TITLE: He'll be Okay
AUTHOR: Obi the Kid
SUMMARY: Takes place during the Season 6 finale, immediately after Cas breaks down the wall in Sam's head. Dean POV as he and Bobby get Sam out of harm's way.
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Sam and Dean Winchester and the world of Supernatural do not belong to me, nor do I make any profit from this story.
"Rest assured that when this is over, I will save Sam."
Cas put a hand to Sam's head. My brother went down like a felled tree.
I couldn't catch him before he hit the pavement. I couldn't help him before the convulsions started.
If his other glimpses of Hell were previews of the first movie, this then would be the entire epic saga.
Bobby and I were on our knees a second after Sam hit the ground. I tried to pin his flailing arms while Bobby held his legs. We didn't need to add any physical injuries to the mix. Cas had just dropped the Death-erected Great Wall of Sam, and despite my own tour of Hell a few years back, I had no freakin' clue what Sam would be suffering through or what this would all mean in the end. All I did know is that we couldn't stay here. With him flopping around on the asphalt in a public alley in the middle of the day, we were bound to attract some type of unneeded attention.
I reached for my keys, taking my hands off Sam for a few seconds. It was long enough that his arms started flying every direction. At this rate, he'd either break something or hurt one of us. So I quickly tossed the keys in Bobby's direction and put my hands back, crossing Sam's chest and pressing my weight against him to hold him down.
"Watch his legs, Dean. I'll be right back."
Bobby hurried out of the alley. Sam continued to writhe. There wasn't much I could do except what I was already doing. I really would have felt better if I could have freaked out right at that moment, but it wouldn't have gotten us anywhere. I had to deal with what was now in front of me. My worst nightmare had just come true. I was on the verge of losing my brother...again.
If Bobby would just hurry with the damn car!
One of Sam's hands got lose and clumsily whacked me in the face. I pleaded with Sam to snap out of it - to wake up. Yeah, I knew I wouldn't be able to penetrate the hell that was breaking loose in his mind. It was habit though. Habit told me to talk to him. Habit told me to protect him in any way that I could.
From behind, I heard the Impala skid to a stop at the cross section of the alley. Bobby and I dragged Sam's uncooperative body what seemed like a mile to get there. In reality it was only about a hundred feet, but feels a lot further when you have to tug a thrashing Bigfoot alongside.
After a few minutes we managed him into the backseat. I smashed myself next to him. Perhaps not the brightest thing I've ever done from a safety standpoint, but I couldn't leave him alone. He might hurt himself. And…I just needed to stay close.
Sam's gonna be okay…he'll be okay…
"Your place, Bobby. No idea where Cas' asinine plan will go next, but we can angel-proof the panic room. Sam will be safe there, at least from outside forces."
The Impala roared out of the alley.
The drive to Bobby's place spanned hours that felt like days. Sam struggled for part of the trip and nothing I said or did made a damn bit of difference. I'd have bruises after this ordeal though. He'd gotten me good a couple times; not that it mattered much in the grand scheme of things, but I'd feel it tomorrow - if we made it to tomorrow.
Another good whack as Sam's feet pounded the driver's side rear window. How it didn't shatter, I have no idea, but it acted like a trigger of sorts. Immediately after the kick landed, Sam's entire body went limp – like the flicking of a light switch.
Bobby peered back at the sudden silence. "What the hell's goin' on back there, Dean?"
"He's out." I checked his pulse. His breathing. Both still working. "If I were to guess, the preview is over and Sam has entered into his very own personnel hell now, complete with memories and images and feelings that make it all seem like he's right back in the pit with Lucifer. Just freakin' fantastic."
I closed my eyes tight, trying to convince myself that this was just a very bad dream and that when I opened them, Sam would be there and okay and everything would be fine.
If only things worked like that, right?
This was no dream.
Sam was lost in his mind, going through who knew what. I only had access to his physical unconscious body, which lay on my chest as it was sprawled across the back seat. I had one arm wrapped around his chest. The other crossed under his chin and clamped to his shoulder. To see me, you'd think I was waiting to contain his struggle when he woke up...but I wasn't a fool. I knew reality. Reality was my own personal hell. Sam might never wake up. This could be worse than losing him to the pit. His body there and functioning, but his mind collapsing in and suffocating him.
I knew I was losing my brother again, so I clutched to him for my own sanity if nothing else.
No, no no no! Damn it, no! It ain't happenin'. Not again. Not after all we've been through. Not after all I've lost.
He'll come out of this and he'll be okay…
But…I'd had Sam back for what, barely five months? The real Sam. My brother. Not the soulless piece of emotionless crap that first showed itself.
Now, so few months later, I was losing him again?
I wasn't going there again. I mean, how far can you push a man before he goes off the deep end? How much can one man take? Because honestly, I was pretty damn close to finding that deep end and jumping into it.
And then I thought…I thought about the reason we were in this mess to begin with.
Cas. There was always a friggin' angel to blame wasn't there?
Only this friggin' angel was different. He'd been my friend. Almost like a brother to me. I'd trusted him with my life and with Sam's life how many times? Then he dives head-long into this ego tripping, high-horse of soul collecting thing and wanting to be the new God? Because he's ticked off as his daddy, he takes it out on the people who gave everything of themselves to save the friggin' planet?
Damn it, Cas!
I feel my fists clenching and unclenching. I feel my breathing getting sharper. I feel the rage building in me…
Words can't do justice to express my feelings towards Cas after what he did. And I swear on my life that I will hunt him down, angel or not, if his breaking down the wall destroys my brother. Angel, god, whatever the hell he is right now. Does it really matter? Not a damn bit. Because this act – this single self-centered act he committed against Sam is fully and wholly unforgivable.
