If you could only see -- chapter 8b/?

[mikiya2200]

Sam is nowhere to be seen, but there is an odd sound coming from the other end of the room, a loud wheezing that seems to grow louder in the short moment he stands at the door. Someone is fighting for breath, painful rasps for air and Dean has just enough time to think “punctured lung” before he is rushing to the bed, his brother’s name falling from his lips in a panicked shout.

“Sam!”

It’s only three steps to the bed and he automatically goes to his knees when he sees his brother lying on the floor, stretched out along the bed, face down. Dean is already reaching out to check his pulse, his own heart hammering in his chest, when Sam moves, tries to push himself upright, before sinking back to the floor.

“Sam, take it easy, stay down…” Dean gasps and is about to lean over him when Sam comes up again, raises himself up on shaking arms before he goes down, again.

And comes back up.

It takes Dean about four repetitions of those movements to realize that Sam is doing push-ups.

His brother is pale, sweating, blood dripping from his nose to the floor, his eyes scrunched shut in obvious pain, arms shaking badly as he moves up and down and up again. He apparently hasn’t noticed Dean yet.

“Sam?”

Sam doesn’t react, doesn’t seem to have heard him at all. He just keeps going, breath wheezing in and out of him in pained gasps. It’s pretty much the weirdest thing he’s ever seen Sam do, including the incident with the nightgown and the rubber duck. This time it isn’t really funny, though, not at all. Sam is scaring the shit out of him, acting like this. Dean raises his voice, snapping at his brother while he reaches out a hand to shake his shoulder. “Sam, what the he-“

It all goes south from there.

The second he touches Sam, the younger man explodes upwards and snarls at him, the sound so raw, so feral Dean imagines wolfish eyes flash at him. He flinches back, moves so fast the lands on his ass next to the bed, watching, completely stunned, as Sam falls back into a crouch and bares his teeth at him before Sam also loses his balance. He topples back, hitting the wall behind him. Wide, wild eyes stare at Dean and Sam gasps in pain, immediately curling an arm around his chest, sucking in a wheezing breath.

“Sorry…” he gasps, no voice left, “…sorry, man, didn’t hear you…” For a moment Sam looks as spooked as Dean feels, but that expression quickly changes into one of carefully guarded indifference and Sam meets his eyes reluctantly. “How’s Dad?”

Dean blinks, his eyebrows crawling up to his hairline as he tries to understand what he’s seen a moment before and relate it to the flat tone and expression Sam is trying to pull off.

“How’s Dad?” he mimics, fixing his brother with a piercing glare. “I find you like this, working out with a concussion so bad you couldn’t walk in a straight line, with busted ribs and bleeding all over the freaking place, and that’s what you ask? How’s Dad? What the hell, man?”

Sam flinches back, then immediately squares his shoulders and his eyes narrow, his whole body tensing. “I’m fine…” he mumbles through clenched teeth.

He is so obviously not fine that Dean wants to reach over and shake some fucking sense into him. “How blind do you think I am?”

Sam blinks and his expression changes into a confused frown. “Blind? What-“ he breaks off, raises a hand to his head and blinks again. “I hit my head, Dean, I’ll live…”

Dean is back to staring incredulously at him. “I think you did a little more than that. You want to tell me what this is all about?”

Sam looks utterly confused, as if he has no idea what Dean is talking about. “What? That was called exercise. You should try it sometimes.” He starts moving slowly, getting to his feet and moving around, searching the room for something, one arm still wrapped protectively around his torso.

Dean can’t stop staring. “Exercise… Sam, are you nuts? You’re hurt, I know you broke your ribs, why the hell- are you nuts?”

Sam finally finds a bottle of pills, squinting at the small label on it. “C’mon, since when have any of us let a little thing like an owie get in the way?” He shrugs at the bottle and starts to turn, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. But he’s moving too fast for his dazed head and staggers, even starts to fall as his feet get tangled in the clothes on the floor.

