Tittle: It happened before, this so called misery shaped hole.

Beta: None – All mistakes are mine and I'll be happy if anyone wants to Beta read.

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, Lucifer, OCs

Rating: PG - 13

Word: 2,800

Kink: Angst/schmoop/humour, touching, neediness, PDA.

Warning: violence

Notes: Sorry for the long delay. I've been busy with other fics including the samdean_otp minibang and RBB. I've written few stories with J2 but haven't post it here because I'm thinking this site is only for TV characters not RPF. So, if you wanna read those please visit my journal. ( you can find the address at my profile )

Just open my masterlist you'll find a bunch of RPS ranging from a/b/o, werewolf, mpreg(yes, I wrote those), Non-AU, etc.


It happened before, this so called misery shaped hole

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"Sam, what the hell?" Dean bursts through the motel room door and throws his duffel on one of the beds before rounding up to face Sam who walks more slowly into the room. "Are you saying that this … this madness is because of me?"

"Well, not exactly. But-"

"But it is because of me."

"No, Dean! It's not you, it's me. I'm the one who let him in and now he's scrambling my brain and I don't know how to make it stop."

Sam slumps over on one of the bed, the one without Dean's duffel on it and rubs his face with his palms before propping his elbows on his thighs, face still hidden behind his hands. Sam has told Dean about Lucifer and his sizzling hell fire that seems to follow Sam whenever he goes. No matter what Sam does he won't go away and the hand trick does not work anymore. Dean gathers from the little that his brother told him during their temporary rendezvous at the side road few miles from the motel that Sam has been ignoring the Devil's presence for months now, never engaging his taunts and has been able to shoo away any disturbing images the hallucination brings. Except when Dean's live is in danger. Granted, Dean is never there when that happens but he can remember how frantic Sam has been the few times Dean is almost getting killed. He usually just chalks it up as Sam being his usual bitchy self but maybe there is more serious matter underneath that.

Now, when the breaking point has been breached, there seems to be very limited way for Sam to hold the hell memories at bay.

"And what's the deal with the hand holding thing, anyway?" asks Dean before muttering, "God, It sounds like a cheesy flick," under his breath with a roll of his eyes.

Sam puts down his hands on his lap but avoids Dean's eyes. He keeps his gaze low on the floor and shrugs.

"So?" Dean continues, "you spent every ten minutes or so of our ride here subtly trying to hold my hand …and, and, this morning I believe you held my hand the whole time I was sleeping? … I mean … even if I'm not all yay about the hippie thing but please don't think I'm that stupid or ignorant. I notice things, especially if it's about you. Now spill!"

Sam looks up and meets Dean's eyes. Dean is standing in front of him now, hands folded in front of his chest, eyes hard and demanding. Sam knows he cannot afford to keep it from Dean for much longer because this thing inside his head, this madness is getting harder to control and he knows that sooner or later Dean is bound to know. He takes a deep breath and let it out slowly in a shaky sigh. He avoids looking at his brother's face, afraid of his judgment that he will see there, so fixes his attention on Dean's shoes instead.

Sam always knows that he is a freak. Maybe he was not as accepting as he is now when he was a kid, always running away from his family looking for normal. Neither did he knows that he is the freak all along, what's with the demon blood and psychic power, their family just ride along with it, making the best out of the situation, especially Dean. Yet, despite all that, it is still hurt when Dean thinks of him that way. He cannot control what he is and he just wishes that Dean will stop throwing that on his face every time he does something weird. Of all people, Sam really craves of Dean's acceptance. He already has Dean's unconditional brotherly love but let's just say that Sam is greedy. Well, can anyone blame him?

"It's … when I touch you … seems to go away," explains Sam carefully in a very low voice like he hopes Dean does not hear it but of course he is wrong. Dean has a kind of super hearing when it comes to him anyway. He seems to be able to hear what Sam does not want to say even if Sam does not say it out loud.

"Excuse me?" Dean blinks once and raises his eyebrows.

"It's-"

"No, no, … yeah, I get it but … what the hell? I mean, why?"

Dean's countenance falters. It is comical the way his face twists up in a befuddled expression as his hands spread low in front of him and his body tensed. Sam chances a look at his brother's face in a split second before averting his gaze downward, ready for a blow by blow from his brother. Dean tends to be defensive when he is nervous and out of his element. Everything he says stems from self defense not unlike his bravado crap and cocky smirk bullshit but he never means it. Sam knows Dean never means it but it still stings.

"I'm not sure," Sam whispers.

