When the Levee Breaks
When the Levee Breaks
Wordcount: 1134
Rating: PG for a couple cuss words
Pairing: none, unless you wanna see Dean/Sam
Feedback: Hell yea! I didn’t post this thing for my health.
Spoilers: AHBL...takes place after...
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean or Sam *damnit* or anything else from the Supernatural universe. Nor the title, I stole it from Led Zeppelin in true Kripke fashion.
***
One week.
It had been one week and Dean was so hyped up on coffee and sugar he would honestly be surprised if he had anything that qualified as blood left in his veins anymore.
He scrubbed at the more than five o’clock shadow he sported, once again fighting back the tears and staring intently at the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest as he slept, proving to himself that Sam was in fact alive.
Sam groaned in his sleep, turning over on his side, facing Dean. Despite how much he tried to hide it, not worry Dean, his back still ached with pain.
Dean’s breath caught in his throat, not releasing until Sam once again settled.
He dropped his head in his hands, threading his fingers through his hair and grimacing at the fact that he hadn’t had a decent shower in a week.
Hell, he hadn’t had a decent meal, let alone a decent night’s sleep…or any sleep really.
He just couldn’t take his eyes off Sammy.
Couldn’t leave him alone.
Couldn’t close his eyes.
All he could think about was he was going to get out of sight for five minutes, and something would happen.
And every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Sam dropping to his knees in the mud, the light leaving his eyes, like an after image burned onto the back of his eyelids he couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard he tried.
He was so wrapped up in his own misery, hot tears burning jagged paths through his stubble while his mind swirled around watching Sam die, bringing his cold, so cold, body back to that cabin, Bobby telling him it was time and that drive he couldn’t even remember out to the crossroads, selling his soul, that he didn’t notice that Sam’s breathing had sped up, shallowed.
Or that his eyes were pinned on Dean.
“Dean.”
Dean would never admit that he jerked at Sam’s voice suddenly slicing through the darkness, and he would never admit that the swipe of his hand across his jaw was for the sole reason of wiping the evidence of tears from his face.
“You okay Sammy?”
Sam bit back a retort. Damn Dean and his constant protect Sammy mentality. Damn him and his sacrifices.
“No.”
“What? What’s wrong?” Dean asked in a hurry, wincing at the way his own voice broke, rocking forward ready to leap across the couple feet separating their beds.
Sam instantly cursed himself, seeing and hearing the worry and outright panic that shot through Dean’s system faster and more potent than the straight black, almost espresso, coffee Dean had been all but shooting up.
He sat up, running his hand through his shaggy mess of hair.
“You Dean…what’s up with you?”
“Me? Nothing’s wrong with me,” Dean shot back, slamming his defensive, cocky mask in place.
Too bad Sam had grown up with that mask, and knew the Dean that was underneath.
“Bullshit.”
Dean shot him a glare, ready to retreat to the safety of the bathroom until Sam had once again passed out.
He didn’t have the chance though because next thing he knew Sam’s lanky frame had slid from one bed to the other, his body heat radiating against Dean as he sat down next to him.
“Talk to me Dean.”
Dean grunted, which Sam clearly understood as not a chance Dr. Phil.
“Dean…c’mon man. You’ve been inhaling coffee like oxygen and despite how you think you’re hiding it I know damn well you haven’t slept since…” he left “since your deal, since I died,” hanging in the air.
Sam was just about to whack Dean across the head when he finally answered.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
Sam sat silent, it wasn’t often Dean let him open these doors without immediately slamming them in his face and he knew when to step back before moving forward.
“I just can’t Sam…” he said, his voice breaking over his name, sending Dean’s memory back into samdyingsamdeadimdyingwithouthim overdrive.
“All I see is you…god Sam,” he rasped, once again dropping his head into his hands.
Like some floodgate had been opened, some levee broken down the tears fell once again and all Dean could think about was spilling everything to Sam.
“I watched you die Sam, I can’t just get over that. Every time…” he choked, “every time I close my eyes I watch you fall.”
