as he starts sobbing again, his whole body shaking. Sam goes rigid, feeling scared and wet and so confused. He looks up at Dad, begging for an explanation, but Dad seems lost, eyes staring sightlessly back. In the end Sam does the only thing he can. He relaxes into Dean’s arms and allows him to hold on until the shaking subsides and his breathing slows down. All around them people are staring but Sam just closes his eyes and buries his face in Dean’s sweater.
It still has the price tag on.
Hours later when they’re lying in bed - Dean fast asleep with his hands fisted in Sam’s t-shirt - Dad comes in and stands over them, like a silent shadow. Sam lies completely still, sure now he will get his punishment, now Dad will tell him how bad he is and spank him or do something even worse. Even if Dad has never hit them before, this time Sam knows he deserves nothing less. Because this has to be the worst thing he’s ever done - and he and Dean have come up with some spectacular pranks and mischief through the years. But nothing like this. Nothing like this. This time he broke Dean.
When Dad raises his hand Sam braces himself for the blow but it doesn’t come. Instead Dad’s fingers run through Dean’s hair, brushing it away from his sweaty forehead.
“I thought you’d forgotten,” he says quietly, his voice old and tired.
Dean sniffles in his sleep, burying his face in Sam’s neck, and Dad sighs.
The hand moves to rest on Sam’s head, heavy and warm. “I’m not gonna punish you, Sam. Just… remember what happened today and never do it again. Ok, Sammy?”
He nods, the lump in his throat almost too painful to speak but he has to know. “Dad?” he whispers as his father turns away. “Who was Dean talking about? Was it a monster?”
Dad stops halfway to the door, seeming to debate how to answer. Then he looks back at Sam and nods, his face grim. “Sometimes the worst monsters are human, Sammy. Never trust strangers no matter what they say. And if anyone ever…” He breaks off and rubs a shaky hand over his face. “Tomorrow. Me and you and Dean. It’s time we had a talk. Good night, Sammy.”
He turns off the lights and walks out, and before long Sam hears the sound of liquid being poured into a glass. Dean whimpers in his sleep and Sam snuggles closer, rubbing one shaky hand over Dean’s back until his breathing evens out again and the furrows smooth from his brow.
He doesn’t know what to think. He can’t remember ever seeing Dean so scared before and the thought that Dean’s not a solid rock of unbreakable confidence is even now too weird to even consider. That something as simple as Sam wandering off for a few minutes could break his big brother is so scary that Sam vows to never leave Dean again. Ever.
He keeps his promise for thirteen years.
2. "And you can take or leave it if you please..." Remix of Even God’s Smallest Creatures
They’ve been quiet for a while, not even the usual mullet music filling the silence. It’s oddly soothing, just watching the endless black road disappearing under the wheels, trees and rocks and fences whooshing by the windows. Dean is dozing off in the passenger seat, jerking awake every now and then only to loose the battle with his heavy eyelids a few seconds later.
There’s a slight curve on the road ahead and without thinking Sam says, “You ever find yourself driving and there’s a curve and you think, ‘What if I don’t turn? What if I just… keep on going?’”
Dean sits up so fast the leather seat groans in complaint. “What the fuck are you saying, Sam?” he spits out. “Stop the car. Stop the fucking car!”
Sam looks over at him in surprise and frowns. “Chill, man. I’m not saying anything. It’s just a theory I heard.” He shrugs. “Seems most people have fleeting thoughts like that when they’re driving. Like ‘What would happen if I drove into that truck?’ or ‘I could drive right off that bridge and be dead in seconds.’ You know, without feeling suicidal or anything. Apparently it’s quite normal. Some kind of ‘contemplating your own mortality’ thi-”
Dean slams his palm down so hard on the dashboard that Sam jumps in his seat and the car swerves a little on the road. “Wanting to kill yourself is not fucking normal, Sam!”
“Jesus, Dean. Relax.” Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance. “I’m not gonna drive your precious car off a cliff if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t care about the fucking car, Sam!”
Dean’s voice shakes and Sam glances over at him again. His brother looks pale, his hand trembling slightly as he runs it through his hair.
“Man, are you alright?” Sam asks, starting to feel worried.
“Just… promise me you’ll never… Sam?”
Sam blinks in surprise. Jesus! His heart starts thumping loudly in his chest as he swings the car to the side of the road where it comes to a halt with a screech. He turns in his seat, staring at his brother in confusion.
“Dude, what the hell? You know I’d never do that. Hell, if losing Jess didn’t break me, I doubt anything could.”
He stops because that’s not exactly true. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost Dean. And knowing that could happen any day, any time… Is the reason he never thinks about it. Ever.
“Where is this coming from?” he says instead, feeling like he just missed a chapter. Or four years out of his brother’s life.
Dean doesn’t answer, his face closed off with tight lips and hard eyes.
“Did someone you know… do that? Dean?”
Still no answer.
A sudden thought strikes Sam and he pales. “Dad didn’t… He never tried to… Right?”
Dean’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows but he shakes his head. “No, Sam. Not that I know of.”
Sam breathes out in relief. “Then who?”
Dean shifts in his seat. His eye twitches. “Can we drop this?”
“Nuhuh. No way. This is obviously bothering you and I want to know why, so spill.”
“It’s nothing. Forget it.”
“C’mon, Dean. Talk to me.” He studies Dean’s face in fascination. “Must have been someone you knew well. And it shocked the hell out of you because you would never-“
The way Dean flinches feels like a slap in the face and Sam jerks away, staring at his brother in disbelief.
“Oh God. You did? What did you do, Dean?” He grabs Dean’s stiff arm, shaking him violently. “Dean, what the fuck did you do!?!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Dean wrenches his arm free, rubbing it angrily. “Fuck, Sam. Drop it.”
“Like hell I will. What was it? Pills? What? A noose?” He’s angry, spitting out words that bring up images so horrifying he can taste vomit on his tongue. “I know you didn’t cut yourself because I know every fucking scar on your body, Dean, and those aren’t there.”
Dean clenches his jaw but Sam doesn’t miss the way his eyes skitter guiltily from his lap to the dashboard and back again, fingers twitching.
“The car? You tried to kill yourself in the car?” He balls his hands into fists. “Of course you fucking did. The damn love of your life. What, a hose from the exhaust? That it?”
“Sam…”
“No. Tell me!”
“The .45.”
Dean’s flat voice is hardly above a whisper but to Sam it’s as loud as a gunshot and he falls back in his seat, staring at his brother in shock. He didn’t really think… Even if he said… Oh God.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
The anger returns, fear and shock magnifying it until he’s shaking. “Stop bullshitting me! You don’t put a fucking gun to your head without knowing why, Dean!”
“I’m not bullshitting you, man, ok? I just…” His brother shrugs in defeat. “I guess I was lonely or something. It doesn’t matter, dude. Let it go.”
He reaches for the cassette deck but Sam grabs him by the wrist before he can turn it on.
“Fuck you, Dean, no. What happened? And don’t tell me you missed because you’re too damn good of a shot and your head is too fucking big for you to miss it.”
“I changed my mind, that’s all.” Dean averts his eyes, staring out the window. “Pulled the gun out of my mouth and put it back in the glove compartment. End of story.”
Pulled it out of his… Jesus! “Christ, Dean.” Sam feels nauseous. It doesn’t make sense. Not Dean. Why would he? “When was this?”
“I don’t know. A year and a half ago.” Dean bites his lip. “Around Thanksgiving maybe.”
Thanksgiving last year Sam spent with Jess and her parents, eating more food than he’d ever seen in his life. Smiling and laughing and feeling for the first time as if he belonged somewhere. He remembers thinking fleetingly of his own family and wondering if it would really be such a bad thing if he never saw Dad or Dean ever again.
He’s out of the car and on his knees by the side of the road in a heartbeat, throwing up half digested tacos and Mountain Dew. His arms are shaking so bad he has trouble keeping himself up and it isn’t until he feels Dean’s hand on his back that he realizes his shirt is soaked through with sweat.
“Sammy. Shit, I’m sorry. I won’t do it, I promise. It was just a one time thing and I’ve never even thought about it since. Ok? Sam?”
Sam shakes his head, his throat too raw and his thoughts spinning way too fast for him to be able to speak. He can see it in his head, as easily as if it really had happened. Dean sprawled in the driver’s seat, gun in his slack hand on the seat beside him, head tilting to the left, back of it missing. Blood and brain matter splattered all over the back interior of the Impala.
Sam’s stomach lurches and he coughs up the last of his dinner, bits of beef and taco shells sticking to his tongue and smearing the inside of his teeth.
At last he staggers to his feet, shakes Dean’s concerned hands off, and spits on the ground. His head is pounding, a dull ache that thumps in rhythm with his heartbeat.
“You okay?”
He nods and it’s such a lie that he almost starts laughing. Of course he’s not okay. How the fuck can he be okay?
“Come on, get in. I’ll drive.”
