We All Fall Down
WE ALL FALL DOWN
Dean walks into the room holding a rag, thick with grease, from working on the Impala. She’s almost good as new. In fact, with Dean’s level of perfectionism the car will probably run better than it ever has before. He wasn’t kidding when he said he should be fixing cars professionally. He wants badly to drag Sam out, show him the work he’s done for the day, sit in the driver’s seat while Sammy sits shotgun and try to make it feel like things haven’t changed all that much. Even if they stay sitting still in the garage with the door closed, Dean’s sure that Sam will feel that peace settle over him that always does when they’re together in the Impala.
What he does instead is look at the stove, then at Sam, frozen in spot staring at the flames licking the frying pan. He jumps forward, stifling the flames with a towel sitting on the counter. He puts the frying pan in the sink, dousing it in water and shuts off the stove.
His heart is pattering in his chest and it’s not because the house nearly burnt down. It’s because of Sam.
He looks at his brother now.
The shocked, vulnerable fear is gone from his face. Now he just looks embarrassed. His mouth is opening and closing as though he wants to say something, make an excuse, but nothing comes out.
Dean remembers the days when Sam was the one who liked to ‘talk’. He’d always wanted Sam to stop. Leave him alone. Not ask questions he didn’t want the answers to. Now he gets why he used to do it. He gets what a burden it was for his baby brother always trying to ‘fix’ things. Now Dean has that pleasure added to his list of ‘shit to keep together’.
“What was that?” he finally asks.
Sam shakes his head, visibly searching for something to say.
“I wasn’t paying attention.”
Even Sam doesn’t look like he buys it.
“Really?” Dean asks. “That’s what you want to tell me?”
Sam opens his mouth to answer and then just shrugs, looking more lost than Dean ever likes to see him.
“Sam-“
“Dean, I’m fine.”
He turns on his heel and apparently that’s the end of the conversation whether Sam’s lying or not.
The dismissal is annoyingly disappointing. It brings to mind a thousand other times that Sam has lied to him and leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth. That, and the realization that again, nothing is going to work out for them.
He takes one of Bobby’s old beat-up trucks and drives into town for takeout. Its sitting in the middle of the dining room table the next time Sam walks in and no one mentions anything other than cold hamburgers and research for the rest of the night.
Days later, there is a crash in the living room. Both Dean and Bobby jump into the room, adrenaline flying. They still haven’t found Castiel-or what’s left of him-and in their lives anything can happen.
What they find instead, is Sam, standing in the centre of the room, broken glass and dirt surrounding him.
The potted plants have been strewn across the floor and looking at the room, Dean can’t even figure out how it happened.
He looks at Sam and Sam looks at him and that’s the end of it.
Bobby walks in and starts to clean up.
“Can you grab me the broom?”
Sam’s takes off without another word and is back by the time Dean’s taken one step into the mess, broom in hand.
Without a word he starts to sweep. His motions are frantic, jittery, and Dean’s burning with the desire to ask what Sam saw but Bobby beats him to talking.
“You look tired, Sam. How about you go take a break? Go to bed for a bit?”
Sam looks at him like he wants to argue but then his shoulders sag and he nods.
“Yeah. Yeah okay.”
He sets down the broom and leaves. Dean listens to his footsteps creaking along the floorboards until he’s upstairs in the bedroom they share.
Bobby drops the glass back down at a loss and finally meets Dean’s worried gaze.
“What is it you expect me to do about it, Dean? The kid’s off his rocker. We’re lucky to have him vertical let alone researching and hunting like he has been.”
“Do you think it’s been too much for him?”
Bobby sighs laboriously.
“His whole life’s been too much for him, Dean, and yours too. How about you just let these things go so long as he’s still with us at all?”
“Because, Bobby, every time we leave something alone, it gets worst. That’s how our lives work, if you didn’t notice.”
He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but it happens anyway. He keeps losing Sam and getting him and losing him and he doesn’t think he can take it if he loses Sam again. This time there wont be burning shock, just the intense sadness and he can’t go through that again. He wont.
Bobby just shakes his head like Dean’s missing something important.
“Maybe you never seen your brother when he’s going through something.”
“What-“
“Dean, when Sam suffers, he does it alone. That’s his way.”
He sighs, leaning against the table where Sam had spread out his research.
“Lord knows I tried to help the boy last time he was alone. The entire time you were down-under he was completely M.I.A. By the time you made your way out, Sam had dug himself so deep we almost couldn’t get him back.”
