The Things I Protect Him From
Summary: This is the third little installment that follows my 'Not My Sammy' story. This is from Dean's POV as he struggles with his worry over his brother, what's to come for them, what he knows he must protect Sam from and of course having a flooded Impala. Note: Originally title: My Home, My Baby Brother but I've added some stuff and changed the title. Original will be left up until I see which version people like better.
Spoilers/Tags: Not really tagged to anything and no real spoilers but will have various mentions of previous events from the past seasons.
Warnings: Language since this is Dean we're dealing with. Also mention of some abuse but nothing graphic.
Pairings: Zip, zero, nada.I do not do slash at any time. This is just some usual brotherly bonding because I like when the boys act like brothers and have been missing that.SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN
"Boy, if you don't stop hoverin' over him I'm gonna start throwin' Holy Water on you again!"
A firm reminder that Bobby Singer is very serious with that threat since I still remember him drenching me with the stuff the day I showed up on his door after digging my way out of my own grave…hmm, how many guys can say that and not have a Hunter doing an anti-zombie thing on 'em?
I know Bobby's worried about it and I admit that I may be a teensy bit manic this past week but hey, who the hell can blame me? A week ago tomorrow I brought my little brother to Bobby's place after finding out he'd been held since his return from the Cage for a goddamn year by a shapeshifter.
Yeah, that still pisses me off. Not so much the fact that I ignored the hunter instincts that Dad drilled into me once I found out that 'Sam' was alive if not acting right. I kick myself for that but it isn't what makes me mad though. No. It isn't even the issue that I believed what the thing was saying, I shared a motel room with it and sat in the car…slight issue with that but that's another reason to be pissed.
No, what pisses me off the most is thinking about what Sammy has been put through at that bastards' hands. Him and any playmates that he might've had. Those thoughts and Sam's inner turmoil are what still makes me see red.
It's been nearly a week, hell it might have been a full one for all the attention I've been paying to the time, since Sam woke up fully. Since his fever broke and I saw those hazel eyes look at me clearly and even then I saw the weary caution.
Right now he's asleep. He's been sleeping longer periods these days without waking up screaming or trying to curl up into a ball to protect himself.
I've been with Sammy pretty much steady since we got to Bobby's and while both Bobby and Cas have helped me take care of him in those early hours, I'm the one who did the most. Not only because he was so scared and would panic if he couldn't touch me or grasp the amulet that Bobby said Sam had given him to hand back to me but because taking care of Sammy solo was just what I've always done.
"You sleep, Sammy. I have to go check on what the hell Cas did to our home and probably fry his ass if he did what I think he did." I softly tell my sleeping brother, lightly carding my finger through his hair and was relieved when he didn't wake up.
Glancing back I stand and the door and just watch for a minute. Sam, once he hit that damn growth spurt, ended up four inches taller than me and by the end, by the time I lost him, he'd put on muscle to let him live up to that Sasquatch nickname I called him.
That was Sammy then and I think it's the now, what I look at now when I watch him, that has me automatically dropping back to the hyper-overprotective big brother role that I'd taken on the night I carried him out of our house in Lawrence.
Sammy when I found him chained in that damn building, hooked up to machines that I still have dreams about, filthy and battered…he's still taller than me(I still so hate that) but that's all. The man he'd become at the end, as we fought to keep either Angels or Demons from leveling the planet, so strong, so determined…I don't see him and I'm not sure how to feel about that.
I go downstairs, hearing both Bobby and Rufus outside and neither sound happy. I've been so distracted by Sam, his injuries, both physical and mental, not to mention the always lovely nightmares, that I haven't really taken the time to see what the hell Cas did to my baby.
Knowing that Sammy was safe upstairs and sleeping, I've decided to take a couple minutes to go check and plan on it only being a couple minutes because I will not have him waking up alone. God, even coherent Bobby's stuff take a beating when that happens.
Good intentions and all that crap because when I step outside and look toward my car…there've been a couple times when I have felt like the rug was literally pulled out from under me and usually all those times have involved my brother. The couple times it involved my car, the only real home that Sam's ever known, was heart-breaking.
I mean, when that damn demon rammed a freakin' semi into her and pretty much made her scrap, hell she would have been if Sam hadn't stood up to Bobby, and then when that Andy guy used his psychic babble on me and I…handed him the keys without thinking…damn that still hurts to think about it. Those were the two worst times…until I see it now.