‘Yeah, off a fucking cliff,’ Sam almost says but bites his tongue at the last minute and instead stumbles into the car. Dean gets in beside him and with a roar of the engine the car swings onto the road again.
For a long time they drive in silence. Sam feels tears stinging his eyes and he doesn’t even know if he’s angry at Dean or himself. Maybe he’s just angry at this whole damn mess they call their life.
After what seems like hours Dean clears his throat and glances over at him. “I would never do that to you, Sammy. Never. Alright? No matter how bad it gets.”
Sam doesn’t answer, just nods and stares out the window.
3. Cheap 'N Eager. Remix of He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Idiot Brother
He’s only been gone for a few minutes - you don’t dwell in the filthy restrooms of a seedy bar like this if you value your ass - but it seems it was just long enough for Dean to hook up with this town’s version of Cheap N’ Eager. Sam swallows the frustration burning in his throat and walks over to grab his beer before the bimbo lays claim on that as well. Dean just looks up at him with a glazed look in his eyes, grinning foolishly.
“Hey, little brother. Meet Bambi.”
“Brandy,” she chirps drunkenly and bats her eyes smugly at Sam.
“That’s what I said, sweetheart.” Dean pats her thigh, which is practically in his lap, and gives Sam a smirk. “Brandy here’s from Sweden.”
“Really?” Sam raises his eyebrow in mock appreciation. She sure looks the part if those porn movies Dean likes to watch are anything to go by. Or were those Danish? Norwegian? Shit, who cares? “Brandy a common Swedish name?” he asks sarcastically.
“Ja. Verry.”
Sam can hardly keep from rolling his eyes. Bet those boobs are real too, Pamela.
“Whatever.” He tips the bottle and swallows the rest of his lukewarm beer in one go, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m going back to the motel. Try not to wake me up when you get in, ok?”
Sam turns away but Dean hollers a “Wait!”, making him stop in his tracks. When he looks over his shoulder, Dean is trying to disentangle himself from the blonde clinging to him like an octopus, all arms and legs and pouty lips. Christ.
“What?” He waits impatiently as Dean stumbles out of the booth and grabs on to his arm with a conspiring finger on his lips.
“SammySamSam. I know you got a stick up your butt but-” Dean pauses and then positively giggles. “I said butt-butt.”
Sam wants to slap him but instead just gives him an exasperated look. Dean must have been downing shots when Sam wasn’t looking because this is not the brother he left to go to the bathroom five minutes earlier. “Dude, how fucking drunk are you?”
“’M not drunk. Shut up. Listen. Listen, Sam. She’s got a twin. Twin, Sam. Swedish twins! How fucking awesome is that?”
“Oh, very awesome. A dream come true,” Sam sighs. “Can I go now?”
“Wanna share?” Dean elbows him playfully, the suggestive leer on his face making Sam feel all kinds of wrong. “You… You need to get laid, bro. And I’m feeling charitable tonight. So what do you say?”
“I’m surprised you’re able to remember, let alone pronounce, a word like charitable.”
Dean doesn’t seem to hear him because he just leans in closer, alcoholic breath brushing Sam’s face. “We can take turns. And… And if the other one’s ugly I’ll let you have this one first.”
Christ. Sam isn’t sure whether to feel amused or appalled. Or possibly turned on. “I thought you said they were twins?”
Dean frowns but the grin returns soon, if slightly lopsided. “Oh yeah. Twins. Dude, how awesome…”
“Is that…” Sam finishes. “Right. Listen, Dean, I don’t think I…” He jumps when Dean slaps his butt before giving it a light squeeze. “Dean! What the hell?”
“You need to lighten up, bro.” Dean laughs and hooks his arm around Sam’s neck, pulling him down until his lips are brushing Sam’s ear, warm and wet. “I could show you a thing or two. What ya say, Sammy? Some live action sex ed. from your big brother. Yeah? Oh yeah.”
“Are you high?” Sam tries to shake free but Dean is practically hanging on him now, one arm still slung around Sam’s neck while his other hand rests on Sam’s stomach, rubbing it lovingly.
“Saaammyyy…” Sam would say Dean was whining except he’s Dean and Dean doesn’t whine. Ever. “Please?”
“Dean, I’m not gonna watch you have sex with some blond bimbos, ok? Now will you let go of me?”
Dean smirks. “Who said anything about watching? Didna say I’d show you?” The hand on Sam’s stomach does a sudden downturn and Sam bumps into the table as he jerks away, only just managing to keep from tumbling over it.
“Dean!”
“What?” Dean looks up at him, eyes slightly unfocused, face frowning in honest confusion. Then he shakes his head and waves his hand in dismissal. “Fine. Go home. Sleep. What do I care?” He blows a raspberry and sticks out his tongue. “Party pooper.”
He smiles suddenly and Sam turns his head to see the blonde has gotten up from the booth and he watches as Dean drapes himself over her, practically drooling in her ear.
“Guess it’s just us three then. Eh, baby?”
“Ja, baby. You come with Bambi now.”
Wasn’t her name Brandy?
Sam stands frozen in place, wavering between following the horny couple to make sure that Dean’s alright, or going to the motel to jerk off. (Dean’s right, it’s been forever. It’s got nothing to do with Dean’s wandering hands. Really.)
He can’t remember Dean ever acting like that - and certainly not like that, because what the hell? ¬- and he’s been unfortunate enough to observe Dean imbibe amounts of alcohol that would probably kill most people. And that girl… Maybe she’s just a wannabe actress that has trouble remembering who she is that night but maybe she’s something else. Wouldn’t be the first demon to disguise itself as a pretty girl. Wouldn’t be the first pretty girl to lure a horny drunk into an alley to be robbed either.
His hard-on will have to wait. Sam grabs his jacket and weaves his way through the sweaty bodies and to the door that Dean is disappearing through, swaying like a drunken sailor. His arm is slung over the girl’s shoulder and Sam feels a sudden twinge of jealousy in his gut. Was only moments ago that arm was hugging his neck. He can still feel the warmth of it pressed into his skin, the ghost of Dean’s breath on his face. His hand slipping down the front of Sam’s jeans, stroking his…
Christ, he really needs to get laid. As soon as he’s made sure Bambi the blond bimbo is only after his brother’s dick and not his money or something worse.
Now where did they go?
4. The World Will Match Your Pain. Remix of Saved By A Yell
The first friend Sam made at Stanford was a guy named Ben.
They didn’t really have anything in common. Ben was in his second year, studying the Classics, only son to some well-known actor on Broadway. He was about five foot ten, thin as a stick and had long hair that hang in dreadlocks way past his shoulders. He smoked pot and skipped most of his classes. And he was as gay as they came.
The only reason they got to talking was that they met outside the dorm one night, having both forgotten their keys. Sam picked the lock while Ben said goodbye to his companion, mostly by shoving a tongue down his throat. Sam waited patiently; holding the door open until Ben finally waved his goodbye and came in, slapping Sam playfully on the ass in the passing.
“Dude, what a night! Man! Was it great or what?”
Sam wondered whether he should just nod in agreement or point out that he hadn’t actually been a part of whatever had been going on but was instead coming home from reading at the library the last five hours. He settled for a smile and said, “I’m sure it was.”
“Good times. Hey man, what’s your name?”
“Sam. Sam Winchester.” It still felt strange, just throwing his name out like that without having to remember who he was supposed to be in this town.
“Sam. I’m Ben. So what more do you know than how to pick locks?”
Melt silver into bullets. Stitch together claw marks deep enough to make a person’s guts pop out. How to exorcise a demon in ten different languages.
“Not much. Why?”
“You know how to make a bong? I dropped mine out the window.”
“That I can do,” said Sam and allowed himself a brief memory of Dean and the Big Pot Party that had grounded his brother for two weeks when he was sixteen, before shoving it back into the chamber in his brain that held other Things He Didn’t Think About.
“Awesome!”
As it turned out there was a lot more to Ben than his ability to smoke humongous amounts of pot without passing out.
They spent hours talking about Greece as the cradle of Western civilization and how its cultural influence was prominent even today. They discussed its art and literature, buildings and gods, and of course its liberal views on homosexuality. From there they went on to modern gay rights and their status in society and why Tom Cruise needed to just come out already, according to Ben. Sam learned more than he ever wanted to know about the procedures of gay sex and quite a lot he actually had wanted to know but had never found the nerve to find out. The importance of lube, the art of prepping and why condoms were a gay man’s best friend.
“Never forget the rubber, man. Being stupid will kill you,” Ben announced loudly and passed on the bong. “With girls too. Promise me, Sam. Promise me you won’t be stupid.”
“I promise,” Sam sighed and draped a blanket over Ben when he passed out, sprawled in the beanbag chair.
Of course Ben repeatedly offered to educate him even further, naked, but Sam gently declined every time. Not that he didn’t feel curious or even excited about trying some of the things Ben kept raving about, but for all his charms Ben just wasn’t the right person. Sam had never been one to jump into bed with a girl just for sex’s sake and why should it be any different with a guy? If he however would meet and fall in love with a guy, at least now he knew what to do.