The words sting. After all this time, despite the understandings they’d come to, despite heaven and hell, it still hurt to think about Sam and his addiction and his lying.
“So, what, he’s just self-destructive?”
Bobby frowns at him.
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
Finally, he pushes himself up and picks up the broom.
“When Sam is dealing with something, he keeps it all inside, that’s all.”
Yeah, maybe that was the truth with Bobby, but Dean….
“I’m his brother. He shouldn’t have to keep things from me.”
Bobby just grunts.
“Yeah. He shouldn’t have to, but he does, and maybe that’s the way it needs to be for now.”
Dean doesn’t sleep that night. He lays awake and, not creepily at all, stares at his brothers form in the darkness.
He can see his deep even breaths and it fills Dean with such an overpowering sense of peace, that despite everything, he is smiling. His eyes sting, but the gentle tilting of his lips wont stop.
In a big way, Bobby is right.
Sam is alive. Maybe that is enough.
The rest of the week passes with Sam looking more and more worn with each passing day. To say that it is alarming to Dean is an understatement. After everything they’ve gone through, Sam looking worse for wear means that something serious is happening to him. Again, Dean tries to let it go but…
“How do you feel?”
Sam shrugs at him but looks away.
“Good as usual.”
He walks around Dean, on his way to the kitchen and again Dean almost lets it go but…
“Are you sure?”
With a laborious sigh, Sam comes to a stop and turns to face his brother, tired eyes fixing on his bright greens.
“If there’s something specific you want to ask, Dean, then just come out with it.”
That’s basically an invitation.
“What are you seeing, Sam?”
Sam’s gaze falls once again to the floor. For a long moment he seems to consider the question and then, finally he looks up at Dean.
“Believe it or not, keeping you happy is pretty much all I have.”
Floored, Dean stares at him.
“What?”
Sam sighs and he looks tired, so tired that Dean feels the surge of guilt right up to his chest.
“Look, you already know about the hallucinations. Does it really matter what I see?” He looks away and when he looks back, a bit of Sam’s patented stubbornness is visible on his face. “Its not that I don’t want to tell you, its just that I think everything will be easier if I keep it to myself.”
It all sounds so reasonable that Dean doesn’t even know how to argue it.
Not waiting for him to find his words, Sam walks past him again, this time back the way he came.
“Where are you going?” Dean demands. It’s stupid and childish, but he hates it when Sam wins.
“To bed.”
He wants to point out that Sam just woke up, but doesn’t think that will make a difference.
The next time, it’s Sam screaming.
Dean finds himself out the door and in the cold night air before the sound has finished echoing through the scrap yard.
He runs at full speed, breaths puffing white and foggy before him as he runs in his socked feet on the cold hard ground, eyes searching for his brother.
“Sam?!”
Nothing but the sound of his breath.
“Sam!”
Finally, he stops, spinning around, searching for any sign of him.
“Dean?”
The voice is quiet, choked, but Dean takes off toward it.
“Sam, where are you?”
“Here. Dean, I’m here.”
At last, at long last, Dean finds him. He is crouched low against the side of a rusted pick up, propped against the back wheel and holding himself like he’s about to fall apart. When he sees Dean, the relief on his face is enough to drop Dean to his knees next to him.
His fingers lace into Sam’s hair without thinking and he has the sudden intense realization that the last time he did this, Sam was dying in his arms. For a moment he is there again, in that muddy field in shocking detail, and then he pulls his hands away, drops them onto Sam’s shoulders instead and grips him hard.
“What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
For a long moment, Sam doesn’t answer. He stares at Dean with wide, confused eyes, his fingers digging holes into Dean’s side and then finally, he shakes his head.
“I’m okay. I don’t know what happened.”
Lies, all of it, but instead of screaming out and demanding answers like he wants to, he helps Sam to his feet.
He half carries him most of the way back but by the time they reach the house Sam can carry himself.
Dean expects him to walk straight up to the bedroom, the way he has been doing whenever he’s shaken lately. Instead, he walks to the living room and sits down on the couch across from the armchair where Bobby is sitting and reading. Bobby sets down his book, looking between the two. Dean sits on the other chair, waiting and wondering, as always; what’s next?
For a long time they sit in complete silence, until finally Sam looks up at them both, one at a time and smiles.
The vulnerability that has been flashing through his eyes since the wall came down makes Sam look staggeringly younger to Dean. In fact, he can pinpoint that look to one years ago when Sam had learned that there was no Santa, that there were monsters and demons instead.