Bobby had asked Cas, our ever-present friendlier than most Angel of the Lord, newly promoted to Sheriff of Heaven, to clean the Impala before I bitched and moaned about having that damn 'shifter inside her. Sounds simple, sounds easy as pie…pity that Bobby didn't explain bit by goddamn bit to Cas that by cleaning he didn't mean part the damn Red Sea inside my car.
"Cas! What part of Bobby asking you to clean the car did you take to mean flood my baby?" I stared at the Impala where it sat where Cas had made it appear that night since I had made him do the whole Angel Express thing to get Sammy to Bobby's fast.
Don't get me wrong. Cas is a cool guy…for an Angel. But despite hanging around with me and Sam so much and maybe picking up a few too many of my bad habits, he can be as dense as a damn brick at times. Clearly since he had chosen to flood my car rather than use an easier cleaning method.
Now, the Impala was sitting with its doors open and water still dripped…I swear soapy water but I'm hoping I'm wrong about that.
Pacing around the car while I try to get a better idea of what he'd done I'm really surprised that I'm maintaining an even tone. I know that both Sam and Bobby expect me to go postal as soon as I saw the car and I can hear Bobby muttering 'Christo' every time I get close to him.
Hell now, anyone who knows me should know that there are two things that you do not screw with. My little brother and my car. Cas sure as hell should know that since I nearly shot his damn head right after we met for threatening in one way or another both of those things. He learned fast that time but maybe after being zapped so many times it's fudged his brain.
I'm not going postal though which is what's shocking them. I am well past the fully ticked off stage as Cas offers some explanation but again my gaze goes to the house as if looking to be sure it was still a safe environment for Sammy.
I know it is. Bobby's house has so many signs, wards, spells, saltlines, etc in it that no ghost, spirit, vampire, demon, werewolf, and so forth should be able to step foot within a twenty mile radius…but as I've learned before, nowhere is fully protected. Hell, that bitch from Hell, Meg, got to Pastor Jim in his very own church and I know full good 'n' well that his place was almost as protected as Bobby's.
"You ain't puttin' no Devil's Trap around my house, idjit!" Bobby shouts from the porch as if he read my mind.
Not sure if he just knows me that well or if he actually got a look at that diagram I doodled the other night to figure out the size Trap we'd need to go around this place.
Sue me if I want to make sure Sammy's kept safe until he's 200% better and if that means putting more traps and signs in and around this house not to mention the car then that's what I'll do.
Looking back at the Impala and leaning into the driver's side to check on something I remember the first night Sam and I spent in the car. I also remember Sam crying the first time in Kindergarten when he had to draw a picture of his home for the teacher. He drew the Impala and the other kids laughed at him.
Dad was on a hunt and I had to make one of those very rare and infrequent calls to Pastor Jim who came and pretended to be Dad in order to explain why Sammy drew a picture of a car as his home.
Sam was quiet for days after that but I kept the drawing in my duffel…hell if I dig deep enough I probably still have it, just like I have all of Sam's drawings, art, and school papers somewhere. Dad scoffed at school but to Sam it was important. He could be normal at school and that's what I wanted for him.
Home. There's that often used and rarely meant or understood word. Most people use the word to describe the place where they have stability. Four walls, a few windows, and a yard. The apple-pie life as we call it. What Sam wanted when he left for Stanford and what he tried to give me with Lisa at the end.
I had that type of thing before Mom died and Lawrence became a thing of distant memory. Sam's never known it. I always tried to avoid thinking of anyplace in that way since the last 'real' home I had burned the night Sammy was six-months old and Mom died. Sam didn't remember it as his home since the only real home he's ever considered as 'home' has been the Impala.
Me, I stopped thinkin' of her as that after I lost my brother to a huge gaping hole in the ground and I packed the Impala away in Lisa's garage. I think that's why this water thing…damn it smells like soap will bug Sammy more. It's been his only honest to God home, the only stable environment that we had growing up.
Oh, sure. Both Pastor Jim and Bobby offered Dad the chance to leave us with them while he hunted so we wouldn't have to dragged all over the goddamn place but he always refused and not usually nicely either. I normally kept quiet about it but there were plenty of times when I resented him for that. More for Sammy's sake than my own.
