Title: The Opposite of Darkness

Disclaimer: Not mine, don’t sue.

Summary: Sam/Dean Wincest. Part of the Still Life 'verse. Sam learns that the opposite of darkness isn’t light. Not to Dean, anyway. Oneshot. Complete.

Feedback: Is love.

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Sam wants to become an expert on the human brain overnight so that he can fix his big brother, even though he has long since given up on that being a reality. He doesn’t even want that as his reality anymore. All he wants now is to be truly content with the life they’re leading. One day, he really believes that this will be a possibility

Hand in hand, Sam and Dean are walking through the world that Dean being hurt has created. The world where Bobby never comments on the dark circles under Sam’s eyes, the world where Sam holds Dean close, too tight to ever let him go. And Sam wants to know enough to make Dean’s life the best it can be.

Occasionally, Sam will get knocked off his feet by Dean. Not literally. It’s the force of Dean’s love that does it, the surprise of how unflinching and bright it is. Sometimes, Sam thinks of his brother like a child, but a child who carries a lot of scars that don’t truly belong to him. The things that Dean has seen in his life, the terrible things that he has had face... they’re still there, nestling underneath his eager smile. Sam wishes they weren’t. He wants Dean to be able to live happily. To be able to know that he’s a good person with a long life stretching out ahead of him, a clear path that Sam wants to sweep free.

He wants all the debris of their former life gone.

Even though he can’t fix Dean’s resilient, brilliant, and undeniably damaged brain, Sam thinks maybe he can help Dean figure out some of the basics again. Life doesn’t have to be a horror story for Dean, not anymore. Maybe it can’t be a fairytale, but Sam isn’t quite ready to give up on the possibility. Not just yet.

One of the most agonizing things in the world, Sam has decided, is teaching someone the alphabet. The respect he already feels for any teachers at all grows and he finds himself developing a special fondness towards anyone dealing with young children.

Dean is far too excited by the thought of words to actually be impressed by the cold reality of them. His focus is intense for about two minutes, and after that it’s hopeless. He gets ridiculously thrilled by the prospect of reading, gives himself a headache and becomes incredibly driven and yet fundamentally incapable of taking anything in.

His hands won’t work with his head, and Dean gets so unhappy with himself that it almost seems like it’s not worth it. Sam can’t help his own growing despondency as he watches Dean, day after day, trying to memorize, trying to draw basic shapes, trying to master the complex artistry it takes to put a wobbly ‘A’ onto paper. It takes much longer than it should and everyone tries to convince Sam that this is normal. A normal pace. Dean is doing well.

Sam knows this. He is proud of Dean. But he wants so much for them, anyway. Selfishly and selflessly, depending on the day of the week and what side he wakes up on and any other stupid roll of the dice type belief. He gambles with himself. Makes bets and loses them.

Wins and loses and lets it go and tries again.

Today, Dean will speak in a full sentence without any breaks or stutters. Today, Dean will make it to the bathroom every time. Today, Dean won’t make a mess at dinner. Today, Dean will remember. He will remember everything.

Sam goes around telling Dean how to see the world in this or that, here or there. Opposites. Even though everything’s grey, Sam gives Dean the options of black or white in his re-education. He tries to make it interesting, this simplified world. He draws incompetent pictures to illustrate things so that Dean finds it more tolerable.

His brother, surprisingly, demonstrates an aptitude for even numbers, because he loves pairing things up. He loathes odd numbers, can’t stand the idea of three of anything. But he shies away from words like he’s scared of them.

What isn’t black is white.

What isn’t land is water.

What isn’t right is wrong.

What isn’t darkness is light.

“No,” Dean holds out both his hands with a stubborn frown, like this is too much for him to take, “no light.”

Sam rubs his temples and stares at his brother. “Yeah,” he says patiently. They’re sitting outside. It’s nice enough for it now, even if Dean does keep getting distracted by every insect that happens to wander past them. Luckily for the few butterflies, Dean’s movements are far too slow and badly coordinated to pose any real threat.

“No.”

“Yes, Dean. If I turn out the light, you get darkness. If I turn on the light, the darkness goes away. Are we getting this?” Sam hears the snappish, cruel note twanging through his words and he instantly reprimands himself.

Dean is practically glaring at him. “No.”

“Okay. Whatever.”

“No, Sammy...” And there it is. The whining. Dean reaches his fingers out and grabs at the ripped knee of Sam’s jeans. “Sammy.”

Sam widens his eyes. “What is it?”

“Sammy.”

“I’m listening.”

“Sammy. Dark and Sammy.”

“Uh... I guess,” Sam runs his hand through his hair and nods unsurely, “I turn the lights on. When we go to bed and it’s dark in there, I put the lights on, don’t I?”

Dean tilts his head. “Turn the life... the lights on?” His whole face brightens. He closes his eyes and says, “Dark.” He claps his hands, opens his eyes. “Sammy! See?”

Sam smirks to himself and shakes his head. “Yeah, okay. I get it, Dean. Very smart.”

“Very smart,” his big brother agrees, mirroring Sam’s expression. He talks around his tongue like it doesn’t fit and yet Sam can hear how much better he’s speaking. Days like today, Dean puts sentences together almost... well, not normally. But amazingly.

“Sammy. Talk now?”

“Do you want me to talk to you?”

“No more ’membering,” Dean blinks his eyes slowly, “Sammy... tell me about... the dolphins again.” This is the one topic Dean never gets bored with, and he won’t forget it. Keeps telling Bobby about how Sammy gonna take me to see dolphins. Talks about salt water and manatees. He stretches out his hand and scratches his fingernails over Sam’s palm with a winning, wide smile.

“Okay,” Sam pulls himself out of his teaching Dean mode, “which story?”

“Not story.”

He smiles. “I mean, which time?”

“Time with the sand.”

“That’s a nice one,” he turns both his palms up so that Dean can trail his fingers across them. It tickles, but he doesn’t mind. “You and...”

Dean frowns and digs his nails into Sam’s flesh. “Dean and Sammy.” His eyes shimmer. He likes these stories, the tales that Sam tells to calm him, but he won’t let Sam call them stories. Dean wants to hear them like they’re going to happen.

And Sam will make them happen. He will. Maybe not the more fantastical parts, but he wants to stand with Dean where the sea meets the shore and hold his hand. He wants them to walk to the ends of earth together, with a clear path and beautiful skies above them.

“Dean and Sammy are on the sand,” Sam says softly and Dean shifts in a squirmy motion, “the ocean’s bright blue...”

“And there’s dolphins!”

“Yes, Dean,” he looks at his brother’s long eyelashes brushing down over his flushed cheeks, “there are always dolphins. And Dean can run into the water and swim with them.”

Dean’s eyes close and he sways in the breeze like a sapling. “No dark, Sammy,” he says, his mouth opening into a smile. Sam may be what Dean sees instead of light, but there is no doubt in Sam’s mind that this is what a real absence of darkness looks like. Dean’s smile, his heart split open for everyone to see, but for only Sam to touch. The rush of learning and fear and reality smudges away. Looking at his brother, Sam finds that everything goes still.

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End

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