“Remember how you wanted to go to the Grand Canyon?”
The question startles Dean, leaves him with his mouth open but no sound coming out.
“That seemed like such a big dream at the time. Like it was a crazy idea…”
He trails off, not looking at either of them, his eyes glued to the carpet. Dean finds himself staring at Bobby, at a loss for what to do or say. Bobby just shrugs at him, shaking his head.
“We should have gone. Maybe all three of us… a family vacation.”
Thankfully, Bobby takes the lead, leaning forward in his chair and fixing his warm eyes on Sam.
“You feeling okay?”
Sam nods and finally drags his eyes from the floor to fix his gaze on Bobby. Whatever his expression is, it makes bobby still. Dean can’t see it from his angle, but he can hear Sam’s next words and that’s enough.
“I’m okay for now,” he says and then his voice starts to shake. “I don’t want anything big anymore. I don’t want a house, or a normal family, or vacations at the grand canyon. I just want to be here. With you two.”
Sam’s voice, his words are all the prompting that Dean needs to slide onto the couch next to Sam.
“Hey, come on.”
He puts an arm loosely around his shoulders and suddenly Sam is turning toward him, wrapping his arms around Dean, pressing his face into his neck and sobbing and Dean doesn’t know what to do.
His arms tighten around Sam of their own accord, tightly, and unyieldingly, and he doesn’t want to let go. Never. Not while Sam needs him.
Bobby is on his feet in an instant, looking at a complete loss at what to do, like he wants to help and run at the same time. Instead, he stands there.
Dean doesn’t care.
“Shh, its okay Sam.” One hand finds its way into Sam’s soft hair and he finds himself stroking it soothingly, turning his face toward it. “What’s wrong? Why wont you tell me?”
He can hear it again, that nearly-begging tone of desperation, because Sam is hiding something from him again and he needs to know what it is.
Sam gasps, into his shoulder, choking, and his grip tightens around Dean.
“I just want this to be real so bad,” he gasps. “I want to be here, Dean.”
The words don’t make any sense to Dean so he shakes his head, fingers still running soothingly over Sam’s back and his hair.
“You are here Sam. Everything is over.”
This time, Sam laughs. It is choked and desperate and nearly hysterical and makes the hackles rise on Dean’s neck because suddenly he understands.
He looks up at Bobby, still standing in the middle of the room, and the realization is mirrored on his face, coupled with resignation rather than the shock in Dean’s gut.
He shakes his head, wanting to block out Sam’s next words, wanting to block out Sam’s crying.
“I want this to be real.”
He squeezes Dean when he says ‘this’ and it makes it hurt even more.
Bobby nods in quiet understanding, not commenting on Deans glassy eyes.
“I’m gonna go pick us up some beers.”
Dean nods and manages to last until the front door closes before tears are pouring down his face, soaking into Sam’s hair.
He wants to tell him that everything is okay. That everything is real. That he can feel Sam’s lips moving on his shoulder with every gasp and whispered word. That it proves he’s real.
But he can’t speak.
When he opens his mouth the words wont come. Nothing but “Sammy” and “its okay” ever escape his lips because the truth is that Sammy isn’t here at all. Not really. He’s still back there, in the pit. He’s still being tortured and if Dean is honest with himself its something that he already knew from the second that wall came down and everything was remembered.
Maybe he never made it out to begin with. Maybe he never would.
“It’s weird,” Sam is saying. The tears have stopped and he’s laying half on Dean on the couch, his head against his chest. “This would never have happened in real life… but it doesn’t matter, I guess.” He nods and shuts his eyes, fingers drawing small patterns in Dean’s shirt. “I use to want so many things… Now, even if we stayed in this living room forever… me, you, Bobby… I would be happy.”
Dean can’t take it anymore and finally, finally, the words come.
“I’m real, Sam,” he whispers and his brother lifts up and looks at him with an expression more honest and clear than Dean has seen in a long time. He smiles softly, sadly, and shakes his head.
“Don’t lie to me, Dean.”
He settles his head back down against Dean’s chest and sighs.
“I wish I couldn’t, but I can tell what’s real and what’s not.”
End
Title: We All Fall Down
Author: Rukaya007
Rating: Gen/wincest if you squint really hard
Summary: The wall is broken and Sam isn't as fine as he keeps saying he is.
Warnings: Continues basically straight from the season seven premier. So spoilers for S7 ep1!!
