Just a fluffy hurt/comfort fanfiction that I just HAD to get out of me. I just kept thinking how badly I wanted to see Dean's reaction to Sammy getting a really bad vision with him right there, maybe in the Impala. In response, my brain spit this out. I hope y'all enjoy this as much as I did!
The roar of the sleek black impala's engine was nothing but a soft and subtle purr from inside, drowned out by the sound of air rushing past as the car thundered down the deserted country back road. Thick as pea soup, the darkness of night was only broken by the twin beams of light, washing over everything in its path and illuminating it enough for the human eye to see.
From the driver's seat, a set of emerald green eyes stared hawkishly out onto the empty road, narrowed slightly in concentration. Long fingers drummed methodically on the rim of the leather steering wheel in time to the faint strings of a rock song playing at an almost inaudible volume in the background, careful not to wake the slumbering man in the passenger seat.
Dean Winchester's eyes flickered over briefly to glance at his younger brother Sam, fast asleep in the seat next to him. The taller man was slumped over, his seatbelt being the only thing holding him upright. With his face pressed into the leather seat and his long, shaggy hair obscuring his features, Dean thought that Sam had never looked more innocent. Any other night, Dean would've loved to screw with Sam – that whole spoon on the mouth thing still got him howling with laughter, and that was weeks ago. He knew that tonight just wasn't the night for antics, despite it all.
This last hunt had been particularly brutal. Sam had had several visions of people committing suicide, each one excruciatingly painful to experience – and even worse when it seemed like nothing the brothers did seemed to stop them from coming to fruition. Ash and Sam had discovered that a set of separated twins – Ansem and Andy – had psychic powers like Sam. Unfortunately, Ansem had been corrupted by the Yellow-Eyed Demon, and there was no way to save him after he had caused the deaths of all of those people. He didn't fit the pattern of fires either, at least according to Ellen – leaving the brothers at square one trying to track down these "psychics" that the Yellow-Eyed Demon seemed to be raising.
They'd left the Roadhouse in the distance that evening, heading out on the road to sniff out another case, trying to do some good while working on tracking down the demon that had ruined their lives. Dean had taken point, as usual, and Sam hadn't even had the usual playful argument about how he never let him drive. Even if he'd had, there was no way in hell that tired heap of a giant was driving his baby. Only the focused got to sit behind the wheel of this beauty. With nothing to do and Dean more interested in silence than small talk, Sam had cashed out fairly early, slumbering away in the passenger seat, dead to the world. Dean had been glad to see it. He didn't think that Sam knew that he'd noticed, but the youngest Winchester had not been sleeping well as of late.
Whether it was because he was being plagued by nightmares or visions, Sam couldn't have been getting more than a handful of hours of sleep a week. The death of his girlfriend, Jessica, was still a fresh wound in his mind, and more often than not Dean would wake up to Sam jolting awake in the middle of the night in whatever ratty motel they'd crashed in for the night, her name raw on his lips. Their father was the only one who knew what Sam was going through, and now he was gone too.
Next to him, Sam shifted slightly in his sleep, his hair falling away from his now-upturned face to expose a slightly crinkled forehead. Dean glanced over, frowning when he saw sweat beading on Sam's scrunched up skin. The drops of moisture were illuminated by the beam of the impala's headlights reflecting off of every mile marker they zoomed past, making Sam look as if he had constellations twinkling in his pores.
Sam moved again, his brow furrowing and his mouth moving slightly, mumbling words that are too faint to make out. Whatever he was dreaming of, it didn't seem to be all that pleasant. Dean cast another furtive look at his brother, unsure of what to do in this situation.
He wasn't good at these things, these "chick-flick moments." He never knew what to say to comfort somebody who needed somebody there for them. Should he wake Sam up if his sleep seemed disturbed? Would it be better to let him handle it on his own? There wasn't a freaking handbook to how to handle the aftermath of traumatic events, and it sucked major balls.
Dean decided to let it be, doing his best to ignore the slight twitches and moans that were coming from the passenger seat. He bit his lip, punching the dash to end the tape that was quietly winding down in the background. Leaning back in his seat, he tried to keep one eye on Sam, and the other on the darkened road outside for anything hazardous that could be coming up. The last thing that the two needed right now was a repeat of what happened with their father.
It was only about another mile and a half or so before Sam suddenly shot bolt upright in his seat, eyes flying open, a low scream tearing its way out of his throat. Startled, Dean took both his eyes off of the road.
The man in question clutched at the sides of his head, hair plastered to his white face in a cold sweat. He didn't seem capable of speech at the moment, his body curling in on itself in some form of defense. Not even paying attention to the road now, Dean watched as his brother's face contorted into an agonized grimace, coming to rest between his forefinger and thumb in search of any semblance of relief.