Dean closes his eyes for a moment feeling like he is thrown into a twilight zone. The last year mishap when they were thrown into a TV land meeting their pseudo self feels nothing compare to this. It really sounds like one of Lisa's bad romance novel that she always read before bedtime. He is aware that their life is weird. There are all kinds of weird up their alley. It is kind of in the job description actually but this? He begins to wonder that Sam is pulling his leg. Perhaps he is so pissed at him because of his annoying habit and jackass attitude lately.

"Well, I'll … I'll get something to eat," says Dean finally, trying to break the suddenly awkward moment between them. He scratch his head as he looks around the room, stalling. "You want anything?"

Sam is fidgeting nervously on the bed with eyes still focused downward. He fiddles with his fingers for few seconds before tentatively reaching them out at Dean. Dean eyebrows rise so high nearly touching his hairline as he stares at Sam's outstretched hand.

"Seriously?" asks Dean, looking at his brother with a disbelieve expression painted clearly his face. Sam's hand is frozen in the air. His other hand squeezes the mattress so hard that he almost rip it off.

Dean cannot see Sam's face as his little brother stubbornly keeps his face down but he recognizes the symptoms already. Even after only a couple of times that it happens before his eyes, he starts to see the pattern now when Sam's defenses or what is left of it crumbles down; the agitation, the irregular breathing, the manic frightened eyes, the tense muscles. It will be soon before the incident in the previous motel or in the car to happen again.

There is tremor runs through Sam's body. Sam is trying to hold it back and curve it but some of it still trembles through his arms and Dean sees that.

"Ughh… for the sake of …"

Dean snatches Sam's retreating hand before his brother takes it back to his lap to wallow miserably in silence. Dean has had enough of that. Secret never ends well in their family's history. All of those crazy things happened back then mostly because there were too many secrets between them. Mom's secret deal, Dad's secrets… everything, the man had lots of them that put titanic iceberg to shame honestly and not to mention Sam's secret. His little brother really is a bitch in keeping secret. So now, no matter how bad it is, Dean wants to know all of them and become unreceptive of Sam's pain is not the way to gain Sam's trust to open up to him.

As their hands touch, Sam's quickly latches on it putting his other hand on top of Dean's and hold it fast as if he would fall down back to hell if he does not do it. Perhaps he really would, in his head at least. Dean lets his brother take as much comfort as he need before telling him to rest as he goes out to buy some coffee and food for them. He promises to return soon after gaining Sam's assurance that he will be okay for the next fifteen minutes.

o

Sammy wakes up suddenly. There is a tap-tap-tap sound on the window across his bed that sounds really scary. Sammy's heart beats faster and faster and his breath is quickening as the tap-tap-tap sound seems to get louder and fills the room. He looks to his right and sees his brother's back half covered under the blanket. He scoots to his brother's side of the bed and shakes his shoulder. "Dean … Dean wake up," whispers Sammy tearfully. "I think the mummy's coming get me. He's outside window. Dean…"

Then, a very loud trapping sound from the window makes Sammy jumps up in surprise and he starts to whimper, his lower lips trembles and his eyes watery. He shakes his brother's shoulder harder as his eyes glued to the dark skeleton like hand shadow on the window's curtain. Dean wipes his eyes blearily as he looks over his shoulder to see his baby brother of four years old crying behind him. "Whas'it Sammy?"

"Hiks … Dean…" Sammy's little hand trembled when he points his trembling finger at the window where the skeleton-like hand makes random tapping sound on the window.

"Huh?" says Sammy's big brother articulately. He is still half awake but he rubs his eyes and swings his feet off the bed anyway, intent to investigate the shadowy entity on the window.

Sammy hides his face on his brother's back and wraps his little arms around Dean's torso. "No, Dean! He's gets you too!"

"It's ok, Sammy. He won't get me. I promise!"

Dean entangles his brother's arms from his body then reaches under his pillow for his pocket knife, a birthday presents from his dad, and a shotgun beside the bed. He slips the knife between his waistbands and holds up the shotgun with both hands before taking careful steps towards the window, hands steady.

They are currently staying in a rent house for a few months already and their father has left this morning promising to return the next day. The shadow at the window seems to be getting bigger and longer as Dean reaches the middle of the room. He hears Sammy frightened gasps as the shadow made another loud knock on the glass window. In a split second, he remembers the incident few months back when their father was hunting a sthriga. The son of a bitch almost got Sammy at the time and Dean vowed that he will kill it the next time he sees it. Perhaps the sthriga has come for its unfinished business. Well, Dean is sure to finish it off this time.