AN: I hope you enjoy this! i couldn't stop thinking about Sam and his visions and decided to write this and get it up before the next episode. Who knows how long it'll be relevant for. lol
Dean walks into the room holding a rag, thick with grease, from working on the Impala. She’s almost good as new. In fact, with Dean’s level of perfectionism the car will probably run better than it ever has before. He wasn’t kidding when he said he should be fixing cars professionally. He wants badly to drag Sam out, show him the work he’s done for the day, sit in the driver’s seat while Sammy sits shotgun and try to make it feel like things haven’t changed all that much. Even if they stay sitting still in the garage with the door closed, Dean’s sure that Sam will feel that peace settle over him that always does when they’re together in the Impala.
What he does instead is look at the stove, then at Sam, frozen in spot staring at the flames licking the frying pan. He jumps forward, stifling the flames with a towel sitting on the counter. He puts the frying pan in the sink, dousing it in water and shuts off the stove.
His heart is pattering in his chest and it’s not because the house nearly burnt down. It’s because of Sam.
He looks at his brother now.
The shocked, vulnerable fear is gone from his face. Now he just looks embarrassed. His mouth is opening and closing as though he wants to say something, make an excuse, but nothing comes out.
Dean remembers the days when Sam was the one who liked to ‘talk’. He’d always wanted Sam to stop. Leave him alone. Not ask questions he didn’t want the answers to. Now he gets why he used to do it. He gets what a burden it was for his baby brother always trying to ‘fix’ things. Now Dean has that pleasure added to his list of ‘shit to keep together’.
“What was that?” he finally asks.
Sam shakes his head, visibly searching for something to say.
“I wasn’t paying attention.”
Even Sam doesn’t look like he buys it.
“Really?” Dean asks. “That’s what you want to tell me?”
Sam opens his mouth to answer and then just shrugs, looking more lost than Dean ever likes to see him.
“Sam-“
“Dean, I’m fine.”
He turns on his heel and apparently that’s the end of the conversation whether Sam’s lying or not.
The dismissal is annoyingly disappointing. It brings to mind a thousand other times that Sam has lied to him and leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth. That, and the realization that again, nothing is going to work out for them.
He takes one of Bobby’s old beat-up trucks and drives into town for takeout. Its sitting in the middle of the dining room table the next time Sam walks in and no one mentions anything other than cold hamburgers and research for the rest of the night.
Days later, there is a crash in the living room. Both Dean and Bobby jump into the room, adrenaline flying. They still haven’t found Castiel-or what’s left of him-and in their lives anything can happen.
What they find instead, is Sam, standing in the centre of the room, broken glass and dirt surrounding him.
The potted plants have been strewn across the floor and looking at the room, Dean can’t even figure out how it happened.
He looks at Sam and Sam looks at him and that’s the end of it.
Bobby walks in and starts to clean up.
“Can you grab me the broom?”
Sam’s takes off without another word and is back by the time Dean’s taken one step into the mess, broom in hand.
Without a word he starts to sweep. His motions are frantic, jittery, and Dean’s burning with the desire to ask what Sam saw but Bobby beats him to talking.
“You look tired, Sam. How about you go take a break? Go to bed for a bit?”
Sam looks at him like he wants to argue but then his shoulders sag and he nods.
“Yeah. Yeah okay.”
He sets down the broom and leaves. Dean listens to his footsteps creaking along the floorboards until he’s upstairs in the bedroom they share.
Bobby drops the glass back down at a loss and finally meets Dean’s worried gaze.
“What is it you expect me to do about it, Dean? The kid’s off his rocker. We’re lucky to have him vertical let alone researching and hunting like he has been.”
“Do you think it’s been too much for him?”
Bobby sighs laboriously.
“His whole life’s been too much for him, Dean, and yours too. How about you just let these things go so long as he’s still with us at all?”
“Because, Bobby, every time we leave something alone, it gets worst. That’s how our lives work, if you didn’t notice.”
He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but it happens anyway. He keeps losing Sam and getting him and losing him and he doesn’t think he can take it if he loses Sam again. This time there wont be burning shock, just the intense sadness and he can’t go through that again. He wont.
Bobby just shakes his head like Dean’s missing something important.
“Maybe you never seen your brother when he’s going through something.”
“What-“
“Dean, when Sam suffers, he does it alone. That’s his way.”
He sighs, leaning against the table where Sam had spread out his research.
“Lord knows I tried to help the boy last time he was alone. The entire time you were down-under he was completely M.I.A. By the time you made your way out, Sam had dug himself so deep we almost couldn’t get him back.”
