Fic: Ramble on through to a Happier You
Sep. 6th, 2010 07:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mya_rofkiTitle: Ramble on through to a Happier You
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mya_rofki
Rating: PG-13
Words: about 4,000
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby
Warnings: Bad language, Little bit of blood
Spoilers: Heart
Summary: Set some unspecific time post-Heart. AU. Sam gets attacked by a monster. Then Sam and Dean have to figure out what it was, and how to deal with the consequences.
Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I'm not making any money off of this.
Authors Note: Unbetaed and written fast, so definitely not perfect. (If you see any typos, feel free to point them out. :) Written for my "Supernatural" Angst Bingo Square.
Sam wakes to an empty bed. His heart jumps as he registers the lack of wet nose on his neck, breaths panting across his skin, and rustling beside him. He’s surprised, both that the bed is empty, and that he woke up at all.
He can hear birds chirping outside, and the room’s light enough to see by, though still dim enough to mean early morning. He carefully turns his head and looks around. Dean’s laid out on his back partway down the other bed, feet dangling off the end, no pillow beneath his head. For the instant before he sees Dean’s chest rising, he knows in his gut that Dean came in unawares last night and was killed by the monster. Then he sees that Dean’s breathing and wrenches himself upright, convinced now that Dean’s mortally wounded, bleeding from the side Sam can’t see.
He darts a quick look around the room, listens hard, but the bathroom door is open, and unless the creature’s hiding down in the bathtub, he’s not in there.
He looks Dean over carefully, but there doesn’t seem to be any visible damage, and his breathing is smooth and deep. He puts his fingers on Dean’s neck to take his pulse, and Dean snaps awake, grabs his arms, and flips them so that Sam’s beneath him on the floor.
“Dean!” Sam shouts, alarmed.
“Jesus fuck, Sammy!” Dean shouts back. He stands up and pulls a hand through his hair, half groggy, half bursting with adrenaline. “Wow, Sam, what the hell? You know I don’t wanna wake up to your big ugly mug in my face... and what the hell happened to you? You look like you fell in a shark tank!” Fear-driven anger gives way to concern-driven anger with barely a hitch.
Sam looks down at himself, the twenty or so scratches, small and shallow, that adorn his chest, shoulders, neck, wrists, even his calves and ankles from the monster’s foot-talons.
“There was something here,” he answers, eyes stuck on the damage. There’s nothing serious, but altogether the effect leaves him breathless and off-kilter. “Where were you last night? When- What time did you get home?”
“What? Something was here?” Dean looks pretty off-kilter himself. “What do you mean there was something here?”
“Something, man, whatever’s been ripping people apart. It was here. It attacked me. I don’t really know why I’m not dead right now.” Sam stumbles to his feet and look around the room again, more carefully this time.
He should be dead. He should be cold and in pieces by now. He hustles over to the door and takes a close look at it. The lock is engaged, and the doorframe isn’t splintered.
"I got back around 2:30," Dean's saying behind him. "Stopped for a couple drinks first, you know? There wasn't any freaking thing in the room then. You were asleep alone on the bed, and I didn't wanna wake you so I never turned on the light. Jesus, Sam, I just brushed my teeth and went to sleep. Fuck. There was something here?"
There are a few light scratches in the doorknob and the paint surrounding it. They might have been there before, but they look pretty fresh. He thinks about those claws slicing into him, but not deep enough to even produce cuts that will scar, and he swallows down fear. There’s something wrong about a creature that big and aggressive also being that... delicate.
Sam knows he and Dean locked the door behind them when they left yesterday. The creature didn’t just break it’s way in. It either unlocked the door, or picked it, then relocked it and lay in wait for him. Then it held him down, tore off his clothes piece by piece, frickin sniffed him all over, waited til he fell asleep, and left again before Dean got back, without waking him. And it must have relocked the door behind it so Dean wasn’t suspicious, must have known what time Dean was coming home, or moved so fast...
“Hey, Earth to Sam! I would really love to be filled in on what the hell happened okay? Now, please.”
Dean’s hand comes down on Sam’s shoulder and he flinches and whirls.
“Woah,” Dean says quietly. “Just me.”
Sam nods and swallows. “I got back from the library around 9:30,” he begins to explain, striding into the bathroom just to check. Nothing there. “The door was definitely locked. I remember unlocking it.”
He comes back into the bedroom and finally hunts up some boxers. Not that Dean hasn’t seen it all before, but Sam is really not a fan of being naked right now.
“I stepped in, I shut the door behind me, I reached for the light switch and boom, something hit me. It was like, snarling, grabbed me and dragged me to the bed. It was big, probably seven feet tall. Strong. Claws, fangs, dark fur. Could’ve been a werewolf, maybe. Could’ve been something else. I never got a real good look at it. It got pissed when I tried to get away, but when I finally lay still it just, uh, it just lay down beside me. I went to sleep, and when I woke up ten minutes ago, it was gone, and you were back.” Sam shrugs and stops staring at the blood dotted sheets long enough to check how Dean’s taking it.