I could feel my eyes close tighter, as my grip on Sam did the same. I felt them stinging and that stubborn lump in my throat thickening, threatening to push me over the edge. There's hope though, right? If I can just hang onto him until the worst of his nightmare passes, maybe I can save him.
Sam's gonna be okay. He'll be okay. And if I repeated this mantra enough times, I'd believe it myself.
Then the car's movement stopped. I heard someone talking and asking me questions, trying to get my attention. Bobby. I lifted my head.
"Wake up, Dean!"
"What? Bobby? I'm not sleeping."
"If that's what you want to call it, fine. You were out, boy, but talking to yourself at the same time. Gettin' loud too. Something about kickin' some friggin' angel ass from here to Kingdom Come."
Funny. I thought I'd just been thinking all that stuff. Maybe I was more tired than I thought. I looked down. Sam was still in my arms. No sign of consciousness. No sign of movement other than the rise and fall of his breathing chest. Breathing. Yes. Breathing was good. As long as he kept breathing then Sam would be okay, right?
"Why'd we stop?"
"We're not long out from my place, but you were getting more and more angry and agitated. I figured it best to wake you up before you start acting out on what you were feelin' and yellin' about."
In my dream-festered need to off an angel, Bobby seemed to think I might hurt Sam without realizing I wasn't conscious of what I was doing. Acting out in my sleep I guess. Wouldn't be the first time I'd done something like that, especially with the intensity of the nightmares I'd had in the past.
As he usually did, Bobby knew best and woke me before it got to that point. Always looking out for us.
"Don't mention it. And stay awake this time, huh? Forty minutes."
He was dead on about the time estimate. Forty minutes and we were pulling into the scrap yard. Moving the dead weight of my brother through the house and down the stairs proved daunting as usual. We'd done this in the past. Sam hadn't become any easier to move since the last time. We did get him situated though, lying on his back with his hands resting at his side. After that, it only took about ten minutes to fully angel proof the place. Sam had enough to deal with inside his own head without needing any additional help in putting himself through hell.
I sat cot-side, checking Sam's pulse again, lifting his eyelids to see if there was any spark of life there. His breathing was still okay, deep and calm. Maybe things weren't so bad inside that head of his…yet. And maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part. Just because he wasn't currently being tossed around like a rodeo clown didn't mean jack.
I talked to him. I squeezed his hand. He was a zombie. But, he was gonna be okay…
My mantra was weakening and I was drained. And as bad luck would have it that was the exact moment that I got slammed with everything at once. Doubt and anger and fear and rage; my emotions started getting away from me and I was close, oh so close to losing it completely. The only thing that kept me from that complete breakdown was Bobby's steady hand on my shoulder.
I blinked rapidly and steadied my breaths.
I could almost feel the old man's sad smile over me. "Don't hide it boy, if you've gotta cry it out, do it; but not at the expense of the job ahead. We need your head in the game."
"Yeah. I'm good." I wiped at my eyes. "You got everything ready?"
I didn't want to go. I wanted – needed – to stay here with my brother.
Just the thought of leaving Sam alone right now was torture. If he woke up, I had no idea the state of mind he'd be in. Would he be Sam? Would he be some whacked-out, fear-driven, Hell-anguished version of Sam? Would he be a hollowed-out vegetable version of himself?
No matter the state, he'd be alone, and that…that single fact hurt more than anything.
Even during those rocky years we had, when we were at odds and ready to kill each other half the time, there was still that tiny piece of us that was grateful that when we woke up that next morning, we wouldn't find ourselves completely alone and on our own. I know we'd both grandstanded at some point that alone was better; that we could function easier without the other around. What a bunch of crap that was. If either of us ever actually believed what we were saying, we were drunk and out of our minds at the time. Hell no, we've never been better alone, even when we were both so royally screwed up.
Alone sucked. It especially sucked in our line of work.
It especially sucked at this exact moment in our lives when I had no choice but to leave Sam alone.
But he'll be okay. Yeah, Sam's gonna be okay.
I'd give him a gun. I'd give him the address of we were going. Sam was resilient. All the crap thrown at him in his life, and every single time he came back from it. If he could get past the Sleeping Beauty stage of this, maybe…maybe he'd find some reserve deep inside that overgrown body of his to come to our rescue. If Bobby and I were in trouble – and God knows we were bound for it with this foolishly planned attack on Cas and Crowley – Sam would find a way to put Hell aside to get to us. I know it. I do. I know my brother. I know what drives him. He'd gone to Hell and back for family before. He'd do it again without hesitation.
Bobby and I loaded into the Impala. I gunned the engine and took a last glance back at the front door of the house to make sure my little brother wasn't standing there.
Of course he wasn't.
Bobby patted my shoulder.
"The kid's strong, Dean. He'll beat this."
"Yeah. I just…I don't like leaving him there alone. What if…"
"Not much we can do, boy. If…no, when he wakes up, he'll see the gun and the note and he'll understand we had to go and you know he'll find a way to high-tail it to us as fast as he can. I left the keys to the old Camaro for him. It's gassed and ready."
I pulled out of the scrap yard and onto the main drag, heading for the Kansas location provided by Balthazar. I rubbed at my face, squeezing my fingertips into the corners of my eyes. We had a long drive ahead. I had to focus. Re-focus. I couldn't worry about Sam right now. I had other problems that needed my attention; massive demon-sized, God-wanna-be problems.
Sam's gonna be okay.
And when he does wake up alone, he'll understand. And he'll save our sorry asses that are destined, once again, to be stuck between Heaven and Hell.
Sam's gonna be okay…he has to be.