For two years they hung out regularly, sharing stories and pot, doing laundry and arguing over cups of coffee. Ben invited Sam home with him their second Christmas. His dads treated Sam to all the glitter Broadway had to offer and he returned to school with a smile on his face and a painful longing for family in his heart. He hadn’t heard from either his dad or Dean in months and he wondered if this was it, if he had finally managed to break free from the life he hated. It felt a little like dying. If Ben thought it was weird that Sam spent most of New Year’s staring into space, phone in hand, he didn’t mention it. Instead he slung one arm around Sam’s shoulders and kissed him with closed lips as the ball dropped on the TV screen.
When Ben started sleeping in longer and longer in the mornings, missing his classes and skipping his tests, Sam at first blamed it on the increased late night drinking and pot smoking. When Ben stopped coming over and didn’t answer his phone or Sam knocking on his door, Sam figured he’d hooked up with someone, for real this time. He felt a bit hurt, almost jealous, but then there was this girl in his class that was throwing glances his way and he forgot all about Ben for the next couple of months.
He was coming home late one night, the smell of Jessica’s hair still lingering in his nostrils, the feel of her smooth skin tingling his fingertips, when he saw someone sitting slumped up against his door. It was dark and all he could see was a leatherjacket and short-cropped hair and for a moment his heart sped up, Dean’s name on the tip of his tongue. The person turned its head toward the sound of Sam approaching and the profile made Sam stop in his tracks.
“Ben?”
His friend’s cheeks were hollow, eyes large and glittering, the buzzed haircut making him look like a nightmare from Auschwitz. “Hey, Sam. Long time no see.” He chuckled hoarsely.
“Jesus, Ben.” Sam’s mind instantly went to haunts and possessions and demons that suck the life right out of you. “What the hell happened?”
Ben’s laugh turned into a cough and he shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing, man. Stupidity. Fate. Who knows?”
“What are you talking about?” He bent down to help Ben up but was pushed away. “Dude, c’mon. We got to get you to a doctor.”
“You’ve got a magical doctor? Because let me tell you, man, that…that would be awesome.” The mocking grin fell from Ben’s lips and he grimaced. “Fuck it. I need your help, Sam. Please?”
“Sure. Of course. Whatever you need.”
Ben dropped his head. “I need you to go buy me some good shit. Something heavy. Something that makes you feel like you’re in fucking heaven.”
Sam stepped back, staring at him in shock. “Ben, I don’t…”
“I have money. I just…” Ben looked up, desperation shining in his eyes. “I can’t get there myself, ok? Please, man. If you could just get it for me and…”
“Ben, no. I don’t mind the pot but I’m not hooking you up with some heavy drugs, man.” Sam kneeled by Ben’s side, one hand on his bony shoulder. “Whatever is wrong, just tell me and we can fix it. Ok? Drugs don’t solve problems, Ben, they only make them worse.”
Ben stared at him and then he started to giggle. “You think I’m looking to get high? Think I’m going all Robert Downey Jr., dude? Don’t be a fucking moron, Sam.”
“Ben, you just asked me to fix you up.”
Ben shook his head. “I’m not looking to get fixed, Sam. I just want to die happy.” He gazed up at Sam with wet eyes. “I just wanna die happy, Sammy.”
Sam blinked, his stomach clenching in sudden fear and understanding. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you…? God, Ben, why didn’t you tell me?”
“What for? Don’t want your pity, Sam. I just need…” He blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek. “I just need to jump off the fucking train. You know?”
“You’re just giving up? Ben, fuck that. You can fight this, I know you can.”
“There is no fight. Don’t you get it? It’s the Big A, man. I’ve got a couple of months, at most. A couple of months filled with pain and fear and losing my hair and looking like a goddamn skeleton. I refuse to go that way, Sam.” His lips trembled as he smiled. “I wanna die happy. Preferably with a pretty boy but you will do.”
“Ben…” Sam sagged down, feeling faint as he took Ben’s bony hands in his own. “You’re asking me to kill you. Please don’t ask me to kill you. Please.”
Ben hitched his breath and gazed at him with despairing eyes. “I’m asking you to set me free. To save me.”
Sam swallowed. “No. I’m sorry, Ben, but I can’t.”
Anger flared briefly in Ben’s eyes but then it died away and he smiled softly. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it, Sam. Can you help me up?”
Sam pulled Ben to his feet and then into a tight hug. They stood wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time and then Ben pushed him gently away.
“Forget what I said. I’m just tired.”
“Okay.” Sam nodded, squeezing Ben’s shoulder. “You get some sleep and we talk in the morning.”
“Yeah. Sure. Good night, Sam.”
He was at his door when Sam called out, “Ben?” Ben turned around and looked at him. He was so thin and pale he almost seemed like a ghost already. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. We’ll hang out and talk about this and…”
“It’s okay.” Ben gave him a tired grin. “I like that girl of yours. I think she’ll be good for you.”
Sam felt himself blushing, his own grin widening. “She’s pretty awesome. We should meet up, all three of us.”
“Sure.” Ben nodded and then disappeared through his door, leaving Sam standing with the smile fading and his stomach clenching in fear. He’d call Dean tomorrow. Maybe they could find some healer or something.
He woke up to the paramedics carrying Ben’s body out on a stretcher. They left wet red-tinted footprints all the way down the hall.
5. The Reconstruction of Dean Winchester. Remix of Salvation In Your Breath
Dean Winchester doesn't cry.
There are times - and incidentally they coincide with the times Sam wants to smack his own head and take back whatever he just spat out in anger and frustration - when Dean goes completely still and his eyes change from rock hard to liquid. His lips, thin with rage, quiver once, twice and the shadows play upon his throat as he swallows. If, and when, he speaks, his voice will shiver but only occasionally break - and God, does Sam then ever hate himself for doing that to him - his words carefully chosen to reveal as little as possible of the emotions hiding behind them. They stare at each other until Dean looks away, closing once again the door that for one moment allowed Sam to catch a glint of what is stirring inside his brother's mind.
But these are rare occasions and Sam tends to forget that Dean isn't made of everything unbreakable, that even if he might not show it there are things hidden behind the facade that Sam doesn't know, and is quite sure he doesn't want to know. Things dark and dangerous and very, very broken. Things that made his brother despair enough to put a gun to his head a lonely dark night less than two years ago, finger on the trigger.
He needs to believe Dean is whole, that he’s a rock in this chaos of a life they lead. That whatever happens, Dean will always be strong enough to handle it, strong enough to pull Sam back to his feet. And so he does, believe in Dean like a child believes in its parents, like a man of prayer believes in God. Infallible, omnipotent. The hero. His big brother. Dean.
Until it happens again.
Sam will throw some words back at his brother, far crueler and more spiteful than what instigated them, and regret them the second they leave his lips. And as Sam watches the emotions play upon Dean’s face he wishes he could reach out and tell Dean, “I didn't mean it” and “Forgive me.” Could grab Dean's chin and force him to hold Sam’s gaze as he tells Dean in a not-to-be-fucked-with voice, “I love you, man. More than anything. Never ever doubt that.” Wishes Dean would allow Sam to pull him close and whisper into his ear, “I got you, Dean. You and me, bro. You and me.”
Instead Sam stands silent, willing Dean to look up and see it for himself in his eyes. 'It's right here, Dean. Everything I want you to know, every answer I know you're looking for. Right here and all you have to do is look for it.'
Dean stares stubbornly down at the floorboards and after a while Sam hisses, “Whatever. Just forget it,” or something equally untruthful and just like that, the door closes again.
But then their father dies and everything changes.
Dean’s thoughts are closed even tighter than before but the door is brittle, made of rotten plywood and hanging on rusty hinges. Sam watches Dean, waiting for the door to crack open or even crumble to dust, but Dean is nothing but stubborn and for every shed splinter there are nails ready to keep it together.
But Dean can only do so much and he always was a lousy carpenter anyway (and seriously, that metaphor has run its course by now) and so the cracks start showing. He mutilates the Impala, he loses his temper with strangers, and he punches Sam in the face.
He cries.
Real honest-to-God tears run down his cheeks and Sam has no idea what to do or what to say because Dean Winchester doesn’t cry. Dean Winchester is Sam’s rock, his God, his goddamn unbreakable big brother. And Sam might have been pushing Dean toward exactly this but now he’s got it he would give everything to never have seen it.
It’s only a moment’s weakness and Dean shakes it off soon enough, ordering Sam back into the car and they drive off to another hunt. Silent.
But now that Sam knows, now that he’s been allowed to see what’s hiding behind the door, if only briefly, he watches Dean even closer. At nights he lies awake, listening to Dean’s ragged breathing until he falls asleep. And in the mornings Sam gives his brother the space he needs to pull himself together in order to face another day.
He aches to sit Dean down and force him to talk, force him to realize that he doesn’t need to carry this burden alone. That Sam is there for him, every step of the way. That it’s alright to need someone, alright to ask for help.