A bright light and the sound of a honking horn washed over the two men, and Dean glanced back at the road. His heart nearly stopped, and he swore violently at what he saw.
Dean swerved back into his lane just in time to avoid the car that had appeared out of nowhere. The sudden motion seemed to hit Sam on a personal level, and his white face turned green, fingers already fumbling with his seatbelt latch on his lap, despite the fact that the boys were tearing along at way above the speed limit.
"Ugh…stop the car –"
"Damnit!" Dean slammed on the brakes, shifting gears and guiding his baby over to the shoulder as quickly as he could manage.
As they ran off the road, he winced, feeling the suspension creak and protest at the uneven pathway. The car creaked to a stop in front of a speed limit sign, and he popped the locks just in time for Sam to throw his body weight sideways at the passenger door, retching.
"Aw, Sam –"
Sam collapsed sideways against the open door, emptying his stomach on the gravel below while his fingers clung weakly to the metal frame of the impala for support. He made a gagging noise as the foul liquid came up, and a small whimper escaped his mouth. That pained sound shook Dean out of his slight stupor, and he bolted into action.
Dean threw the car into park, turning on his hazard lights before yanking his door open and leaping out. He hurried around the black car, skidding to a stop next to Sam just as his body convulsed again and he fell forwards slightly.
The older Winchester grabbed Sam's shoulders quickly in support. "Sam, what the fuck –"
"We have to – we have to go," Sam managed to choke out, knuckles as white as his face from clutching the side of his door. He made as if to push himself upright again, and if Dean hadn't been supporting him, he would've landed face-first in the puddle of sick on the side of the road.
"Go?" Dean crouched next to his brother, using one hand to brush the hair from Sam's face. He was vividly aware that they were probably a hundred miles away from any sort of store that would have anything that could help them, but that didn't mean that he was going to bring that up right then and there. "Sam, we aren't going anywhere except to get you help. Listen, you're sick or something, we need to get you some medicine –"
Sam cried out again, curling in on himself once more with his hand clutching his forehead. Dean jumped at the sudden exclamation, nearly tipping over, now with the full weight of his brother in his arms. There was a time, long ago, where he could've easily supported his younger brother's weight in his arms, but those days had long since passed. Now, all he felt was hopeless in the face of his brother suffering.
Then, it hit him what was happening. As Sam scrunched up his face in pain, hand massaging his temple, Dean felt his heart stutter. "Sam, what are you seeing?"
Sam moaned in response, pitching forwards again to choke up another mouthful of burning liquid. Dean wrinkled his nose, turning his head slightly away to avoid the smell. From underneath Dean's straining arms, his younger brother's body was shaking like a leaf. He had never watched his brother experience a vision this bad firsthand, and it was scaring the absolute crap out of him. He had seen some things in his lifetime so far, but this was coming close to the top.
"It's too late," Sam cuffed at his mouth with his hoodie sleeve, still trembling uncontrollably from whatever vision he had been subject to. His hazel eyes were wide and fixed on his feet, clad in his unlaced, maroon Chuck Taylors. Despite his overgrown body, he looked just like the scared little boy that Dean had always been ordered to take care of first. "It's too late."
"Too late? Too late for what?"
Dull hazel eyes met Dean's emerald gaze as Sam choked out a final answer, his free hand coming up to dig into the fabric of Dean's brown leather jacket. Shaken, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, pulling his younger brother even closer as the words came stumbling out. "He – It – killed them all."
Swearing, Dean caught Sam as he lost his grip on the car door, falling to his knees on the gravel beside the mess with him cradled in his lap, preventing him from bringing injury to himself. The younger Winchester brother started to cry in earnest, his face buried in the fabric of Dean's jacket. Whatever vision he'd been subject to, it had to have been truly awful. Sam was one of the strongest people that Dean knew. It took more strength than he had ever known personally do have done what Sam had done and left the life behind for Stanford, for a girl. Dean had never truly seen Sam so messed up before, and it scared the ever living shit out of him. Sam hadn't even full out cried in front of Dean more than two times before, and one was after the death of the girl he loved.
"C'mon, Sammy. It's gonna be fine" He reassured his brother, clapping him gently on the back.
"You know I wouldn't let anything happen to you, right? You're my pain-in-the-ass little brother, you hear me? Nobody messes with my brother…yeah?"
"Yeah?" Dean's arms tightened around his brother protectively, feeling the tremors that wracked Sam's body start to lessen slightly. He wondered if Sam knew exactly how much Dean would do to make sure that Sammy was alive and healthy, let alone happy. He would easily give up his life for the dude, here and then. "Alright, kid. Let's get you back into the car."