I accepted early on that as the eldest Dad had final say in what I did and I knew when he started teaching me how to hunt what my life would be from then on out. I didn't really care…most times but I wanted my baby brother to have a stable life. I wanted him to be able to go to school in one place for more than a few months and not be afraid of a teacher or someone getting to close. I wanted him to have friends, I wanted him to be able to play outdoors…I wanted Sam to be a little boy but Dad would never go for that. No one really knows how much I hated Dad for that. Take my childhood and life away but let Sammy be normal. Let Sam grow up and a normal, happy little kid…damn you Dad.
I'd gotten too good too early at hiding my emotions behind a wall because I knew that's what I needed to do in order to keep Sam safe, to keep him living as normal a life as I could give him.
"Damn it, Cas, you had damn well better've taken my tapes out before you soaked her!" I snapped upon lifting a soggy fake ID that I could've sworn I tossed when I parked her a year ago.
Not listening to the calm reply I'm thinking that maybe once he's strong enough to be out of the house, much less in the car again, I'll let Sammy hook up that damn I-Pod thing he had. I mean , I hate his taste in music as much as he normally does mine but the car is as much his now as mine and…damn, I'm either mellowing in my old age or even the mere thought of those puppy-dog eyes is getting to me.
I still have that thing in the trunk. Even had Ben show me how to use it one night but after realizing that Sam had two lists of songs saved and that one was practically every song I insisted on listening to I put it away and drank a fifth of Jack that night to keep from breaking every damn promise I made him.
Sammy's getting stronger and Bobby swears that he's doing good considering what he's been through but try getting that past me right now. I don't give a crap because I still him in Lawrence and I still him at night when those damn nightmares hit.
It's been a while since I've had to handle Sammy-style nightmares and God how easy it was to make myself forget how bad those could be because when Sam has a nightmare he's all emotion and movement.
When he was a baby, way back before he grew to Sasquatch size, he was prone to 'em. Hell, given' that his nursery practically imploded in front of him who could blame him if he had a thing for fires…but no. My brother's biggest fear is clowns and I really need to find out why one of these days. I get the fear of fire which considering where I spent a good forty years, or at least forty years in Hell time, is pretty damn ironic.
Sam's nightmares…they were always bad. Dad never really seemed to have either the time or the desire to cope with Sam during one of 'em so like the feeding, bathing, protecting, and teaching, it was up to me to guard my little brother from his dreams. Dad's way of coping with a nightmare was to give Sam a damn .45 one night and tell him to kill the monster in his closest.
I stayed up that night to keep Sammy safe and then the next day while Dad was gone I showed him how to shoot for the first time.
They slowed down as he grew up but after a fight with Dad, an infrequent bad day at school or after he'd run away to Flagstaff and was dragged back, he'd wake up screaming. It was the same after Jessica died though those were harder since we'd been apart for close to four years and it took some time for me to drop the shields I'd built up around myself and for him to trust me again.
He doesn't think I knew about 'em but I know about the nightmares he had after I got myself electrocuted by that damn Rawhead and was dying…another memo, don't stand in or anywhere even close to water while using a goddamn 10,000 volt taser. Damn that still hurts to remember. I didn't sleep as much as he thought I did and I know he'd wake up but he didn't want to put more strain on me so he'd hide in the bathroom until he'd gotten calmed down.
Sammy was in full mother-hen mode then…kind of like I am now I guess, damn, but I kept quiet that I knew. I usually just waited until he crawled back into the bed and made sure he was alright. Now, after that whole screwed up gig with those damn rednecked Benders had snatched him out from under my nose that was a different matter entirely.
He was closed mouth about what happened in between the time he was grabbed and I got to him which sent up every big brother alarm that I had. Oh, I let him hover over me and patch up the burn on my shoulder and stuff but then I just watched…and waited.
I knew from when he was sixteen and going through the whole 'I'm sixteen, dude, and don't need you hovering' phase that if I waited long enough and he was hurt too bad or anything then he'd wake up and God I wasn't wrong. It took a couple hours, would have been longer if he would've drank the whole damn glass of whiskey I'd given him, but he woke up fightin' in a way that I had seen only once before.
It took a while that night to calm him down. To get him back to the point where he was just sobbing and shaking, that I could handle. The rest…well I wished I would've put a bullet in each of their freakin' heads for hurting Sammy.
"Shut up and let me glower a little more, Cas," I cut off whatever Cas is saying because I'm not in the mood. My memories have gone too deep as I think of Sam now and how things were once. As I think of how I could have changed it for him if I had tried a little harder.