It will probably prove disastrous but they can’t go on like this. One more day. Sam’s giving him one more day and then he’s going to make Dean listen even if he has to tie him up and gag him.
He nudges the door open with his hip and steps inside the motel room, coffee and bagels in hand, only to stop in his tracks.
“Dean?” Oh God. “Dean! What’s wrong? Dean!”
Dean Winchester doesn’t cry. But when he breaks, clinging to Sam like even the thought of letting him go will be his death, terror and grief and guilt shining in his eyes when he thinks he’s dying, thinks he’s abandoning his little brother… He’s still the biggest goddamn hero Sam has ever known.
6. Losing Our Religion. Remix of Casting The First Stone
When Sam was nine, he and Dean went to catholic school for three months. It was the only school in the area and they spent hours listening to the nuns and padres talk about God and the Devil and the lure of sin. Well, Sam listened. Dean slept through most of it when he wasn’t trying to put his hand up the girls’ skirts or was drawing pictures of little devils with horns, tails and humongous cocks in his notebook.
From what Sam could gather God didn’t really care much for this world he’d created. When he wasn’t trying to drown it or attacking it with locus and earthquakes and whatnots he was testing people’s faith by making them kill their children and being thrown into lion pits. He couldn’t help wondering if maybe the world would be better off if Dad was right. If there was no God. He wanted to ask Dean if he believed in Heaven, if he thought that was where Mom was now, but Dean always got so quiet when Sam asked about Mom and so he kept silent.
Not much later they moved once again and Sam stopped looking for God and just kept his eyes on Dean instead. A shotgun in Dean’s hands was far more reassuring than the eyes of a seemingly uncaring deity anyway.
When Sam was twelve he tried to regain some of his faith. He needed something to believe in, something more than Dean. Because for the last year he’d felt Dean slipping away from him and the thought that he might lose Dean altogether was too terrifying to face alone.
Dad said Dean was just being a teenager, an annoying pain in the ass teenager at that, and it would hopefully soon pass. Sam wanted to believe that. That one day Dean would come home and look at Sam without rolling his eyes or growling in annoyance when he was forced to baby-sit instead of going out partying with his friends or hunting with Dad. Would cuddle up with Sam at night and tell him stories about fairies and goblins and then tickle him until they were both out of breath and laughing like lunatics. Just like they used to do.
Instead Dean came home stinking of smoke and alcohol and the sickening sweet scent of perfume. Legs wobbly, grin too wide and eyes shining like they used to do when he looked at Sam. He was years away from legal but Dad didn’t seem to care and Dean ignored the disapproving glares Sam sent him.
So Sam started going to church, sitting in the far back listening to the priest talk about love and salvation and it was everything he wanted to hear. He joined the youth club, wore a tie on Sundays and tried to feel Jesus in his heart.
Then one day Dean came home and for what seemed like the first time in months he threw Sam a real smile and asked if he wanted to go fishing down the creek. And Sam realized Dean was the only savior he’d ever wanted.
When Sam was eighteen he walked out of the only life he’d ever known and into a new one, as terrifying as any hunt he’d ever taken part in. He left his faith with Dean and arrived at Stanford with high educational goals and no spiritual direction. He tried to take the students counselor’s words to heart and believe in himself but he was just Sammy and Sammy was too small for anyone to have faith in. Instead he buried himself in his studies, praying for good grades, sacrificing sleep and whatever social life campus had to offer, on the altar of education.
Then one day he met Jess and he realized he didn’t need a higher power to believe in as long as someone believed in him. She gave him salvation with sweet smiles and even sweeter kisses and he forgot why he’d lost his faith in the first place. Where he had once looked for guidance in green eyes and a cocky smile he now found it in her golden hair and soft skin and it wasn’t until he had both of them in the same room and looked from one to the other that he realized that’s what had happened. Replacement.
Then Jess burned for his sins and Dean saved him again from being destroyed along with the women who loved him.
So here he is.
In the months that follow he prays to Jess and curses God but it’s Dean that he looks to for guidance. Dean that stands strong no matter what happens. Dean who is always there, pushing Sam forward and pulling him along the path he was probably always meant to follow. As time goes by Sam stops cursing God for what he’s lost and starts thanking Him for what he’s been given instead. He has Dean, he’s always had Dean and he always will. Not many people can say they have their very own salvation, sitting by their side in a cool car, listening to the Devil’s music.
But then everything goes to hell and it’s suddenly just the two of them and a wreck of a car left. Sam’s faith falters. He can’t believe in God, he can’t believe in himself and Dean… Dean is just as lost as his brother is. Sam is starting to suspect that Dean had his own faith, his own god, all along. And now that his god is dead there is no faith left, no higher power to believe in, no one for Dean to look to for guidance either.
Except he keeps looking at Sam the way Sam remembers himself looking at Dean when they both were smaller. When Sam’s faith rested on the smile of a boy not even half the age he himself is now. Something in that look tells Sam that as long as Dean has Sam to watch over, has his soul to protect and his love to trust in, he will keep fighting. And if Dean believes in Sam and Sam believes in… whatever this is they now have, maybe, just maybe, that will be enough.
fin
Well, ever since then I've been working on a remix of that thing from Sam's POV. And since it is a year ago today since I posted the other one (which means it's poisontaster's birthday again. Happy birthday!! You can consider this your birthday present if you want. *g*) I thought it was fitting to finally show it to the public. I'm not 100% happy with it but it refuses to get any better so here you go.
Title: From The Other Side or The "Five Times Dean Was Saved. And One Time He Wasn't" Remix
Author: felisblanco
Fandom: SPN
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam, John, Dean/Sam mildly implied, OC
Rating: G
Word Count: 8076
Summary: The title says it all
Warnings: Angst, drama, character death (not the boys), blasphemy. No spoilers beyond 2.01 (despite the title this is not a deathfic or any such thing, rest assured)
Author's Note: This can be read on its own but I strongly advice reading the original first because it will make things hinted to in this make more sense. Beta'd by spangels_girl but I've changed it a lot since then so all mistakes are mine.
1. A Brother's Worst Nightmare. Remix of The Menace of Strangers
The mini-mall is a new and exciting experience that has Sam looking around in awe at all the different stores. They usually keep to the small shops in even smaller towns but Dean had ripped his last pair of jeans climbing a tree and Dad had muttered something about socks and underwear and “Are you boys ever gonna stop growing?” which had Sam giggling and rolling his eyes because hello! He’s not even six! He has a lot of growing to do yet even if Dean says he’ll never be as tall as his big brother. Sam vows that he’ll grow even taller which is what makes Dean climb that tree, yelling, “You’ll never catch me! See how tall I am!” and then laugh right until the moment he loses his balance and falls down, leaving half his jeans dangling from a branch five feet above.
And so they end up here, in what is probably the smallest mini-mall on this side of the border, but to Sam it’s huge. It has multiple fashion stores and shoe shops and specialized candy stalls and… wow! A Barnes and Nobles! Shelves stacked with books and magazines that seem to shout at him with their glossy and tantalizing covers. But Dad stalks right by, Sam’s hand clutched in his own, and Sam has no choice but to go along, a pout on his lips as he throws the bookstore a last backward glance. Maybe Dad won’t mind them going in for just a little while, once they’ve bought what they came for?
Clothes for Sam are easy to find, but Dean is turning into a right fashion freak and huffs and puffs at whatever their dad thrusts into his arms, until they’re both flushed and growling in frustration. Sam looks from Dad, clenching a pair of good ol’ Lee’s in his fists, to Dean, hanging on to a scruffy pair of Levi’s with holes on the thighs and back pockets.
It’s not like they’ll even notice him gone…
He slips between racks of clothes and stacks of shoeboxes until he’s finally out of the store and then he runs as fast as he can over to the Promised Land. He’s just going to have a quick look. No more than five minutes. He checks the old watch on his wrist. He’s still having trouble telling time but he’s pretty sure five minutes means the time it takes the little arm to move from two, where it is now, to three. He’ll be back soon enough.
Entering the bookstore is so different from entering a library that he can feel his face splitting into a huge grin. Libraries smell of old paper, leather and dust, a smell he actually loves, but in here… In here it smells of glue and ink and the fresh scent of paper.
The woman behind the desk smiles at him, and he smiles back, for once feeling right at home. He makes his way through the stacks of magazines and cooking books, the history books and newest novels, until he reaches the back where there are small chairs and soft pillows. Here the books have brightly colored pictures and fit his hands like they belong there. Sam’s not sure whether to laugh out loud or bow his head in awe.
He walks right by the simple kiddie books. He’s been reading for over a year now - the fruit of long nights alone with Dean and his relentless patience - and by now Sam reads just as well as Dean himself. He needs help pronouncing some of the longer words (only silently in his head since that whole fire incident after which Dad forbade him to ever read aloud in Latin again unless explicitly instructed to do so) but all in all he’s doing fine, so fine indeed that Dean says he’s gonna be bored out of his skull when he starts school this fall.
