Another quick one-shot. I don't care for the ending, but wanted to get this out anyway. Reviews welcomed. I guess I'm just needing some brotherly interaction. Anyone else? Shannon
Dean didn't seem to care about "not getting killed". Sam looked over at his brother, fast asleep on the floor of the foreclosed house. Trying to keep himself busy, Sam was cleaning the weapons and sharpening the knives. Unfortunately this activity didn't keep his brain occupied. Lucifer, ever ready in the background, was going on and on about how Sam will never truly be alone, not while he had his old pal Luci. Shaking his head, Sam attempted to rid his mind of Lucifer's ramblings. In that one, quick moment Sam's hand slipped and the finely sharpened blade slid from the stone straight to Sam's wrist. Sam hissed and dropped both the stone and the knife. He grasped his other hand around the bleeding wrist and looked over to Dean. Still asleep, Sam was momentarily relieved.
Sam noiselessly walked to the decent, still-working bathroom on the first floor. Tired, he sat on the edge of the tub and wrapped a towel around his injured limb. Inside the all-white bathroom, he sat with a white towel, the crimson staining the fabric and dripping onto the floor – the only color in the room. Feeling more tired by the minute, Sam leaned back and let his body slide into the tub. His mind replayed the moment in the car when he begged Dean, "don't get killed". Sam really hadn't been sleeping well lately; he couldn't remember ever being quite this tired before. A smile ghosted across his lips when he remembered Dean's rebuttal, "newsflash, pal. You're just as screwed up as I am." He relaxed further into the tub, letting go of the towel and chuckling in agreement. Guess I am.
Terrifying creatures screamed and moaned, moving… bleeding… dying. Eyes of unnatural color shone in every direction. Horror filled every sight, every sound. It was crowded and loud, so very loud, …and the smell… smoldering flesh mixed with metallic blood. Sam found he couldn't move. He was stuck, planted to the ground. Snakes slid around his feet, their tongues flitting in and out. Large insects fought to climb from his legs, some having already reached his neck. The clicking of beetles paired with crawling, biting fire ants. Under the screams and moans there was the sound of sorrow. Someone was crying, deep and aching. He was sure that the tears must be hot and painful. He knew the feeling. Sweat poured from his head. The salty liquid burned his eyes. He fought to close them, but an invisible captor wouldn't let them fall. He felt a sudden surge of pain in his arm. Sam screamed and tried to get away from the agony, still unable to move.
The pain changed his surroundings. He was no longer stuck to the ground, covered in insects. He was lying, rather uncomfortably, in an old tub, in a bathroom so white it was blinding. The sounds of torture gradually ebbed away, revealing the hushed tones of his brother, ensuring Sam that he was "gonna be okay". Dean was here. That feeling of relief was enough for Sam to let go, falling away from his nightmare into a place where his dreams were of big brothers and safety.
When Sam woke, he was on the faded, blue couch in the living room, barely able to lift his head. How could he be so tired when he just woke up? He flinched suddenly when a cup of water appeared in front of him.
"Drink Sammy." Dean sounded just as tired. He helped Sam hold the cup to his mouth long enough to get half of it down. Placing the cup on the floor, Dean knelt beside the couch. "Care to tell me why you decided to redecorate the bathroom red, Sam?"
Turning his head away from his brother, Sam mumbled, "doesn't matter." Why should he care when Dean didn't?
"'Scuse me?" Dean's voice rose. "What the hell do you mean, Sam? Why doesn't it matter that my brother almost died? If I hadn't gotten up to take a leak, you'd be dead, Sam."
Looking his brother in the eye now, Sam glared. "If it doesn't matter if you get killed, maybe it doesn't matter if I do too."
Fuming, Dean kicked Sam's water cup and sent shards and water flying everywhere. "Are you telling me that you did this on purpose?"
Sam sighed, "Course not. I got… distracted when cleaning the weapons."
"Distracted?" Dean yelled. "Is that what we are calling 'Lucifer-vision' these days?"
Geez, his brother knew him better than he thought. "I… I just… it was a mistake, Dean. I won't let it happen again."
"Damn right you won't let it happen again. I won't let it."
Sam felt tears rising and let them fall. "Does that mean that you'll be around to make sure?" He found himself overcome with emotion and curled up on the couch facing away from his brother.
Dean's hand found Sam's trembling shoulder. Taking him by surprise, Sam grabbed Dean's hand and shot up to a seated position. Close to hysterical, Sam sobbed, "don't get killed Dean. Please, don't get killed! Don't get killed, don't… Don't get killed…" The sudden change in elevation seemed to affect Sam's balance. Not letting go of Dean's hand, he collapsed face-first into his brother's chest. "P… please, De. Don't."
Dean helped Sam lay back down. "Sammy, I'm so sorry. M'not going anywhere."
Sam woke the next morning, feeling more than a little embarrassed and more than a little weak. Dean's big brother senses must have been on high alert. He came in from the kitchen, swatted Sam's feet and sat down on the end of the couch. Handing Sam a cup of coffee and a doughnut, he cleared his throat. "Feelin' better Sammy?"
Sam looked up through his disheveled hair, "yeah. Thanks." Sam shifted, uncomfortably. "I… um, I'm sorry about last night. I wasn't paying enough attention and I… got sloppy."
"Let's make a deal, Sam. Let's both try to avoid being… sloppy again. Okay?"
Sam smiled and nodded his head.
Dean grabbed Sam's wrist to take a look at the stitches. "After all, we've still got work to do, you n' me. We're all that's left and we're gonna finish this job. Just… let me help you and I'll do my best to let you help me."