Sam’s knee bounced with nervous energy, his own throat closing, eyes watering.
“Jesus Sam…”
“Dean…you think you’re the only one?”
Dean brought his head back up to stare at Sam incredulously.
“You sold your soul for me Dean, to a goddamn demon,” Sam hissed, biting back his own tears.
“How the hell do you think that makes me feel?”
Dean had to look away, there was no way he could keep staring at Sam downright breaking the fuck down and keep what little was left of his sanity.
“I still have nightmares Dean, but not of the The Demon, not visions of people dying but of you dying, that demon bitch coming and taking you from me.”
Dean clenched his jaw so tight he felt pain shoot up to his temple.
“Sam…”
“Shut up Dean. You’re not the only damn one here that can’t live without the other.”
And there it was, out in the open.
Dean shot up, pacing the small space between the bed, something, everything, keeping him from venturing any farther away from Sam.
Dean knew damn well he could never live without Sam, but Sam…
“Bullshit, you’ve done it before and you’ll do it again…you’re better than that Sammy.”
“I don’t want to do it again, not now, not after everything.”
Dean just stared.
Sam finally dropped his head, his bangs falling across his watery eyes, hiding them from Dean’s view.
Thank god for small mercies.
Without a word he threw back the covers of Dean’s bed and crawled to the other side.
When Dean made no move to do…anything, Sam spoke.
“Stop fucking thinking Dean, and shut up, we both need sleep. You can’t sleep without knowing I’m safe and I can’t sleep thinking I’m gonna loose you, so…”
Dean sighed and climbed in bed beside Sam, their heat quickly melding under the sheets and short sniffs to clear their sinuses breaking the silence.
“I’m gonna save you Dean…it’s my turn now.”
Dean closed his eyes.
“I know Sam.”
He turned on his side, letting Sam curl his arms up against his back, short blasts of air falling across Dean’s shoulders as Sam breathed and Dean was transported back over a decade, when a young frightened Sammy, wondering if Daddy was ever coming home would curl up with Dean just to feel safe.
And somehow…he knew everything would be okay.
Wordcount: 1134
Rating: PG for a couple cuss words
Pairing: none, unless you wanna see Dean/Sam
Feedback: Hell yea! I didn’t post this thing for my health.
Spoilers: AHBL...takes place after...
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean or Sam *damnit* or anything else from the Supernatural universe. Nor the title, I stole it from Led Zeppelin in true Kripke fashion.
***
One week.
It had been one week and Dean was so hyped up on coffee and sugar he would honestly be surprised if he had anything that qualified as blood left in his veins anymore.
He scrubbed at the more than five o’clock shadow he sported, once again fighting back the tears and staring intently at the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest as he slept, proving to himself that Sam was in fact alive.
Sam groaned in his sleep, turning over on his side, facing Dean. Despite how much he tried to hide it, not worry Dean, his back still ached with pain.
Dean’s breath caught in his throat, not releasing until Sam once again settled.
He dropped his head in his hands, threading his fingers through his hair and grimacing at the fact that he hadn’t had a decent shower in a week.
Hell, he hadn’t had a decent meal, let alone a decent night’s sleep…or any sleep really.
He just couldn’t take his eyes off Sammy.
Couldn’t leave him alone.
Couldn’t close his eyes.
All he could think about was he was going to get out of sight for five minutes, and something would happen.
And every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Sam dropping to his knees in the mud, the light leaving his eyes, like an after image burned onto the back of his eyelids he couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard he tried.
He was so wrapped up in his own misery, hot tears burning jagged paths through his stubble while his mind swirled around watching Sam die, bringing his cold, so cold, body back to that cabin, Bobby telling him it was time and that drive he couldn’t even remember out to the crossroads, selling his soul, that he didn’t notice that Sam’s breathing had sped up, shallowed.
Or that his eyes were pinned on Dean.
“Dean.”
Dean would never admit that he jerked at Sam’s voice suddenly slicing through the darkness, and he would never admit that the swipe of his hand across his jaw was for the sole reason of wiping the evidence of tears from his face.