Sam can’t quite believe that. School sounds awesome. He’s already read all of Dean’s schoolbooks, both with Dean and a few times by himself. There isn’t much else to do on the road but read or count. Trees and cars and cows. By four Sam could already count up to a thousand, even if he still tends to get lost after 666 because Dean always starts making these creepy ghost sounds when he says it, widening his eyes and baring his teeth. Dean can be such a dumbass sometimes.
Sam grabs a book with a picture of a dragon on the cover and let’s himself sink down in one of the huge bean bag chairs. Within seconds he’s lost in a world of magic and heroes, where fighting evil means bright swords and shining armors instead of graveyard dirt and sticky blood. Where people cheer their saviors and women weep in gratitude and no one has to leave town in the middle of the night to escape Children’s Services.
He is so engrossed in the story that at first he doesn’t realize that the screams he’s hearing aren’t part of the battle being fought on the pages in front of him but instead they are coming from somewhere outside the bookstore. But then Dean’s shrill voice, crying out his name, suddenly penetrates Sam’s consciousness like a gunshot. Dean sounds like he’s dying. Like every demon Dad’s ever hunted have him by the teeth and are tearing him apart. Panicking, Sam throws the book on the floor, scrambles to his feet, and runs out of the bookstore as fast as he can. He’s halfway to where he left Dad and Dean when he screeches to a halt, staring shocked at the scene before him.
Dean. Lying on the hard granite tiles of the mall floor, head in Dad’s lap, sobbing messily as he cries out Sam’s name over and over again. “Sammy! Sammy! Nooo!”
His voice is high-pitched and hysterical and Sam feels paralyzed with fear. What’s happening? Dad?
“Don’t take him! Don’t take him!” Dean screams, wide eyes staring sightlessly. “Daddy, help! He’s got Sammy! He’s got my Sammy!”
Dad looks stricken, his eyes glittering and wide with panic and when he spots Sam standing frozen ten feet away, Sam swears he sees their dad’s shoulders shake as his face crumbles with relief. Sam braces himself for the yelling but Dad just closes his eyes and pulls Dean tighter, one trembling hand stroking Dean’s hair repeatedly as he rocks him back and forth.
“Sshh, it’s alright. Sammy’s here, Dean. Look, he’s right there. It’s okay, son. Everything’s fine. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”
His voice is rough and shaky, the relieved look on his face making way for fear when Dean doesn’t respond but only continues to fight to get away, his shallow breathing sounding laboured and painful. “Dean, kiddo, c’mon. Dean, stop it.”
“Sammy! Sa-ammy!” Dean gasps. “Nononono…” His eyes close as his struggling turns weaker.
Sam nervously edges closer, lip trembling. “Dean?”
Dad lifts his head, blinking up at Sam. He looks scared and lost and like Sam has never seen him before. Their dad is never afraid. Never!
“Where were you? Where the hell were you?”
Sam can’t help it, he starts to cry. “I just… Dad?” he hiccups. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with Dean?”
Dad shakes his head, clutching Dean tighter to his chest. “I don’t know. I… Come here. Tell him, Sam. Tell him you’re okay. Tell him!”
Sam nods, breath hitching, and he drops down by Dean’s side, grabbing one sweaty hand between his own. “Dean, I’m right here. I’m okay. I was just looking at the books. I’m sorry, Dean. Please. Please don’t cry, Dean. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”
He’s sobbing heavily now, snot running from his nose, and he shakes Dean, trying to make him listen. Dean’s eyes snap to him then, staring wildly at Sam as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing, that Sam couldn’t possibly be there. Sam keeps still, holding his brother’s gaze even if he wants nothing more than to back away. He’s terrified and with horror he feels something warm trickling down his thighs. He’s peed his pants and Dean is gonna make fun of him, call him a big baby. Everyone’s gonna laugh at him.
But Dean just grabs Sam by the neck and pulls him down, squeezing him so tight he can’t breathe.
“Sammysammysammy. I thought he’d taken you too. I thought… I… I … Sam-m-my.”
Dean’s fingers are digging into Sam’s shoulders, his tears wetting Sam’s face as he starts sobbing again, his whole body shaking. Sam goes rigid, feeling scared and wet and so confused. He looks up at Dad, begging for an explanation, but Dad seems lost, eyes staring sightlessly back. In the end Sam does the only thing he can. He relaxes into Dean’s arms and allows him to hold on until the shaking subsides and his breathing slows down. All around them people are staring but Sam just closes his eyes and buries his face in Dean’s sweater.
It still has the price tag on.
Hours later when they’re lying in bed - Dean fast asleep with his hands fisted in Sam’s t-shirt - Dad comes in and stands over them, like a silent shadow. Sam lies completely still, sure now he will get his punishment, now Dad will tell him how bad he is and spank him or do something even worse. Even if Dad has never hit them before, this time Sam knows he deserves nothing less. Because this has to be the worst thing he’s ever done - and he and Dean have come up with some spectacular pranks and mischief through the years. But nothing like this. Nothing like this. This time he broke Dean.
When Dad raises his hand Sam braces himself for the blow but it doesn’t come. Instead Dad’s fingers run through Dean’s hair, brushing it away from his sweaty forehead.
“I thought you’d forgotten,” he says quietly, his voice old and tired.
Dean sniffles in his sleep, burying his face in Sam’s neck, and Dad sighs.
The hand moves to rest on Sam’s head, heavy and warm. “I’m not gonna punish you, Sam. Just… remember what happened today and never do it again. Ok, Sammy?”
He nods, the lump in his throat almost too painful to speak but he has to know. “Dad?” he whispers as his father turns away. “Who was Dean talking about? Was it a monster?”
Dad stops halfway to the door, seeming to debate how to answer. Then he looks back at Sam and nods, his face grim. “Sometimes the worst monsters are human, Sammy. Never trust strangers no matter what they say. And if anyone ever…” He breaks off and rubs a shaky hand over his face. “Tomorrow. Me and you and Dean. It’s time we had a talk. Good night, Sammy.”
He turns off the lights and walks out, and before long Sam hears the sound of liquid being poured into a glass. Dean whimpers in his sleep and Sam snuggles closer, rubbing one shaky hand over Dean’s back until his breathing evens out again and the furrows smooth from his brow.
He doesn’t know what to think. He can’t remember ever seeing Dean so scared before and the thought that Dean’s not a solid rock of unbreakable confidence is even now too weird to even consider. That something as simple as Sam wandering off for a few minutes could break his big brother is so scary that Sam vows to never leave Dean again. Ever.
He keeps his promise for thirteen years.
2. "And you can take or leave it if you please..." Remix of Even God’s Smallest Creatures
They’ve been quiet for a while, not even the usual mullet music filling the silence. It’s oddly soothing, just watching the endless black road disappearing under the wheels, trees and rocks and fences whooshing by the windows. Dean is dozing off in the passenger seat, jerking awake every now and then only to loose the battle with his heavy eyelids a few seconds later.
There’s a slight curve on the road ahead and without thinking Sam says, “You ever find yourself driving and there’s a curve and you think, ‘What if I don’t turn? What if I just… keep on going?’”
Dean sits up so fast the leather seat groans in complaint. “What the fuck are you saying, Sam?” he spits out. “Stop the car. Stop the fucking car!”
Sam looks over at him in surprise and frowns. “Chill, man. I’m not saying anything. It’s just a theory I heard.” He shrugs. “Seems most people have fleeting thoughts like that when they’re driving. Like ‘What would happen if I drove into that truck?’ or ‘I could drive right off that bridge and be dead in seconds.’ You know, without feeling suicidal or anything. Apparently it’s quite normal. Some kind of ‘contemplating your own mortality’ thi-”
Dean slams his palm down so hard on the dashboard that Sam jumps in his seat and the car swerves a little on the road. “Wanting to kill yourself is not fucking normal, Sam!”
“Jesus, Dean. Relax.” Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance. “I’m not gonna drive your precious car off a cliff if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t care about the fucking car, Sam!”
Dean’s voice shakes and Sam glances over at him again. His brother looks pale, his hand trembling slightly as he runs it through his hair.
“Man, are you alright?” Sam asks, starting to feel worried.
“Just… promise me you’ll never… Sam?”
Sam blinks in surprise. Jesus! His heart starts thumping loudly in his chest as he swings the car to the side of the road where it comes to a halt with a screech. He turns in his seat, staring at his brother in confusion.
“Dude, what the hell? You know I’d never do that. Hell, if losing Jess didn’t break me, I doubt anything could.”
He stops because that’s not exactly true. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost Dean. And knowing that could happen any day, any time… Is the reason he never thinks about it. Ever.
“Where is this coming from?” he says instead, feeling like he just missed a chapter. Or four years out of his brother’s life.
Dean doesn’t answer, his face closed off with tight lips and hard eyes.
“Did someone you know… do that? Dean?”
Still no answer.
A sudden thought strikes Sam and he pales. “Dad didn’t… He never tried to… Right?”
Dean’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows but he shakes his head. “No, Sam. Not that I know of.”
Sam breathes out in relief. “Then who?”