The words sting. After all this time, despite the understandings they’d come to, despite heaven and hell, it still hurt to think about Sam and his addiction and his lying.
“So, what, he’s just self-destructive?”
Bobby frowns at him.
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
Finally, he pushes himself up and picks up the broom.
“When Sam is dealing with something, he keeps it all inside, that’s all.”
Yeah, maybe that was the truth with Bobby, but Dean….
“I’m his brother. He shouldn’t have to keep things from me.”
Bobby just grunts.
“Yeah. He shouldn’t have to, but he does, and maybe that’s the way it needs to be for now.”
Dean doesn’t sleep that night. He lays awake and, not creepily at all, stares at his brothers form in the darkness.
He can see his deep even breaths and it fills Dean with such an overpowering sense of peace, that despite everything, he is smiling. His eyes sting, but the gentle tilting of his lips wont stop.
In a big way, Bobby is right.
Sam is alive. Maybe that is enough.
The rest of the week passes with Sam looking more and more worn with each passing day. To say that it is alarming to Dean is an understatement. After everything they’ve gone through, Sam looking worse for wear means that something serious is happening to him. Again, Dean tries to let it go but…
“How do you feel?”
Sam shrugs at him but looks away.
“Good as usual.”
He walks around Dean, on his way to the kitchen and again Dean almost lets it go but…
“Are you sure?”
With a laborious sigh, Sam comes to a stop and turns to face his brother, tired eyes fixing on his bright greens.
“If there’s something specific you want to ask, Dean, then just come out with it.”
That’s basically an invitation.
“What are you seeing, Sam?”
Sam’s gaze falls once again to the floor. For a long moment he seems to consider the question and then, finally he looks up at Dean.
“Believe it or not, keeping you happy is pretty much all I have.”
Floored, Dean stares at him.
“What?”
Sam sighs and he looks tired, so tired that Dean feels the surge of guilt right up to his chest.
“Look, you already know about the hallucinations. Does it really matter what I see?” He looks away and when he looks back, a bit of Sam’s patented stubbornness is visible on his face. “Its not that I don’t want to tell you, its just that I think everything will be easier if I keep it to myself.”
It all sounds so reasonable that Dean doesn’t even know how to argue it.
Not waiting for him to find his words, Sam walks past him again, this time back the way he came.
“Where are you going?” Dean demands. It’s stupid and childish, but he hates it when Sam wins.
“To bed.”
He wants to point out that Sam just woke up, but doesn’t think that will make a difference.
The next time, it’s Sam screaming.
Dean finds himself out the door and in the cold night air before the sound has finished echoing through the scrap yard.
He runs at full speed, breaths puffing white and foggy before him as he runs in his socked feet on the cold hard ground, eyes searching for his brother.
“Sam?!”
Nothing but the sound of his breath.
“Sam!”
Finally, he stops, spinning around, searching for any sign of him.
“Dean?”
The voice is quiet, choked, but Dean takes off toward it.
“Sam, where are you?”
“Here. Dean, I’m here.”
At last, at long last, Dean finds him. He is crouched low against the side of a rusted pick up, propped against the back wheel and holding himself like he’s about to fall apart. When he sees Dean, the relief on his face is enough to drop Dean to his knees next to him.
His fingers lace into Sam’s hair without thinking and he has the sudden intense realization that the last time he did this, Sam was dying in his arms. For a moment he is there again, in that muddy field in shocking detail, and then he pulls his hands away, drops them onto Sam’s shoulders instead and grips him hard.
“What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
For a long moment, Sam doesn’t answer. He stares at Dean with wide, confused eyes, his fingers digging holes into Dean’s side and then finally, he shakes his head.
“I’m okay. I don’t know what happened.”
Lies, all of it, but instead of screaming out and demanding answers like he wants to, he helps Sam to his feet.
He half carries him most of the way back but by the time they reach the house Sam can carry himself.
Dean expects him to walk straight up to the bedroom, the way he has been doing whenever he’s shaken lately. Instead, he walks to the living room and sits down on the couch across from the armchair where Bobby is sitting and reading. Bobby sets down his book, looking between the two. Dean sits on the other chair, waiting and wondering, as always; what’s next?
For a long time they sit in complete silence, until finally Sam looks up at them both, one at a time and smiles.
The vulnerability that has been flashing through his eyes since the wall came down makes Sam look staggeringly younger to Dean. In fact, he can pinpoint that look to one years ago when Sam had learned that there was no Santa, that there were monsters and demons instead.
“Remember how you wanted to go to the Grand Canyon?”