Sam's nightmares stopped or at least he started learning how to hide 'em better from me after I came back from Hell. Though to be honest I was so screwed up I could hardly deal with my own problems to notice if he was having any and after I found out about Ruby and the blood thing…well, I also stopped caring as much. That's something I'll never forgive myself for.
The last nightmare I can remember him having, detox nightmares so do not count in this equation, was the last night we were at Bobby's. Right before Detroit happened.
Not that I can blame him for that one. I mean, he was one night away from confronting Lucifer and maybe ending the world if his plan failed. We had healed some of the rifts between us, some not all, and he was still trying too hard to be brave so he didn't wake me up before the dream got too bad.
Of course what kind of stupid big brother actually sleeps the night before his baby brother plans to become the meatsuit for the Devil? I did, that's who…though the bottle of Scotch consumed before bed could've helped but it was the sounds that woke me up. Sounds that reminded me of when Sam was ten and hiding his dreams from Dad or from me when he was projecting that touch image he wanted to have so much.
Sammy's six foot four but that night he'd curled into a ball in the corner of the very room that I'd just left him sleeping in now. I figured it was only because Bobby's closest in the room was packed that keep him from curling up in there and I had considered leaving him alone since we'd both agreed that it was time to let him make his own choices. But then I heard him whispering my name like he used it.
Nah, cutting ties and strings so to speak and letting him go to Detroit was one thing. Leaving him alone, terrified, and sobbing just was not in the 'Dean Winchester Big Brother Guide to Baby Brothers…damn, I really need to have Bobby find that thing again.
He only fought me for a second until he realized that I wasn't trying to stop him and like he has so often this time, he curled up into my arms and for a moment he was five again and begging me to stop the monster that was under his bed.
It was just another one of those unspoken times that we both silently promised never to mention again, mainly because of my damn 'no chick-flick moments' rule and… "Cas! Tell me that you did not use any kind of soap when you flooded my damn car!"
God, never tell an Angel to clean a car. It's been my concern over Sammy that's been keeping me from reaching that postal stage of anger over this 'little misunderstanding'. Little misunderstand, my ass. If I didn't know better I'd swear Cas did this on purpose just so I'd blow my top but that's something sneaky and underhanded that I'd pull on Sam…not something that an Angel would think to do.
The nightmares and the pain that Sam's still in have brought back the big brother over protectiveness and it's in full force so unless he's fully asleep I rarely leave the kid.
But that's also more for my own peace of mind. Sure, he's more at ease since waking up fully and he doesn't freak out too much now if he wakes up and I'm not within his line of sight but he's…quiet. He's also still too damn pale and too willing to let me hover over him.
Right there is how I know that Sammy's still suffering more than he's saying. Normally after a week or so of having me hover and do the whole mother-hen ultra protective thing on him he's usually grumbling that he's fine and can take of himself.
This time he's not doing any of that. In fact, he's been willing to let me gripe as I still feel for a fever every few hours and he's only now starting that familiar Sammy-eyeroll thing when I won't let him go downstairs even when Bobby says he can. The true and dead giveaway though is how he still moves closer to me when I sit next to him. Yep, that screams future chick-flick time.
He has stopped reaching for my amulet now to hold except for the other night when it took me an hour to calm him down and then I had to let Cas do the damn Angel mojo thing just to stop him from thrashing around. That night, after he was back under, I didn't give a damn if I broke my own 'no chick-flick moments' rule or if I was holding my little brother like I used to when he was four and I just let him cling to me and to the amulet.
Sammy won't talk about the dreams or even really what happened in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer or that time he was held in Lawrence. I asked once and then felt like kicking myself when he seemed to shrink inside of himself again. Since that time, neither Bobby nor I've asked Sam anything else. Bobby figures that he'll talk when he's ready and feels safe enough to.
Yeah, I know what that's like. I closed up about the time I spent in Hell because of the guilt and not wanting Sammy touched even a little by what I had done and seen. I grew up with the typical Winchester mantra of 'keep it inside, don't talk about it, and never show an emotion". Well, that's me.
Sammy was never like that. Sammy has always needed to talk the crap outta things in order to survive it and handle the grief and pain. He's always been that way.