Dean shifts in his seat. His eye twitches. “Can we drop this?”
“Nuhuh. No way. This is obviously bothering you and I want to know why, so spill.”
“It’s nothing. Forget it.”
“C’mon, Dean. Talk to me.” He studies Dean’s face in fascination. “Must have been someone you knew well. And it shocked the hell out of you because you would never-“
The way Dean flinches feels like a slap in the face and Sam jerks away, staring at his brother in disbelief.
“Oh God. You did? What did you do, Dean?” He grabs Dean’s stiff arm, shaking him violently. “Dean, what the fuck did you do!?!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Dean wrenches his arm free, rubbing it angrily. “Fuck, Sam. Drop it.”
“Like hell I will. What was it? Pills? What? A noose?” He’s angry, spitting out words that bring up images so horrifying he can taste vomit on his tongue. “I know you didn’t cut yourself because I know every fucking scar on your body, Dean, and those aren’t there.”
Dean clenches his jaw but Sam doesn’t miss the way his eyes skitter guiltily from his lap to the dashboard and back again, fingers twitching.
“The car? You tried to kill yourself in the car?” He balls his hands into fists. “Of course you fucking did. The damn love of your life. What, a hose from the exhaust? That it?”
“Sam…”
“No. Tell me!”
“The .45.”
Dean’s flat voice is hardly above a whisper but to Sam it’s as loud as a gunshot and he falls back in his seat, staring at his brother in shock. He didn’t really think… Even if he said… Oh God.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
The anger returns, fear and shock magnifying it until he’s shaking. “Stop bullshitting me! You don’t put a fucking gun to your head without knowing why, Dean!”
“I’m not bullshitting you, man, ok? I just…” His brother shrugs in defeat. “I guess I was lonely or something. It doesn’t matter, dude. Let it go.”
He reaches for the cassette deck but Sam grabs him by the wrist before he can turn it on.
“Fuck you, Dean, no. What happened? And don’t tell me you missed because you’re too damn good of a shot and your head is too fucking big for you to miss it.”
“I changed my mind, that’s all.” Dean averts his eyes, staring out the window. “Pulled the gun out of my mouth and put it back in the glove compartment. End of story.”
Pulled it out of his… Jesus! “Christ, Dean.” Sam feels nauseous. It doesn’t make sense. Not Dean. Why would he? “When was this?”
“I don’t know. A year and a half ago.” Dean bites his lip. “Around Thanksgiving maybe.”
Thanksgiving last year Sam spent with Jess and her parents, eating more food than he’d ever seen in his life. Smiling and laughing and feeling for the first time as if he belonged somewhere. He remembers thinking fleetingly of his own family and wondering if it would really be such a bad thing if he never saw Dad or Dean ever again.
He’s out of the car and on his knees by the side of the road in a heartbeat, throwing up half digested tacos and Mountain Dew. His arms are shaking so bad he has trouble keeping himself up and it isn’t until he feels Dean’s hand on his back that he realizes his shirt is soaked through with sweat.
“Sammy. Shit, I’m sorry. I won’t do it, I promise. It was just a one time thing and I’ve never even thought about it since. Ok? Sam?”
Sam shakes his head, his throat too raw and his thoughts spinning way too fast for him to be able to speak. He can see it in his head, as easily as if it really had happened. Dean sprawled in the driver’s seat, gun in his slack hand on the seat beside him, head tilting to the left, back of it missing. Blood and brain matter splattered all over the back interior of the Impala.
Sam’s stomach lurches and he coughs up the last of his dinner, bits of beef and taco shells sticking to his tongue and smearing the inside of his teeth.
At last he staggers to his feet, shakes Dean’s concerned hands off, and spits on the ground. His head is pounding, a dull ache that thumps in rhythm with his heartbeat.
“You okay?”
He nods and it’s such a lie that he almost starts laughing. Of course he’s not okay. How the fuck can he be okay?
“Come on, get in. I’ll drive.”
‘Yeah, off a fucking cliff,’ Sam almost says but bites his tongue at the last minute and instead stumbles into the car. Dean gets in beside him and with a roar of the engine the car swings onto the road again.
For a long time they drive in silence. Sam feels tears stinging his eyes and he doesn’t even know if he’s angry at Dean or himself. Maybe he’s just angry at this whole damn mess they call their life.
After what seems like hours Dean clears his throat and glances over at him. “I would never do that to you, Sammy. Never. Alright? No matter how bad it gets.”
Sam doesn’t answer, just nods and stares out the window.
3. Cheap 'N Eager. Remix of He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Idiot Brother
He’s only been gone for a few minutes - you don’t dwell in the filthy restrooms of a seedy bar like this if you value your ass - but it seems it was just long enough for Dean to hook up with this town’s version of Cheap N’ Eager. Sam swallows the frustration burning in his throat and walks over to grab his beer before the bimbo lays claim on that as well. Dean just looks up at him with a glazed look in his eyes, grinning foolishly.
“Hey, little brother. Meet Bambi.”
“Brandy,” she chirps drunkenly and bats her eyes smugly at Sam.
“That’s what I said, sweetheart.” Dean pats her thigh, which is practically in his lap, and gives Sam a smirk. “Brandy here’s from Sweden.”
“Really?” Sam raises his eyebrow in mock appreciation. She sure looks the part if those porn movies Dean likes to watch are anything to go by. Or were those Danish? Norwegian? Shit, who cares? “Brandy a common Swedish name?” he asks sarcastically.
“Ja. Verry.”
Sam can hardly keep from rolling his eyes. Bet those boobs are real too, Pamela.
“Whatever.” He tips the bottle and swallows the rest of his lukewarm beer in one go, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m going back to the motel. Try not to wake me up when you get in, ok?”
Sam turns away but Dean hollers a “Wait!”, making him stop in his tracks. When he looks over his shoulder, Dean is trying to disentangle himself from the blonde clinging to him like an octopus, all arms and legs and pouty lips. Christ.
“What?” He waits impatiently as Dean stumbles out of the booth and grabs on to his arm with a conspiring finger on his lips.
“SammySamSam. I know you got a stick up your butt but-” Dean pauses and then positively giggles. “I said butt-butt.”
Sam wants to slap him but instead just gives him an exasperated look. Dean must have been downing shots when Sam wasn’t looking because this is not the brother he left to go to the bathroom five minutes earlier. “Dude, how fucking drunk are you?”
“’M not drunk. Shut up. Listen. Listen, Sam. She’s got a twin. Twin, Sam. Swedish twins! How fucking awesome is that?”
“Oh, very awesome. A dream come true,” Sam sighs. “Can I go now?”
“Wanna share?” Dean elbows him playfully, the suggestive leer on his face making Sam feel all kinds of wrong. “You… You need to get laid, bro. And I’m feeling charitable tonight. So what do you say?”
“I’m surprised you’re able to remember, let alone pronounce, a word like charitable.”
Dean doesn’t seem to hear him because he just leans in closer, alcoholic breath brushing Sam’s face. “We can take turns. And… And if the other one’s ugly I’ll let you have this one first.”
Christ. Sam isn’t sure whether to feel amused or appalled. Or possibly turned on. “I thought you said they were twins?”
Dean frowns but the grin returns soon, if slightly lopsided. “Oh yeah. Twins. Dude, how awesome…”
“Is that…” Sam finishes. “Right. Listen, Dean, I don’t think I…” He jumps when Dean slaps his butt before giving it a light squeeze. “Dean! What the hell?”
“You need to lighten up, bro.” Dean laughs and hooks his arm around Sam’s neck, pulling him down until his lips are brushing Sam’s ear, warm and wet. “I could show you a thing or two. What ya say, Sammy? Some live action sex ed. from your big brother. Yeah? Oh yeah.”
“Are you high?” Sam tries to shake free but Dean is practically hanging on him now, one arm still slung around Sam’s neck while his other hand rests on Sam’s stomach, rubbing it lovingly.
“Saaammyyy…” Sam would say Dean was whining except he’s Dean and Dean doesn’t whine. Ever. “Please?”
“Dean, I’m not gonna watch you have sex with some blond bimbos, ok? Now will you let go of me?”
Dean smirks. “Who said anything about watching? Didna say I’d show you?” The hand on Sam’s stomach does a sudden downturn and Sam bumps into the table as he jerks away, only just managing to keep from tumbling over it.
“Dean!”
“What?” Dean looks up at him, eyes slightly unfocused, face frowning in honest confusion. Then he shakes his head and waves his hand in dismissal. “Fine. Go home. Sleep. What do I care?” He blows a raspberry and sticks out his tongue. “Party pooper.”
He smiles suddenly and Sam turns his head to see the blonde has gotten up from the booth and he watches as Dean drapes himself over her, practically drooling in her ear.
“Guess it’s just us three then. Eh, baby?”
“Ja, baby. You come with Bambi now.”
Wasn’t her name Brandy?
Sam stands frozen in place, wavering between following the horny couple to make sure that Dean’s alright, or going to the motel to jerk off. (Dean’s right, it’s been forever. It’s got nothing to do with Dean’s wandering hands. Really.)
