Laughter Found

They pulled up in another motel car park, 15 miles into San Francisco, the pink sign wearily flashing it’s ‘VA NCI S’ as a reminder that your life must be crap if you have to pull in here.

Sam was exhausted and he could tell by the way that Dean stumbled getting out his beloved car, that he was too. The last case had been physically horrifying and emotionally damaging for both of them, Dean especially. They hadn’t talked about it and judging by the ‘forget it’ look Dean gave him every time he tried to speak, they weren’t going to. There were many things that Dean obviously had to deal with before any kind of healing between them could happen.

They motel was cheap, the rooms clean but old and worn, the sheets feeling rough against his skin. He chose to wear a T-shirt to bed even though it was warm enough to go without. Dean did to, Sam noticed. As soon as his brother’s head hit the pillow he was out like a light, leaving Sam feeling a tad envious and dreading what would plage his own dreams that night.

He surprised himself by slipping into sleep around about 3am. Unlike most times, though, it was not his nightmares which made him bolt up into a sitting position an hour and a half later.

Much later on, Sam would muse that it wasn’t the volume in which Dean called his name for if the air conditioning had been on he wouldn’t have heard it. No… it was the way he said it. A full drawn out whimper deluged with pain, pleading, horror, grief and something else he just couldn’t put a name to. Whatever it may have been, it was a horrible sound, which he would never forget, forever echoing tauntingly in his dreams.

“Sam!” No… I can’t! Sam… Sam… I can’t choose… I can’t choose… can’t kill him… could kill him… can’t kill him… Sam… don’t make me… don’t make me… I can’t… please don’t make me choose!”

Dean struggled around on the opposite bed, sheets tangled tightly around his limbs and sweat trickling down his brow. He appeared to be struggling against some invisible force. Whatever force it was obviously has a good grasp on him as his struggles seemed to be ineffective at best. It was his expression of absolute horror that had Sam out of bed in a flash, stumbling slightly as his left foot caught in his own sheets.

“Dean?”

Dean continued to mutter, voice raw and unsteady,

“I don’t want to… please don’t make me… let me go… let me go… no! Don’t put me in there, don’t put me in there! No! No! NO! Please…”

Dean’s squirming increased as though trying to escape from a full body bind causing the sheets to tangle up even worse. Effectively, the more the sheets twisted the worse he would struggle, never stopping his tirade of pleads. But by now his voice was breaking… hoarse and full of panic as though he had realised the inevitable and knew he was unable to prevent it.

“Please! Don’t put me in there… I can’t do it… please…”

The last plea was so gut wrenching that Sam paused mid step, instantly terrified of what could possibly ever make the ‘world hardened’ Dean beg so hysterically.

“Sam!”

The pleading of his name remobilised Sam and he quickly crossed the last few metres, taking a firm grip of Dean’s shoulders and shaking him none too gently.

“Dean! Dean, wake up dude! It’s only a dream, wake up!”

Dean’s eyes flew open, still blind from the nightmare, still trapped with the vivid images running through his mind. Sammy found himself pushed away quite fiercely as Dean struggled with the tangled sheets, blindly grappling with them getting more hysterical.

Regaining his balance by grapping the bedside table, Sam reached forward again, grasping the sheets with two hands and yanked hard. Nothing happened. Seeing it would take a few manoeuvres to loosen them he placed a firm hand on Dean’s chest forcing him flat onto the mattress.

“Hold still”.

With his free left hand he stretched for the bottom of the sheet pulling it out from under Dean’s knees and back under again from the back of his thighs, then around from his waist and completely out from under his arms. The sudden freeing of his limbs seemed to snap Dean back into reality and he bolted up into a sitting position, gasping,

“Sammy!”

“Hey, I’m right here”.

Chucking the sheets at the bottom of the bed, Sam slowly moved up the bed, gingerly lowering himself down, unsure of what Dean’s reaction was going to be.

Expecting him to start protesting he was alright or at least make some kind of rude comment, Sam was more than a little surprised and overwhelmed when Dean launched at him, wrapping his arms around his waist.