Dean’s moving fast, too, he’s out of his crouch and tries to catch his brother, cursing when Sam sags heavily against him- only to have Sam shove him away in the next moment, turning his back on Dean and promptly swaying again.

“Sam, stop it!”

Sam turns to him, slower this time, tries to focus on him.

“I can’t please any of you, can I?”

His voice sounds so tired and sad that Dean hesitates briefly, before he reaches out and takes a hold of the arm that isn’t curled around Sam’s middle. “What are you talking about?”

Sam just blinks at him, not flinching back, but not moving either.

“At least sit down…” Dean tries to pull Sam toward the bed and is almost surprised when his brother goes along, wincing at every movement.

“What am I talking about? You’re the one who barged in here, telling me to stop doing… something…” He trails off and stops moving, his eyes roaming the room absentmindedly, before he turns and focuses on Dean again. “I don’t know what you want? I don’t know what any of you want of me anymore…”

Confused eyes search Dean’s, but before he can answer Sam sways and his legs fold, sending him slumping to the floor, missing the bed by inches. He gives a strangled croak of pain and curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his middle as he tries to catch his breath.

Dean can no longer hide that Sam is freaking him out, part of what’s wrong with him has to do with the concussion, he knows that, but there’s something else, something Sam usually buries deep and won’t talk about. He watches his brother for a moment, not really sure if he wants to take advantage of his confused state of mind and he shouldn’t, he really, really should not do that. But if he doesn’t, if he keeps his mouth shut and just ignores it Sam won’t bring it up again and he’ll never find out what’s really bugging him.

Sam gives a muffled groan and Dean moves to crouch down in front of him. “Sam? Sam, can you hear me? You with me?”

He ducks his head, trying to look into Sam’s eyes, check their reaction, but Sam winces away.

“Dude, knock it off…”

Sam winces again as the moving pulls at his ribs and Dean feels his insides clench worriedly when he realizes Sam’s started bleeding again, fresh blood is flowing from his nose and dripping on his shirt. He reaches out and grabs Sam’s chin, slowly forcing him to look up. “How many fingers?” he asks, holding out three and watching how Sam’s eyes sluggishly track the movement for a moment before he pulls away again.

“Fingers? What?” Sam squints at him, then looks back at his hand, looking completely and utterly lost.

“How many?” Dean tries again, starting when Sam pushes his hand back with a growl.

“I don’t care!” Sam all but shouts at him, then grimaces, eyes squeezing shut in obvious pain. “Fuck…” he groans hoarsely, leaning back against the bed. And then, as if he doesn’t remember his outbreak at all, which Dean would bet is the case, he blinks at him, tries to focus. “How’s dad? He was hurt, right?”

Jeez, concussions, gotta love them…

Dean can barely suppress a deep sigh, feels his worry change into familiar anger at being powerless and not able to really help his brother and he snaps at him, unable to hold back.

“Yes, Sam, he was hurt and right now you’re not helping.” He takes hold of Sam’s arm and prepares to stand. “Come on, get up.”

Sam studies him and for a moment he seems completely normal, focused, worried. He struggles to get up, leans heavily against Dean for a moment before he shifts and takes his own weight, swaying slightly. “’m sorry,” he mumbles, running a bloody sleeve over his nose and slowly sitting down on the bed. “I’m okay, I’m good… just… got foggy there for a moment…” He frowns, looks around the room as if seeing it for the first time, looks up at Dean. “I’m okay. Go, help dad, I’m good.” He even sits up straighter to prove his point and that’s so much his freaking, stubborn pigheaded SOB of a brother that it makes Dean’s blood pressure rise.

“Yeah, you’re good, I can see that…” Dean takes a deep breath and looks around the room, gaze falling to the side of the bed and the bloodstain on the floor next to it. “Sam, get up, we need to patch you up, look at your ribs, clean you-“

“I’m FINE!” The angry snarl takes him completely by surprise and he whips around to find his brother staring at him, the same anger from before burning brightly in his eyes. Dean draws back reflexively, raising his arms in defense and landing on his ass for the second time that night.

And explodes, shouting back at a growling Sam. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you have rabies or something?”