The question startles Dean, leaves him with his mouth open but no sound coming out.
“That seemed like such a big dream at the time. Like it was a crazy idea…”
He trails off, not looking at either of them, his eyes glued to the carpet. Dean finds himself staring at Bobby, at a loss for what to do or say. Bobby just shrugs at him, shaking his head.
“We should have gone. Maybe all three of us… a family vacation.”
Thankfully, Bobby takes the lead, leaning forward in his chair and fixing his warm eyes on Sam.
“You feeling okay?”
Sam nods and finally drags his eyes from the floor to fix his gaze on Bobby. Whatever his expression is, it makes bobby still. Dean can’t see it from his angle, but he can hear Sam’s next words and that’s enough.
“I’m okay for now,” he says and then his voice starts to shake. “I don’t want anything big anymore. I don’t want a house, or a normal family, or vacations at the grand canyon. I just want to be here. With you two.”
Sam’s voice, his words are all the prompting that Dean needs to slide onto the couch next to Sam.
“Hey, come on.”
He puts an arm loosely around his shoulders and suddenly Sam is turning toward him, wrapping his arms around Dean, pressing his face into his neck and sobbing and Dean doesn’t know what to do.
His arms tighten around Sam of their own accord, tightly, and unyieldingly, and he doesn’t want to let go. Never. Not while Sam needs him.
Bobby is on his feet in an instant, looking at a complete loss at what to do, like he wants to help and run at the same time. Instead, he stands there.
Dean doesn’t care.
“Shh, its okay Sam.” One hand finds its way into Sam’s soft hair and he finds himself stroking it soothingly, turning his face toward it. “What’s wrong? Why wont you tell me?”
He can hear it again, that nearly-begging tone of desperation, because Sam is hiding something from him again and he needs to know what it is.
Sam gasps, into his shoulder, choking, and his grip tightens around Dean.
“I just want this to be real so bad,” he gasps. “I want to be here, Dean.”
The words don’t make any sense to Dean so he shakes his head, fingers still running soothingly over Sam’s back and his hair.
“You are here Sam. Everything is over.”
This time, Sam laughs. It is choked and desperate and nearly hysterical and makes the hackles rise on Dean’s neck because suddenly he understands.
He looks up at Bobby, still standing in the middle of the room, and the realization is mirrored on his face, coupled with resignation rather than the shock in Dean’s gut.
He shakes his head, wanting to block out Sam’s next words, wanting to block out Sam’s crying.
“I want this to be real.”
He squeezes Dean when he says ‘this’ and it makes it hurt even more.
Bobby nods in quiet understanding, not commenting on Deans glassy eyes.
“I’m gonna go pick us up some beers.”
Dean nods and manages to last until the front door closes before tears are pouring down his face, soaking into Sam’s hair.
He wants to tell him that everything is okay. That everything is real. That he can feel Sam’s lips moving on his shoulder with every gasp and whispered word. That it proves he’s real.
But he can’t speak.
When he opens his mouth the words wont come. Nothing but “Sammy” and “its okay” ever escape his lips because the truth is that Sammy isn’t here at all. Not really. He’s still back there, in the pit. He’s still being tortured and if Dean is honest with himself its something that he already knew from the second that wall came down and everything was remembered.
Maybe he never made it out to begin with. Maybe he never would.
“It’s weird,” Sam is saying. The tears have stopped and he’s laying half on Dean on the couch, his head against his chest. “This would never have happened in real life… but it doesn’t matter, I guess.” He nods and shuts his eyes, fingers drawing small patterns in Dean’s shirt. “I use to want so many things… Now, even if we stayed in this living room forever… me, you, Bobby… I would be happy.”
Dean can’t take it anymore and finally, finally, the words come.
“I’m real, Sam,” he whispers and his brother lifts up and looks at him with an expression more honest and clear than Dean has seen in a long time. He smiles softly, sadly, and shakes his head.
“Don’t lie to me, Dean.”
He settles his head back down against Dean’s chest and sighs.
“I wish I couldn’t, but I can tell what’s real and what’s not.”
End
Title: We All Fall Down
Author: Rukaya007
Rating: Gen/wincest if you squint really hard
Summary: The wall is broken and Sam isn't as fine as he keeps saying he is.
Warnings: Continues basically straight from the season seven premier. So spoilers for S7 ep1!!
AN: I hope you enjoy this! i couldn't stop thinking about Sam and his visions and decided to write this and get it up before the next episode. Who knows how long it'll be relevant for. lol