I like to say that I got my stoic nature from Dad while Sammy got Mom's softer side…ignoring that Mom could have and very nearly did kick my ass that time I got zapped back in time.
Now though he's bottling it up like I did and I know that eventually when those walls break, and they'll have to for his sanity, that Sammy's going to crash and I had damn well better be ready for that moment.
Wrinkling my nose when I stick my head into the back seat, I can't help but growl at the familiar floral scent of laundry detergent. It takes a long count to fifty before I swear that I won't shoot Cas when I look at him again but then I look at the little green plastic figure still stuck in the ashtray.
"You are just one damn lucky Angel that this didn't come loose in the great flood," I throw back over my shoulder while running a finger over the hard plastic and again recalling the day that a bored Sammy lodged it inside the ashtray. I can also still recall Dad's fury over a simple little thing. I took the blame and the brunt of his anger over it…like I did most of the times when Dad lost his temper.
Shaking that memory off for the moment, I look back to the house again as if feeling something or someone watching me but I shrug it off as my now over active senses looking for a threat but it also again brings the image of Meg getting past Pastor Jim's wards. I start thinking about the things that I've been worried about.
I've asked Cas more than once what Sam might've been put through in the Cage and he's hedging. Cas is a really great guy, considering some Angels that I've met and I freely admit that Bobby's right when he accuses me of teaching him too much, but he still can't lie to me with a damn straight face. I know that he knows either all of it or at least part of what those two douchebags put my baby through and it scares me.
Hell, I know that a lot of his nightmares are probably coming from that time because I know Sammy still feels guilty about what down between Lucifer and me in Stull…I love that kid but I have gotta convince him that I really did have a plan that day. I did…and it worked…well to a small degree.
Sammy didn't have a lot of time being put through the emotional roller-coaster by good ol' Zach like I did. Lucifer just tormented his dreams but I know what Angels are capable of so I can imagine what a couple of pissed of Archangels would do to my Sammy. Michael especially would have been outraged by Sam's actions and would've wanted to hurt him in the worst way possible.
Some of the things that Sammy's hollered out in his sleep or the way he'd whimper before the dreams hit full force gives me a clue to what that bastard did and I'm hoping to avoid that talk for as long as possible.
How to hurt Sam? What would be the best and cruelest way that Michael could punish him? Oh, I know that. Just show the kid every goddamn thing that I never wanted Sammy to know.
I push my feelings down since I can't help Sam if I let my own fears and emotions come out now but it's hard knowing what he's probably seen.
We had a Father but I raised Sam while Dad was out hunting or passed out drunk after a hunt and I did my best to make sure that he never knew how hard those times were. I fought to keep Sam believing that everything was fine because Sammy, even as a little kid, was just as protective of me as I was of him.
If he had known then how many times I would pretend to eat or make some excuse that I had ate at school or something all the while I was making sure there would be enough food left for him until Dad got back he wouldn't have ate it because he knew I wasn't eating. There were too many times like that.
"Boy! Quit pacing in that one spot before you unearth a body that I might have put there!" Bobby shouted again from the porch, rolling his eyes while I paced around the car. He thought my more restless pacing was over the car but he had no clue as I shoot him a scowl like he would expect but also recalled the earlier days. The days when he was 'Uncle Bobby'.
I had learned early on that Dad didn't want him or Pastor Jim knowing if things were bad with us because then they'd harp on him about leaving us with one of 'em. The one time that I had to call for help because Sam had gotten sick to the point where I couldn't take care of him…that lesson was driven home really well.
Oh, I had known all of Dad's reasons and I outwardly accepted his sharp lectures, the yelling and after we were back on the road and away from Pastor Jim's observant and protective watch, I also accepted the backhanded slaps for calling. I know that if either Jim or Bobby really knew some of the crap I buried inside I figure Dad would have been dead a hell of a lot sooner and at the hands of his friends because I remember the time Bobby swore to fill him with buckshot if he ever laid into me again.
I swore that Sam would never know about those times. I made damn sure he never found out what happened between me and Dad the time he ran away to Flagstaff. Sure, I know it hurt him when I didn't react normally to him after Dad dragged him back. God how it broke my heart not to be able to pull my baby brother into my arms when I first saw him after Dad shoved him into that motel room. But if I had and he would've gotten a hint of how bad even a small touch was like agony then he'd go off on Dad and I wouldn't let that happen.