It’s a joke, not a very good one. He’d been appalled at the viciousness in Sam’s eyes and he doesn’t do scared very well. Sam should know, Sam would know it’s a fucking joke that isn’t even funny. If he had just shut his friggin’ mouth and let Dean look at his ribs then Dean wouldn’t have said anything at all. Besides, they’ve said worse things to each other. Things you’d normally have to kill the other for just to protect your honor.

And Sam in his right mind would have seen that, would have had a witty comeback and left it at that.

The problem is, this isn’t Sam in his right mind, this isn’t even Sam in any kind of mind. His brother doesn’t do openly angry over physical wounds, he doesn’t scowl, and he sure as hell doesn’t snap at Dean… at least not with his teeth. But Sam is not himself. Even now, quiet, Sam looks at him, simply looks at him, and for one single moment Dean sees Sam’s eyes change, lose their focus, grow distant as he stares at something only he can see. And Dean knows that, however this concussion might be screwing with Sam’s memories, this isn’t something that will be forgotten once his brother wakes up the next morning.

Then Sam shudders…and seems to come back to himself. But there’s a tense silence now between them, he can literally feel how Sam’s closing himself off. Terrific.

“If you’re so fine you should get up and clean your face.”

Sam blinks and begins to drag himself up, painfully, gasping for breath a couple of times, but making it to his feet, unaided. He starts to head toward the bathroom, unsteadily, doesn’t look back. Dean watches him, thinks about following him, but doesn’t, stares at the bathroom door as it swings shut behind his brother’s back. The door isn’t closed, but he can’t see Sam anymore, only hears him moving slowly around the small room.

The silence stretches between them until he swears he can feel it suffocating him. He clears his throat awkwardly, relieved that Sam can’t see him right now.

“You really don’t remember anything?” Dean calls out to the closed door. “How Dad hit his head?”

He can’t stop the relieved breath he takes when Sam’s voice sounds, muffled, almost too low to be heard over the running water. At least his brother isn’t closing himself off completely.

“I told you, I remember… the big bastard… and he smelled… just nasty. Dead. And I remember getting… panicky… and getting kicked… and… oh god…”

Sounds of pained retching follow and Dean is at the bathroom door before he’s even aware that he’s moving. He nudges it open and looks down at where Sam is on his knees in front of the toilet, back convulsing every so often as he is sick. Once it passes he slowly opens his eyes and paws at the handle for the flush, fighting to catch his breath.

“My head hurts…” It’s barely a whisper and Sam doesn’t move from his spot on the floor.

“Yeah, you hit it, genius…” Dean says, with no real heat behind the words, and enters the small room, careful not to step on any body parts in his way. “You ready to lie down now?”

“Is Dad okay?”

Worried, dizzy eyes blink up at him and Dean sighs softly, bends down to help his brother to his feet, slowly. “He’s resting… he’s going to be okay.”

“You sure?” Sam is swaying on his feet, holding on to him to keep upright. And that’s the moment where Dean realizes that not only does he have to calm his upset brother down but he also is going to be stuck with him all night. Stuck with a Sam who is having enough mood-swings to make a teenage girl jealous. Awesome.

He can’t deny being a little irritated that now Sam is so extremely worried about their father after being so pissed at him only moments ago, but that’s probably the concussion messing with Sam’s head. He decides to leave it at that. “Yes, I’m sure. You’re going to be okay, too, remember where the bed is?”

They leave the bathroom, slowly, one step after the other. Sam is leaning heavily on him, but he doesn’t seem to realize it, he’s squinting around the room, lost in thoughts as it seems. He starts mumbling something under his breath, then stops moving suddenly, turning to Dean.

“I didn’t hurt him, did I?” For a moment Sam almost sounds panicked, but then he shakes his head slowly, continuing his monologue. “No, I can’t, he ordered me… Same as he ordered me not to come near him…” Sam’s gaze starts roaming the room, comes to rest on the blood stain next to the bed. “I couldn’t help him…” His voice drops to a whisper and Dean has to lean in a little to understand him. “That thing was right there… and I couldn’t help him-BASTARD!”