“You okay Sammy?”
Sam bit back a retort. Damn Dean and his constant protect Sammy mentality. Damn him and his sacrifices.
“No.”
“What? What’s wrong?” Dean asked in a hurry, wincing at the way his own voice broke, rocking forward ready to leap across the couple feet separating their beds.
Sam instantly cursed himself, seeing and hearing the worry and outright panic that shot through Dean’s system faster and more potent than the straight black, almost espresso, coffee Dean had been all but shooting up.
He sat up, running his hand through his shaggy mess of hair.
“You Dean…what’s up with you?”
“Me? Nothing’s wrong with me,” Dean shot back, slamming his defensive, cocky mask in place.
Too bad Sam had grown up with that mask, and knew the Dean that was underneath.
“Bullshit.”
Dean shot him a glare, ready to retreat to the safety of the bathroom until Sam had once again passed out.
He didn’t have the chance though because next thing he knew Sam’s lanky frame had slid from one bed to the other, his body heat radiating against Dean as he sat down next to him.
“Talk to me Dean.”
Dean grunted, which Sam clearly understood as not a chance Dr. Phil.
“Dean…c’mon man. You’ve been inhaling coffee like oxygen and despite how you think you’re hiding it I know damn well you haven’t slept since…” he left “since your deal, since I died,” hanging in the air.
Sam was just about to whack Dean across the head when he finally answered.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
Sam sat silent, it wasn’t often Dean let him open these doors without immediately slamming them in his face and he knew when to step back before moving forward.
“I just can’t Sam…” he said, his voice breaking over his name, sending Dean’s memory back into samdyingsamdeadimdyingwithouthim overdrive.
“All I see is you…god Sam,” he rasped, once again dropping his head into his hands.
Like some floodgate had been opened, some levee broken down the tears fell once again and all Dean could think about was spilling everything to Sam.
“I watched you die Sam, I can’t just get over that. Every time…” he choked, “every time I close my eyes I watch you fall.”
Sam’s knee bounced with nervous energy, his own throat closing, eyes watering.
“Jesus Sam…”
“Dean…you think you’re the only one?”
Dean brought his head back up to stare at Sam incredulously.
“You sold your soul for me Dean, to a goddamn demon,” Sam hissed, biting back his own tears.
“How the hell do you think that makes me feel?”
Dean had to look away, there was no way he could keep staring at Sam downright breaking the fuck down and keep what little was left of his sanity.
“I still have nightmares Dean, but not of the The Demon, not visions of people dying but of you dying, that demon bitch coming and taking you from me.”
Dean clenched his jaw so tight he felt pain shoot up to his temple.
“Sam…”
“Shut up Dean. You’re not the only damn one here that can’t live without the other.”
And there it was, out in the open.
Dean shot up, pacing the small space between the bed, something, everything, keeping him from venturing any farther away from Sam.
Dean knew damn well he could never live without Sam, but Sam…
“Bullshit, you’ve done it before and you’ll do it again…you’re better than that Sammy.”
“I don’t want to do it again, not now, not after everything.”
Dean just stared.
Sam finally dropped his head, his bangs falling across his watery eyes, hiding them from Dean’s view.
Thank god for small mercies.
Without a word he threw back the covers of Dean’s bed and crawled to the other side.
When Dean made no move to do…anything, Sam spoke.
“Stop fucking thinking Dean, and shut up, we both need sleep. You can’t sleep without knowing I’m safe and I can’t sleep thinking I’m gonna loose you, so…”
Dean sighed and climbed in bed beside Sam, their heat quickly melding under the sheets and short sniffs to clear their sinuses breaking the silence.
“I’m gonna save you Dean…it’s my turn now.”
Dean closed his eyes.
“I know Sam.”
He turned on his side, letting Sam curl his arms up against his back, short blasts of air falling across Dean’s shoulders as Sam breathed and Dean was transported back over a decade, when a young frightened Sammy, wondering if Daddy was ever coming home would curl up with Dean just to feel safe.
And somehow…he knew everything would be okay.