Not for the normal reasons of not wanting to get between them in yet another fight but because if Dad would've gone to touch Sammy, to hurt him like I knew he would have that day, then I probably would've killed him myself. Sam doesn't know that I laid awake that night with my hand around the pistol I kept under my pillow just to be on the safe side. Because after Sam had calmed down and went to sleep I had flat out told Dad that I didn't give a damn what he did to me but he'd never lay hands on my brother and if he did then it wouldn't be Bobby or Pastor Jim who'd handle it. I took another backhand for it but I didn't care. Sam would be safe from something.
I wonder now if Sammy knows about those times thanks to Michael's interference. I've caught him chewing his lip when he's watching me and I can translate that into Sammy-language as 'how do I ask without either hurting Dean or pushing him away?'
I'll wait until he's ready to bring it up and then bluff my way around it without outright lying to him. Sam has too many bad memories of Dad already without learning everything that I've protected him from hasn't been all monsters, werewolves or spirits.
Not to mention the mother of all fits that Bobby would throw if he ever found out. Hell he'd probably find a psychic, bring Dad's spirit back just long enough to rip him a new one and then exorcise him.
Be interesting to see and it's something that Bobby would do. Hell, he's been more of a Father to us than our own was and he's been patient with having us here. Even if he is giving Sammy one too many ideas since Bobby opinion that Sam's doing better and my idea are on totally different planes of existence. I'm keepin' him in bed until I know he's not going to nosedive to the floor.
Cas is saying something to me that finally breaks through my Sammy-obsessed brain and I'm just starting to snap something back when I hear the crash from inside.
"Rufus! What the hell are ya breakin' in there?" Bobby shouts into the open house but I know that it wasn't Rufus who made that sound.
Looking up to the window of the bedroom Sam and I have always shared I'm not too surprised when I lock onto my baby brother's tired looking hazel eyes and I know the second he realizes that I've seen him because I see the first glimpse of a small typical Sammy-bitchface at being caught out of bed.
Cas is still trying to get my attention but I just throw up a hand in front of his face in my typical 'shut up, dry out my car because I have other things to do' motion before taking off for the house at a run. All the while counting in my head how long it will take me to hit the bedroom and knowing that Sam had better have his ass back in that bed before I get there.
"Leave the boy alone, Dean!" Bobby yells at my back and then I hear his normal grumble about stupid idjits driving him to drink but I don't care. I'd been outside too long and I had promised myself that Sam would not wake up without anyone, Bobby or I, with him.
Cas is good and Sam doesn't appear to mind him being around unless he's just waking up or he's on edge then I think the very feeling of an Angel brings back the bad crap so I keep Cas away unless I'm close.
Stepping into the room I know that he's just gotten back to the bed and I give him the usual line about giving Bobby a stroke with all his wandering around. He knows better since Bobby's been on my back to lighten up and allow Sam to move around more so he'll get his strength back sooner. Yeah, right. That's just not happenin' on my watch yet.
"I…I woke up and was wondering where you were until I heard you yelling at Cas," Sam answered and I knew it was the truth. While he was alright with waking up alone, he didn't like it for long periods and I also notice that he has my leather jacket again. He's taken to holding it when I'm not close or he's nervous.
I can remember the security that jacket gave me when Dad first started letting me use it and I wonder if it's not time to pass it on. I've finally realized that I'll never have a son, or at least not yet, since this deal with the vampires made me understand that there is no going back to Lisa and Ben. Plus, this jacket is as much a Winchester family heirloom as the Impala so if it goes to anyone…I'll wait and see how Sam reacts if I bring it up.
On instinct, I scan the room. Making sure the salt line that I had personally placed on the windowsill was still intact before turning to watch him, gauging Sam's emotions like I used to do and I can tell that he's been awake a hell of a lot longer than he's letting on but I let it go, knowing I'll need to pick my battles. He's still weak and tired as I move to sit back down next to him and I'm not surprised when he automatically eases closer and starts to fall back to sleep.
I break down and tell him that Bobby says if he can keep a light dinner down then tomorrow he could go into the library for a little while. I fought Bobby over that but again it's time to pick my battles and it's harder to pick 'em with Bobby so I let it go and swear to watch my brother like a hawk while he's down there.
Sam's been brooding since he's been awake because he's clutching my jacket too tight so I start rubbing gentle shapes on his shoulder like I used to do. I'm trying to keep things light in order to relax him but then he asks me if I've regretted any of it.