He can’t remember Dean ever acting like that - and certainly not like that, because what the hell? ¬- and he’s been unfortunate enough to observe Dean imbibe amounts of alcohol that would probably kill most people. And that girl… Maybe she’s just a wannabe actress that has trouble remembering who she is that night but maybe she’s something else. Wouldn’t be the first demon to disguise itself as a pretty girl. Wouldn’t be the first pretty girl to lure a horny drunk into an alley to be robbed either.
His hard-on will have to wait. Sam grabs his jacket and weaves his way through the sweaty bodies and to the door that Dean is disappearing through, swaying like a drunken sailor. His arm is slung over the girl’s shoulder and Sam feels a sudden twinge of jealousy in his gut. Was only moments ago that arm was hugging his neck. He can still feel the warmth of it pressed into his skin, the ghost of Dean’s breath on his face. His hand slipping down the front of Sam’s jeans, stroking his…
Christ, he really needs to get laid. As soon as he’s made sure Bambi the blond bimbo is only after his brother’s dick and not his money or something worse.
Now where did they go?
4. The World Will Match Your Pain. Remix of Saved By A Yell
The first friend Sam made at Stanford was a guy named Ben.
They didn’t really have anything in common. Ben was in his second year, studying the Classics, only son to some well-known actor on Broadway. He was about five foot ten, thin as a stick and had long hair that hang in dreadlocks way past his shoulders. He smoked pot and skipped most of his classes. And he was as gay as they came.
The only reason they got to talking was that they met outside the dorm one night, having both forgotten their keys. Sam picked the lock while Ben said goodbye to his companion, mostly by shoving a tongue down his throat. Sam waited patiently; holding the door open until Ben finally waved his goodbye and came in, slapping Sam playfully on the ass in the passing.
“Dude, what a night! Man! Was it great or what?”
Sam wondered whether he should just nod in agreement or point out that he hadn’t actually been a part of whatever had been going on but was instead coming home from reading at the library the last five hours. He settled for a smile and said, “I’m sure it was.”
“Good times. Hey man, what’s your name?”
“Sam. Sam Winchester.” It still felt strange, just throwing his name out like that without having to remember who he was supposed to be in this town.
“Sam. I’m Ben. So what more do you know than how to pick locks?”
Melt silver into bullets. Stitch together claw marks deep enough to make a person’s guts pop out. How to exorcise a demon in ten different languages.
“Not much. Why?”
“You know how to make a bong? I dropped mine out the window.”
“That I can do,” said Sam and allowed himself a brief memory of Dean and the Big Pot Party that had grounded his brother for two weeks when he was sixteen, before shoving it back into the chamber in his brain that held other Things He Didn’t Think About.
“Awesome!”
As it turned out there was a lot more to Ben than his ability to smoke humongous amounts of pot without passing out.
They spent hours talking about Greece as the cradle of Western civilization and how its cultural influence was prominent even today. They discussed its art and literature, buildings and gods, and of course its liberal views on homosexuality. From there they went on to modern gay rights and their status in society and why Tom Cruise needed to just come out already, according to Ben. Sam learned more than he ever wanted to know about the procedures of gay sex and quite a lot he actually had wanted to know but had never found the nerve to find out. The importance of lube, the art of prepping and why condoms were a gay man’s best friend.
“Never forget the rubber, man. Being stupid will kill you,” Ben announced loudly and passed on the bong. “With girls too. Promise me, Sam. Promise me you won’t be stupid.”
“I promise,” Sam sighed and draped a blanket over Ben when he passed out, sprawled in the beanbag chair.
Of course Ben repeatedly offered to educate him even further, naked, but Sam gently declined every time. Not that he didn’t feel curious or even excited about trying some of the things Ben kept raving about, but for all his charms Ben just wasn’t the right person. Sam had never been one to jump into bed with a girl just for sex’s sake and why should it be any different with a guy? If he however would meet and fall in love with a guy, at least now he knew what to do.
For two years they hung out regularly, sharing stories and pot, doing laundry and arguing over cups of coffee. Ben invited Sam home with him their second Christmas. His dads treated Sam to all the glitter Broadway had to offer and he returned to school with a smile on his face and a painful longing for family in his heart. He hadn’t heard from either his dad or Dean in months and he wondered if this was it, if he had finally managed to break free from the life he hated. It felt a little like dying. If Ben thought it was weird that Sam spent most of New Year’s staring into space, phone in hand, he didn’t mention it. Instead he slung one arm around Sam’s shoulders and kissed him with closed lips as the ball dropped on the TV screen.
When Ben started sleeping in longer and longer in the mornings, missing his classes and skipping his tests, Sam at first blamed it on the increased late night drinking and pot smoking. When Ben stopped coming over and didn’t answer his phone or Sam knocking on his door, Sam figured he’d hooked up with someone, for real this time. He felt a bit hurt, almost jealous, but then there was this girl in his class that was throwing glances his way and he forgot all about Ben for the next couple of months.
He was coming home late one night, the smell of Jessica’s hair still lingering in his nostrils, the feel of her smooth skin tingling his fingertips, when he saw someone sitting slumped up against his door. It was dark and all he could see was a leatherjacket and short-cropped hair and for a moment his heart sped up, Dean’s name on the tip of his tongue. The person turned its head toward the sound of Sam approaching and the profile made Sam stop in his tracks.
“Ben?”
His friend’s cheeks were hollow, eyes large and glittering, the buzzed haircut making him look like a nightmare from Auschwitz. “Hey, Sam. Long time no see.” He chuckled hoarsely.
“Jesus, Ben.” Sam’s mind instantly went to haunts and possessions and demons that suck the life right out of you. “What the hell happened?”
Ben’s laugh turned into a cough and he shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing, man. Stupidity. Fate. Who knows?”
“What are you talking about?” He bent down to help Ben up but was pushed away. “Dude, c’mon. We got to get you to a doctor.”
“You’ve got a magical doctor? Because let me tell you, man, that…that would be awesome.” The mocking grin fell from Ben’s lips and he grimaced. “Fuck it. I need your help, Sam. Please?”
“Sure. Of course. Whatever you need.”
Ben dropped his head. “I need you to go buy me some good shit. Something heavy. Something that makes you feel like you’re in fucking heaven.”
Sam stepped back, staring at him in shock. “Ben, I don’t…”
“I have money. I just…” Ben looked up, desperation shining in his eyes. “I can’t get there myself, ok? Please, man. If you could just get it for me and…”
“Ben, no. I don’t mind the pot but I’m not hooking you up with some heavy drugs, man.” Sam kneeled by Ben’s side, one hand on his bony shoulder. “Whatever is wrong, just tell me and we can fix it. Ok? Drugs don’t solve problems, Ben, they only make them worse.”
Ben stared at him and then he started to giggle. “You think I’m looking to get high? Think I’m going all Robert Downey Jr., dude? Don’t be a fucking moron, Sam.”
“Ben, you just asked me to fix you up.”
Ben shook his head. “I’m not looking to get fixed, Sam. I just want to die happy.” He gazed up at Sam with wet eyes. “I just wanna die happy, Sammy.”
Sam blinked, his stomach clenching in sudden fear and understanding. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you…? God, Ben, why didn’t you tell me?”
“What for? Don’t want your pity, Sam. I just need…” He blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek. “I just need to jump off the fucking train. You know?”
“You’re just giving up? Ben, fuck that. You can fight this, I know you can.”
“There is no fight. Don’t you get it? It’s the Big A, man. I’ve got a couple of months, at most. A couple of months filled with pain and fear and losing my hair and looking like a goddamn skeleton. I refuse to go that way, Sam.” His lips trembled as he smiled. “I wanna die happy. Preferably with a pretty boy but you will do.”
“Ben…” Sam sagged down, feeling faint as he took Ben’s bony hands in his own. “You’re asking me to kill you. Please don’t ask me to kill you. Please.”
Ben hitched his breath and gazed at him with despairing eyes. “I’m asking you to set me free. To save me.”
Sam swallowed. “No. I’m sorry, Ben, but I can’t.”
Anger flared briefly in Ben’s eyes but then it died away and he smiled softly. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it, Sam. Can you help me up?”
Sam pulled Ben to his feet and then into a tight hug. They stood wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time and then Ben pushed him gently away.
“Forget what I said. I’m just tired.”
“Okay.” Sam nodded, squeezing Ben’s shoulder. “You get some sleep and we talk in the morning.”
“Yeah. Sure. Good night, Sam.”
He was at his door when Sam called out, “Ben?” Ben turned around and looked at him. He was so thin and pale he almost seemed like a ghost already. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. We’ll hang out and talk about this and…”
“It’s okay.” Ben gave him a tired grin. “I like that girl of yours. I think she’ll be good for you.”
Sam felt himself blushing, his own grin widening. “She’s pretty awesome. We should meet up, all three of us.”