‘Struck dumb’ was what he would describe himself as later when he, again, reflected back on that night. Dean had never, ever, hugged him before and Sam doubted whether the thought to do so had ever even crossed his mind over the 22 years. As far back as Sam could remember Dean had stoically protested against any ‘chick flick moments’, dealing with hurt, anger and sadness by shrugging his shoulder and whooping some supernatural ass. Never had Sam ever seen Dean look for any physical comfort and never had Sam ever offered it willingly, knowing that Dean would never accept it.

So he should be forgiven for having absolutely no idea what to do.

He sat there, with Dean’s head burrowed into his hip and arms clasped around his waist, frozen and hesitant to move in case he incited a violent reaction from his brother.

After about a minute Sam finally worked up the courage to place a comforting hand on his brother’s back and immediately wished he hadn’t. Dean immediately tensed under his touch and his fist grasping the back of Sam’s shirt tightened so much that Sam found it hard to breathe. It was then Sam realised Dean was shaking, which quickly lapsed into uncontrollable shuddering and that was the final undoing of Sam Winchester. An angry or hurt Dean Sam could deal with, hell he could even deal with a fearful Dean but a… a… Sam choked.

His voice sounded hoarse and incredibly shocked even to him,

“Dean? Are… are you crying?”

“No” came the petulant reply but the few quiet but unmistakable sobs belied him and Sam was even more surprised that he had the urge to chuckle. To his further astonishment he felt himself beginning to relax and when he next spoke his voice was soothing and gently teasing as though he was speaking to a child.

“I think you are”.

“Am not!”

This time Sam did chuckle and he reached down to cup Dean’s face softly, tugging it so that he would look up at him. Dean resisted stubbornly, instead burrowing further into Sam’s hip. Sam winced as his hip bone was crushed was his brother’s chin.

“It’s alright Dean, it was only a dream”.

Evidently this was not the thing to say as Dean choked and shuddered harshly, his grasp shaking even more, clearly fighting tears with all his might.

“Hey it’s alright, whatever it was, wasn’t real. This is San Francisco, California, nothing nasty is going to happen in this stretch of woods – way too busy!”

“Dude, shut up with the touchy feely stuff already” Dean’s voice was muffled by Sam’s T-shirt but any sting was smoothed by the sniffle which immediately followed.

Then for some unfathomable reason, a sickeningly dopey grin spread its way over Sam’s face, an expression crammed full of tenderness, protectiveness and damned girly affection. Therefore, it was a good thing Dean’s sight was blinded by the soft grey cotton shirt, but that didn’t stop Sam’s quick and uneasy glance around for nearby weapons.

“You’re the one whose head is burrowed into my waist” Sam teased lightly, his breath gently ruffling the soft strands of hair above Dean’s ear. For a moment Sam was distracted by I wonder what shampoo Dean uses… smells nice. Is it as soft as it really looks…before smirking at his brother’s pissy retort,

“Fuck off”.

“Want to talk about it?” Sam tries to sound offhand and disinterested - for his own safety.

“Not really” Dean sighs, rubbing his head against Sam, trying to erase the last remnants of the dream. The small gasp and flinch, however, quickly brought a rather devilish smile onto Dean’s face.

“Forgot you were ticklish there”.

The small delight in his words were not lost on Sam and he quickly hissed,

“Don’t you dare!” Knowing full well what was crossing his brother’s mind. He remembered the ritual from their childhood quite clearly, thank you very much.

“What?” Dean teased, drawing his fingers up to rest lightly on Sam’s ribs, resulting in Sam taking a sharp intake of breath. “Don’t I dare what?” His fingers glanced gently down onto Sam’s abdomen, the skin flinching beneath his touch. Sam glared down at Dean, the amusement, however, shining out quite clearly. Dean’s grin widened knowingly and he glanced up at his younger brother briefly, eyes glinting.

“Do this?”