Son of a bitch. I know what he means and I swear to make Cas tell me what he knows but Sam's half asleep and waiting for an answer that he doesn't think will come or he's afraid will come and what that answer might be.
I could ignore it, let it pass and he'll fall asleep but there's a pain in his voice I haven't heard since he found out about the deal I made to save his life and I feel my throat tighten. It's when he says that he's sorry for Flagstaff that I know for sure what he's been showed and I finally force the lump out.
"Dean, you know I'm sorry, right?" he asks again, his eyes tired but wet and close to full on puppy dog look and I give up trying to ignore it while continuing to rub my hand against his shoulder and back, being sure to not touch his lower back which is still his worst wound.
"Yeah, Sammy, I know you are," I sigh, letting my head rest against the headboard, closing my eyes and whispering. "I've never regretted anything I ever did for you or anything that happened because it's what big brothers are supposed to do. It's what awesome big brothers will always do and what I'll keep on doing for you."
I wait to see if he'd respond and while I feel his shaking, he slowly nods before drifting off and a piece of me wishes that he'd drop the walls and let the flood come. I need him to open up and start to heal before we go back on the road if that's what he chooses to do and I need to have a handle on this before I deal with the Campbell situation.
Bobby offered to call Samuel to let him know about Sam but I downright, flat out refused. Sam had simply heard the offer and he'd clutched onto my arm in a way that I'd never seen him do before. Something about our Grandfather was worrying my little brother and while I had serious suspicions about the whole group I wasn't about to put Sam at risk until I knew what I could be walking us into.
Cas had brought back a note from Missouri telling me to watch who I trusted well that's another no brainer in my book. I trust one person besides Sammy and that's Bobby. I'll leave Sam with him until I get a handle on Samuel and the Campbell kids but that's a hunt for another day.
I'm halfway to sleep and feeling Sam getting closer to my side which means he's worn himself out and will more than likely wake up shouting soon. That's when I hear a whoosh that makes my stomach drop and the front door slamming back open.
"Goddamn it, you feather-brained idjit! That ain't how you dry out a car and you damn well better fix that before Dean gets back down here and has a stroke!"
I fight to keep my eyes shut tight all the while vowing to hurt Cas for whatever he's done now. I stay still while lightly carding my fingers through shaggy brown hair and soon Sam settles back down.
I have my little brother back and I will kill, burn, or decapitate the first son of a bitch who even looks at him wrong…now I just have to get our home back in one piece. Damn Angel. You'd think being a bigwig in Heaven and knowing how close he came one time to getting shot that he'd know not to mess with my…I glance down at Sam and silently correct myself…our baby.
"You can go see, Dean." Sam mumbles, his fingers are gripping my jacket tighter and I gently pry it loose just enough so I can lay it over him and I smile as he seems to draw it closer.
"If I did that, I'd be diggin' up that can of Holy Oil we still have and usin' it on him," I return, trying to ignore the images that flash in my mind as Bobby yells for Rufus to bring the hose and for Cas to fix it. I'm half-asleep when I first catch what feels like a presence next to us but shrug it off as being exhausted.
Bobby's house is too protected to let anything in and there's an Angel in the front yard so if a demon tries or even another Angel, note to self to have Cas find Gabriel since I sure do not need him pulling any crap while Sammy's still this weak.
Falling to sleep I ignore the soft touch I think I feel or the perfume that I should know as I settle in knowing that once again I have both little brother and a home within reach…now to just get rid of Cas before I have to rebuild the damn thing again.
It was later that I feel him. Sam had tensed with a whimper and my hand automatically soothes him while keeping my eyes closed. I don't have to look to know that Castiel is just watching us but before he goes to leave…
"You had damn well better have that car looking like she just rolled off the line by the time Sammy wakes up again or I will Holy Oil your ass back to Heaven the hard way."
I could swear I hear a smirk in Cas's voice when he replies and I know I'll probably hurt him as soon as I wake up again and realize he's up to something. Or I'll wait for Sam to get stronger and just let Sam do twenty million biblical questions in a modern world on Cas's Angel butt. That will teach him to touch the car.
A/N: Again, thanks to everyone who reads this second version. While it has a lot of the original I added some stuff to the beginning and am feeling better about it. I'll leave the original up for awhile longer in case people like it better.
Thanks and reviews are always welcome.