When he stands near the window, his shotgun's muzzle touching the curtain, he realizes that something doesn't add up. The shadow seems to sway unsteadily outside the window making its shadowy image contorted in a weird looking way. Dean frowns. He glances at the unbroken salt line on the windowsill before reaching for his pocket knife. He balance the shotgun in one hand by pressing the handle on his chest for leverage as he fishes his pocket knife from his waistband. He clicks the knife open and in a quick slash pushes aside the curtain to reveal tree branches knocking on the glass window as it is swayed by the wind. Dean takes a relieved sigh which accompanied by an eye roll for the silliness.

"It's okay, Sammy. Just tree branches," Dean calls out to his little brother. He takes down his shotgun and lines it up against the wall under the window frame before opening the lock and lifting the sliding up. He takes a handful of the tree branches and cuts them off with his knife before closing and locking it back. He checks the salt line for few seconds before snatching back his shotgun and returning to bed. Sammy looks up hopefully at him.

"Go back to sleep, squirt," Dean tells his little brother. He puts back his knife under his pillow and arranging his shotgun under the bed as Sammy looks back at the window, now devoid of wickedly shadow.

"No mummies?" asks little Sammy in a whispery voice.

"No," answers Dean as he climbs back to bed shoving Sammy off his side of the bed but his little brother springs back and latches his arms around him as he settles on bed.

"It was scary Dean," whimpers as he burrows his face on Dean's chest.

"Freak! You're such a crybaby and a burden."

Sammy looks up with a pained expression on his chubby face. "Why d'you say that?"

"Because that's what you are! I never ask for a little brother like you. You're just a burden for everybody. I hope you're never been born and spare us all the misery that you caused!"

Dean shoved Sammy off him then jumps off the bed, a cruel and sinister smirk on his face. Sammy is crying now. He is shocked that his big brother, the only person that Sammy adores and worships above all else even slightly above his daddy, says those evil words at him. He cries out at Dean and lifts up his arms reaching for his big brother but Dean just steps further back with a mocking laughter ringing in Sammy's ears.

"You deserve in hell, Sammy!" shouts Dean, eyes full of hatred towards his little brother.

As if on cue, the bed starts to catch fire. It is starting from the foot of the bed and quickly spread around trapping Sammy in it. The little boy is screaming and crying for his brother both hands reaching out to beg for help but Dean is just laughing at him.

"Deeeeeeannnnnn…"

The fire catches up to Sammy's outstretched hands and runs along his skinny arms. He screams and screams but his voice is unheard among the crackles of fire around him. The fire is eating up his body and licking his face. Pain like he never felt before wracking his nerve endings and overloading his brain with jolts of electroshock until it also burned out. The room is reshaping into a hook filled cage and the bed grows chain-like tentacles that shackle his limbs, trapping him to the burning bed.

The door to the motel room opens suddenly and Dean is running in. He is immediately beside Sam's bed wrapping his palms around Sam's face, calling out his name over and over. But Sam is long gone, trapped in the throes of his memories. His body has gone rigid with limbs that are spread over the bed and all his muscles nearly popping out of his skin. His screaming has not abated ever since Dean entered the room and it has gone ten minutes since then.

"Sam, please … please … Sammy…"

Dean's voice trembles. He feels so lost that he is willing to do anything to get his brother out of his suffering. After all, he sold his soul for his brother. What more could be worse than that? He is at the last of his rope. Dean does not want to believe Sam's confessions earlier about the way his touch seems to ground Sam and keep him in coherence. Not because he is disgusted over the touching but merely because he does not have that much opinion about himself. He does not have a healing power like the angels nor does he have empathy. He is just Dean, Sam's big brother. Nothing more. Even he is suck at it, in his opinion. How many times he let his brother died or in danger of dying? He let Sam got seduced by a demon, got addicted by demon's blood, went to hell and now this suffering is somehow because of him. He does nothing but ruin everything in his wake. Trailing pain and misery everywhere he goes and worse, he drags his little brother with him just because he does not want to be alone. Dean is always a firm believer that he deserves hell … but not Sam. No, not Sam. Not his little brother.

There is no one to ask for help, no guidance, and no nothing. There is nothing left to do but to heave Sam's stiff body and hold him in his arms. Dean hugs Sam close to him, buries Sam's face in his neck to dampen his unrelenting screaming and grip him tight with one hand around his shoulder and fingers in his hair. Then, he starts rocking. A swaying motion that starts small, just a small movement to the left and right followed by a humming. At first, the tone is random. Then, Dean remembers Hey Jude. It has been a very long time since the last time he sang that song to a sleepy Sammy.

Dean does not count the time but after a while Sam's muscles gradually loosens. His screaming is reduced to raspy whimpers and ragged breathing. It feels like years before Sam's arms slowly wound around Dean's back, holding as tight and as desperate as Dean holds him.

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