He launched his assault. Sam had known it was coming but was still unprepared with any defence. The laughter sprung easily from his lips; a surprise for a long forgotten past time.

And once started he couldn’t stop the laughter, as Dean’s graceful fingers brushed shamelessly against every bundle of nerves across his stomach. For a few moments he kept still, allowing the simplistic and long yearned for joy to spread throughout his body before attempting the expected escape.

He chose a little too late, not that he really minded. Dean had taken advantage, pushing him backwards, down into the mattress, using his body weight to pin him down.

“Dean!” Sam laughed, “S… s… stop!”

Dean just sped up, making Sam squirm and writhe beneath him, laughter causing tears to well and roll. At one point Sam managed to wriggle free, using all the force he could muster to flip Dean off and under him, reversing roles with a smirk and cheeky sticking out his tongue. That caused Dean to laugh as well, loud and true and real, a sound so wonderful and poignant that Sam relaxed his grip to stare at him. Dean didn’t waste this advantage either and flipped Sam over again. However, this time the mattress disappeared and Sam hit the floor with an “oof”, his head cushioned by Dean’s hands as Dean slowly landed on top of him, knees taking his weight so as not to crush his younger brother. Not one to back down Sam, using his left foot for leverage, flipped them again reaching for Dean’s weak spot on his right side. Dean would have smacked his brother’s chin with his head, when he jerked up hadn’t Sam had quick reflexes.

“Son of a bitch” Dean gasped, struggling to flip them over again, gasping back the laughter as his own nerves were set on fire. Sam just laughed. Finally Dean managed to get the upper hand again by brushing his fingers along the stretch of bare skin where the T-shirt had rode up amid the tussle.

Sam jerked and twisted allowing Dean to flip them over again, fingers reducing Sam to silent laughter, incapable of any defence. Dean grinned down triumphantly, knowing he had won and was instantly captured by the look of complete joy on his brother’s face. All the pain, guilt, mourning, tiredness, fear and brooding had melted away, taking the premature years away as well. It was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful.

Sam kept on laughing long after Dean’s fingers had stilled and Dean just watched him with amazed fascination.

It had been over 15 years since he had seen Sam laugh so unabashedly, so joyously, so really… so naturally. It was so… Dean choked, felt the earlier tears burn once again but knew this time he wouldn’t be able to stop them.

Sam finally began to gain control, opening his eyes to smile up at his brother, feeling relaxed and youthful for the first time in years.

He must have read something in his elder brother’s expression because he brought a hand up to gently cup Dean’s face, softly rubbing his thumb across his cheek. The gesture so full of tender affection brought Dean to his knees emotionally and he managed to whisper,

“Your laughter is so beautiful”, saw Sam’s stunned and delighted smile and let go.

He allowed Sam to gently fold him into his warm embrce as he for Sam, and for Sam’s Jess, for his mum, his dad, their quest, their squandered childhood, lack of a home, Sam’s leaving, Dad’s leaving, money and dingy motel rooms. For every innocent murder, for every time he fired his gun, slashed his knife, burned a body, ran for his life, ran for Sammy’s. For every scar marking his journey, for every one marking Sam’s, every new border crossed, every chance for normalcy denied, every desperate gamble for cash, every hospital night spent, every sleepless hour and for the enevitable future of all this repeated. He cried for everything that he had lost and others had lost with him too. The drop of rain before the downpour.

And Sam held tight, grounding him, giving him a reason, understanding the pain, knowing what it’s like to finally start and not be able to stop. Hating himself for enjoying Dean’s tears if only because he now knows Dean really is human. Hating himself for enjoying comforting his older brother for a change, for finding it thrilling that Dean needs him as much as Sam needs Dean. Hating knowing that tomorrow Dean won’t speak to him, pride deeply wounded, self respect flagging, humiliated at showing his weakness – his needs - to the one person who really mattered in his life.

But from now one, he would remember to smile, to take light of their lives occasionally for Dean’s sake. Now he knew that laughter was possible, it was a now just as important to continue that laughter as it was to hunt. Whether Dean liked it or not!