“Sure.” Ben nodded and then disappeared through his door, leaving Sam standing with the smile fading and his stomach clenching in fear. He’d call Dean tomorrow. Maybe they could find some healer or something.
He woke up to the paramedics carrying Ben’s body out on a stretcher. They left wet red-tinted footprints all the way down the hall.
5. The Reconstruction of Dean Winchester. Remix of Salvation In Your Breath
Dean Winchester doesn't cry.
There are times - and incidentally they coincide with the times Sam wants to smack his own head and take back whatever he just spat out in anger and frustration - when Dean goes completely still and his eyes change from rock hard to liquid. His lips, thin with rage, quiver once, twice and the shadows play upon his throat as he swallows. If, and when, he speaks, his voice will shiver but only occasionally break - and God, does Sam then ever hate himself for doing that to him - his words carefully chosen to reveal as little as possible of the emotions hiding behind them. They stare at each other until Dean looks away, closing once again the door that for one moment allowed Sam to catch a glint of what is stirring inside his brother's mind.
But these are rare occasions and Sam tends to forget that Dean isn't made of everything unbreakable, that even if he might not show it there are things hidden behind the facade that Sam doesn't know, and is quite sure he doesn't want to know. Things dark and dangerous and very, very broken. Things that made his brother despair enough to put a gun to his head a lonely dark night less than two years ago, finger on the trigger.
He needs to believe Dean is whole, that he’s a rock in this chaos of a life they lead. That whatever happens, Dean will always be strong enough to handle it, strong enough to pull Sam back to his feet. And so he does, believe in Dean like a child believes in its parents, like a man of prayer believes in God. Infallible, omnipotent. The hero. His big brother. Dean.
Until it happens again.
Sam will throw some words back at his brother, far crueler and more spiteful than what instigated them, and regret them the second they leave his lips. And as Sam watches the emotions play upon Dean’s face he wishes he could reach out and tell Dean, “I didn't mean it” and “Forgive me.” Could grab Dean's chin and force him to hold Sam’s gaze as he tells Dean in a not-to-be-fucked-with voice, “I love you, man. More than anything. Never ever doubt that.” Wishes Dean would allow Sam to pull him close and whisper into his ear, “I got you, Dean. You and me, bro. You and me.”
Instead Sam stands silent, willing Dean to look up and see it for himself in his eyes. 'It's right here, Dean. Everything I want you to know, every answer I know you're looking for. Right here and all you have to do is look for it.'
Dean stares stubbornly down at the floorboards and after a while Sam hisses, “Whatever. Just forget it,” or something equally untruthful and just like that, the door closes again.
But then their father dies and everything changes.
Dean’s thoughts are closed even tighter than before but the door is brittle, made of rotten plywood and hanging on rusty hinges. Sam watches Dean, waiting for the door to crack open or even crumble to dust, but Dean is nothing but stubborn and for every shed splinter there are nails ready to keep it together.
But Dean can only do so much and he always was a lousy carpenter anyway (and seriously, that metaphor has run its course by now) and so the cracks start showing. He mutilates the Impala, he loses his temper with strangers, and he punches Sam in the face.
He cries.
Real honest-to-God tears run down his cheeks and Sam has no idea what to do or what to say because Dean Winchester doesn’t cry. Dean Winchester is Sam’s rock, his God, his goddamn unbreakable big brother. And Sam might have been pushing Dean toward exactly this but now he’s got it he would give everything to never have seen it.
It’s only a moment’s weakness and Dean shakes it off soon enough, ordering Sam back into the car and they drive off to another hunt. Silent.
But now that Sam knows, now that he’s been allowed to see what’s hiding behind the door, if only briefly, he watches Dean even closer. At nights he lies awake, listening to Dean’s ragged breathing until he falls asleep. And in the mornings Sam gives his brother the space he needs to pull himself together in order to face another day.
He aches to sit Dean down and force him to talk, force him to realize that he doesn’t need to carry this burden alone. That Sam is there for him, every step of the way. That it’s alright to need someone, alright to ask for help.
It will probably prove disastrous but they can’t go on like this. One more day. Sam’s giving him one more day and then he’s going to make Dean listen even if he has to tie him up and gag him.
He nudges the door open with his hip and steps inside the motel room, coffee and bagels in hand, only to stop in his tracks.
“Dean?” Oh God. “Dean! What’s wrong? Dean!”
Dean Winchester doesn’t cry. But when he breaks, clinging to Sam like even the thought of letting him go will be his death, terror and grief and guilt shining in his eyes when he thinks he’s dying, thinks he’s abandoning his little brother… He’s still the biggest goddamn hero Sam has ever known.
6. Losing Our Religion. Remix of Casting The First Stone
When Sam was nine, he and Dean went to catholic school for three months. It was the only school in the area and they spent hours listening to the nuns and padres talk about God and the Devil and the lure of sin. Well, Sam listened. Dean slept through most of it when he wasn’t trying to put his hand up the girls’ skirts or was drawing pictures of little devils with horns, tails and humongous cocks in his notebook.
From what Sam could gather God didn’t really care much for this world he’d created. When he wasn’t trying to drown it or attacking it with locus and earthquakes and whatnots he was testing people’s faith by making them kill their children and being thrown into lion pits. He couldn’t help wondering if maybe the world would be better off if Dad was right. If there was no God. He wanted to ask Dean if he believed in Heaven, if he thought that was where Mom was now, but Dean always got so quiet when Sam asked about Mom and so he kept silent.
Not much later they moved once again and Sam stopped looking for God and just kept his eyes on Dean instead. A shotgun in Dean’s hands was far more reassuring than the eyes of a seemingly uncaring deity anyway.
When Sam was twelve he tried to regain some of his faith. He needed something to believe in, something more than Dean. Because for the last year he’d felt Dean slipping away from him and the thought that he might lose Dean altogether was too terrifying to face alone.
Dad said Dean was just being a teenager, an annoying pain in the ass teenager at that, and it would hopefully soon pass. Sam wanted to believe that. That one day Dean would come home and look at Sam without rolling his eyes or growling in annoyance when he was forced to baby-sit instead of going out partying with his friends or hunting with Dad. Would cuddle up with Sam at night and tell him stories about fairies and goblins and then tickle him until they were both out of breath and laughing like lunatics. Just like they used to do.
Instead Dean came home stinking of smoke and alcohol and the sickening sweet scent of perfume. Legs wobbly, grin too wide and eyes shining like they used to do when he looked at Sam. He was years away from legal but Dad didn’t seem to care and Dean ignored the disapproving glares Sam sent him.
So Sam started going to church, sitting in the far back listening to the priest talk about love and salvation and it was everything he wanted to hear. He joined the youth club, wore a tie on Sundays and tried to feel Jesus in his heart.
Then one day Dean came home and for what seemed like the first time in months he threw Sam a real smile and asked if he wanted to go fishing down the creek. And Sam realized Dean was the only savior he’d ever wanted.
When Sam was eighteen he walked out of the only life he’d ever known and into a new one, as terrifying as any hunt he’d ever taken part in. He left his faith with Dean and arrived at Stanford with high educational goals and no spiritual direction. He tried to take the students counselor’s words to heart and believe in himself but he was just Sammy and Sammy was too small for anyone to have faith in. Instead he buried himself in his studies, praying for good grades, sacrificing sleep and whatever social life campus had to offer, on the altar of education.
Then one day he met Jess and he realized he didn’t need a higher power to believe in as long as someone believed in him. She gave him salvation with sweet smiles and even sweeter kisses and he forgot why he’d lost his faith in the first place. Where he had once looked for guidance in green eyes and a cocky smile he now found it in her golden hair and soft skin and it wasn’t until he had both of them in the same room and looked from one to the other that he realized that’s what had happened. Replacement.
Then Jess burned for his sins and Dean saved him again from being destroyed along with the women who loved him.
So here he is.
In the months that follow he prays to Jess and curses God but it’s Dean that he looks to for guidance. Dean that stands strong no matter what happens. Dean who is always there, pushing Sam forward and pulling him along the path he was probably always meant to follow. As time goes by Sam stops cursing God for what he’s lost and starts thanking Him for what he’s been given instead. He has Dean, he’s always had Dean and he always will. Not many people can say they have their very own salvation, sitting by their side in a cool car, listening to the Devil’s music.
But then everything goes to hell and it’s suddenly just the two of them and a wreck of a car left. Sam’s faith falters. He can’t believe in God, he can’t believe in himself and Dean… Dean is just as lost as his brother is. Sam is starting to suspect that Dean had his own faith, his own god, all along. And now that his god is dead there is no faith left, no higher power to believe in, no one for Dean to look to for guidance either.
Except he keeps looking at Sam the way Sam remembers himself looking at Dean when they both were smaller. When Sam’s faith rested on the smile of a boy not even half the age he himself is now. Something in that look tells Sam that as long as Dean has Sam to watch over, has his soul to protect and his love to trust in, he will keep fighting. And if Dean believes in Sam and Sam believes in… whatever this is they now have, maybe, just maybe, that will be enough.
fin