The last word is an angry shout and Dean flinches. He isn’t sure if Sam is talking about their dad or the thing that attacked them and decides he doesn’t want to know. He does, however, want to keep him talking, hopes that maybe Sam might remember something if he just repeats what’s going through his messed up mind. “Why did he order you away, Sam?”

They are moving toward the bed now, still slowly and more than once Dean has to catch him a little and correct the direction they are swaying into, but then Sam stops walking and blinks at him.

“I don’t know…” Sam takes a deep breath and all the angry tension seems to leave him with a soul deep tired sigh. “Why does he order me to do anything? I don’t get asked…” He slowly lowers himself to the bed and puts his head in his hands, not looking up. “I never get asked… and now…” He swallows hard, almost chokes the next words out, “… and now I can’t even help…”

Dean feels like he has been punched. “Dad was trying to save you…” he mumbles distractedly, because that has to be it, their dad wouldn’t do something like that if he didn’t have his reasons.

Sam doesn’t agree with him, he huffs tiredly and looks up at him, sad eyes focusing on him for a moment. “By making me watch him die?”

Dean immediately recoils at that thought, snapping at his brother without really meaning to. “He didn’t die, Sam, he did not die!”

Sam shrugs, gaze dropping back to the floor. “Sure as hell not thanks to me…”

And there it is, another crack in the not exactly solid relationship that his brother and his father have. Dean has no idea how to handle it, this is between the two of them, after all, and not really his problem. Except that he does have to deal with the ugly outcome every time they fight and that does somehow make it his problem… But right now, with both of them concussed and not really in control of their higher brain functions, he should probably leave it alone and deal with it when they wake up the next day. Or, you know, just ignore it and hope they forget about it…

“It’s not you, Sam, you know he-he has his reasons…” Yeah, this is lame, but, right now, he just wants to calm his brother down, get him into bed and make him rest.

Sam doesn’t look up. “Everybody has reasons… and no one has solutions… and…” He shifts slightly, then winces, a hand going up to his head. “Fuck, I hurt…”

Enough of this. “You’re just tired, you need to get some rest.”

Sam nods slowly, looks up at him. “Yeah, I’m okay, you can go back to Dad now… he needs you.”

Dean sighs, this is Sam, wanting him out of the room and as much as Dean would like to give him some freedom he knows he can’t. “No, Bobby is with him, he’s keeping an eye on him…” He fights to let his lips curl into a grin he doesn’t really feel, “You know the rules, you wanted that concussion, now you have me for the rest of the night.”

Sam sags a little, looking down again. “I can keep myself company, Dean, I won’t fall asleep.” He makes a show of looking around for a second, tries to grin as well, though it comes out more like a grimace. “I lost my pills somewhere…”

Dean shakes his head again and sits down at the chair by the window without saying anything, watching quietly as Sam watches him back.

“What?” The anger from before is gone from Sam’s voice, he sounds just tired now.

“Nothing, go to sleep, I’ll wake you up…”

Sam pulls a face. “Dude, that sounded… dumb…”

Dean grins half-heartedly, leaning back and trying to get a little comfortable. “Yeah, right, can’t walk straight but you have to make fun of me now, huh?”

Sam keeps watching him. “Only you can be lame enough that even a concussion patient can outthink you…”

Dean rolls his eyes at that, watching his brother how he is still not lying down, even though he’s blinking constantly now and rocking unsteadily on the bed. “Funny. Lie down, Sam, sleep.”

Sam looks up at him, his eyes narrowing as he echoes his tone. “Roll over… sit up. Beg.” The last one is said with a snarl and it makes him wince. For a moment Dean isn’t sure if Sam is angry at him now, or just generally pissed at the world.

“Sam…” he begins, but his brother holds up a hand to interrupt him.

“Don’t… okay? Just… don’t…” Sam takes a breath deep enough it makes him grimace in pain and he looks around the room again, getting to his feet slowly.

Dean glares at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Sam sways, turns to look at him like he has forgotten him for a moment. “I need to move, do… something, I can’t just keep sitting here…”

There it is, the trapped look Sam gets sometimes, like he wants to take off, run away and never come back. And Dean knows that’s exactly what Sam longs to do but that won’t solve anything and his brother has to see that… and why the hell is Sam kneeling down on the other side of the bed now?

“Sam, don’t you dare…” he growls in a warning tone. “You lie down and get some rest, that’s all you need to do right now.”

“Quit ordering me around!” Sam snaps at him without looking up at him and starts to stretch out. The idiot is getting ready to work out again…

Dean can barely keep himself in check, this is getting ridiculous, even for Sam. He gets up and walks toward the bed. “Sam, I’m not ordering you, but you’re not thinking straight, you have a concussion, you need to lie down!” He takes a step closer when Sam simply ignores him and starts doing push-ups again. “Don’t make me punch you out!”

Sam huffs at that. “Good. Great, punch a head trauma…” He keeps pushing up and down, up and down, and even though his face is scrunched up in pain and getting paler with every movement, he doesn’t stop. And that’s seriously starting to piss Dean off.

“You’re hurting yourself, I don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t!” He snaps and really, punching him out suddenly does seem like a sensible alternative right now.

“Of course you don’t…”

And then his nose starts bleeding again and that’s it, Dean moves to grab him and luckily Sam’s concussion is working against him, because before his brother even realizes what he is doing Dean has pulled him to his knees, holding him upright and growling in his ear. “Stop it.”

Sam flinches away from the touch and Dean lets him go, watching as his brother sits back until he is slumped against the wall, arms wrapped around his chest. He’s glaring in Dean’s direction, not really focusing, and his breath comes in wheezing gasps. “Can’t you… just let me… have this?”

To be honest, Dean feels as freaked as Sam looks at the moment and he tries to calm down, forcing himself to sound reasonable. “No, Sam, you’re concussed, confused, you need to stop hurting yourself…” As an afterthought he adds, “It’s not an order, okay? It’s… common sense.”

Sam gives a ragged laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, right, because my life makes so much sense.” He fights hard to take a deep breath and then continues in a low voice, “Go check on Dad, will you? And let me know how he’s doing…” His words are bitter despite the low volume and Dean realizes he is hurt that he can’t do it himself. Not that it would take a genius to interpret the sad look in his brother’s squinted eyes.

“Sam, whatever happened there he didn’t do it to hurt you…”

“Of course not, he never does, he just never thinks about my side…”

“That’s not true.”

“Right, I must be wrong. Again.” Sam nods slowly to himself and lets his head sink against the wall, looking utterly defeated. “You’re right, I’m sorry, I just… It doesn’t matter.” He gets up without another word and lies down on the bed, turning his back on Dean.

And that’s just… wrong, so not Sam that Dean feels himself wince. He has no idea what to do now, whose side to take. If there’s one thing he knows about their father it’s the fact that he would do anything to protect his brother, both of them, and that is actually something he feels very okay with. However the fight had gone, whatever his Dad decided it was said or done to protect Sam and keep him safe.

On the other hand he can’t even imagine how hard it must have been for Sam to have to stand by, not being able to do anything while their Dad had been in danger, had almost been killed in front of his eyes. Dean knows he would go crazy if something like that happened to him and he sure as hell couldn’t forgive whoever for holding him back.

“Get some rest, we’ll talk later…” he mumbles softly, but there’s no reaction from the bed. Sam has shut him out, drawing back into himself. He’s doing that a lot lately and Dean can’t really blame him. He wants so badly to help, but he has no idea how. He knows it’s between Dad and Sam and that they have to find a way to deal with it, but this whole exchange is just another example of how it always falls back on him. Sam is hurt, in more ways than one, won’t let him get close to check and Dean’s talking out his ass to calm him down. And totally saying the wrong things.

He takes a deep breath and sighs softly, reaching over to turn off the light.

Damned, fucked up hunt.

chapter 9