Dean’s brow is furrowed and his mouth is grim. Wordlessly he comes over and begins inspecting Sam’s skin. He looks at every scratch before he speaks.
“It bite you?” he asks, low, eyes fixed on Sam’s throat.
“I, uh, I don’t think it the broke skin,” Sam reassures faintly. His fingers raise up to feel his neck before he’s even aware of it. It had closed its jaws there, once, without breaking skin. But God, what if it bit him again, after he fell asleep? Or maybe during the struggle, something he thought was claws but was actually teeth? What if it didn’t kill him, was so fascinated by him, because... because it was thinking they were family now? Sam feels like he’s going to be sick.
*****
The drive to Bobby’s is tense and long. They need to make it before nightfall. Sam tells himself Dean’s just focusing on the road, and that’s why his brother doesn’t seem able to meet his eyes. He tells himself they’re just being careful, that he would’ve felt it if the creature had bitten him, that he would feel different if it had changed him, that they don’t even know it was a werewolf.
Until the damn thing had jumped him, werewolf had never crossed either of their minds. The slayings weren’t even bound to the lunar cycle. So, it couldn’t be a werewolf as they defined the term, and therefore even if it had bitten him it meant absolutely nothing. Not one thing.
Dean’s music blasts, but Dean doesn’t sing along to a single word.
About fifteen minutes from Bobby’s, Dean turns down the music and turns to Sam. “It’s gonna be alright,” he says, clears his throat roughly. “Whatever happens, we’ll just deal with it. S’not the end of the world.”
“Dean,” Sam answers disapprovingly. “I could have been bitten. I could have been infected and we don’t even know exactly with what. Let’s just- Save the pep talk, okay?”
“Sam,” Dean says.
He pulls the Impala smoothly over to the shoulder, and Sam feels his eyes bug out of his head. They’re racing daylight to get to Bobby’s, and Dean wants to pull over and have a talk, now?
“Whatever happens, I will get you through it. You got me? This is not some kind of ‘kill you to save you’ situation-”
“Dean-”
“No.” Dean glares at him, eyes dark and glittering in the gathering dusk. “If the situation were reversed and it was me we weren’t sure of, you’d be telling me the exact same thing right now, and you’d mean every word of it. Or do you see yourself putting me down like that Madison chick?”
Sam jerks his face away to glare fiercely out the window. Madison’s been playing around the edges of his mind this whole car ride, but until Dean brought her up, he’d managed not to name her. Now her face is in front of his eyes: tearstricken, doomed.
“Well, do you?” Dean asks, surprise creeping into his voice.
“Of course not,” Sam spits, whirling around. “But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be the right thing to do!”
Dean stares at him, long and hard. Then he surprises Sam by reaching out and cupping a hand around the back of his neck, a move that’s more Dad than Dean.
“Hey,” he says, giving Sam a gentle shake. “It’s gonna be okay. Whatever happens, it’ll be fine.”
Sam snorts at the obvious lie, then ducks his head to blink back a few tears in privacy. Dean ruffles the hand through his hair and withdraws it.
“Shit, we better get,” he grumbles. “Bobby’s gonna be waiting on the porch with his gun cocked at this rate.”
*****
Bobby’s grim and weary all evening. Pretty much the way Sam feels, though below that he’s got a running current of terror that he doubts Bobby can even come close to right now.
Dean is curiously upbeat. Sam’s always known Dean was the number one person he wanted at his side in a crisis, but that’s never been because of his Pollyanna attitude. Sam guesses it’s just an attempt to cheer him up through sheer force of personality. Or else some kind of mania. Pure panic distilled into smiles and jokes.
Dean makes them all big thick burgers, though Sam can only get about halfway through his, and pulls a whiskey bottle out of somewhere in the Impala, and refreshes Bobby and Sam’s drinks steadily, and talks enough that in Sam’s alcohol sodden mind it’s possible to forget for whole minutes at a time about the heat Bobby and Dean are packing, and the careful way they won’t let him out of their sight for a single second.
It certainly comes back to him when Dean accompanies him to take a piss, and makes him leave the door open. But even then, Dean tries to make it better, talks to him the whole time about fuel injectors or something.
By the time midnight rolls around, Sam’s drunk enough to hardly even register Dean slapping cuffs on his wrists as he tucks him into bed.
*****
He wakes up the next morning with a dry mouth and the need to piss like a racehorse. Dean’s perched in a chair in the corner, tranq gun across his lap, eyes on Sam. Bobby’s sprawled in the other bed, snoring.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean grins, just as jolly as the night before.
“I’m okay?” Sam asks, heart in his throat.
“I watched you all friggin night,” Dean answers. “You owe me big for this one. You know that, right?”
Sam laughs with relief and Bobby snorts in his sleep.
*****
They stay at Bobby’s for two more nights, researching big hairy monsters for hours on end. Bobby does several purification rituals on Sam, just in case, but nothing’s as tense after that first night. The real problem is just that they don’t have enough information to narrow anything down. Big teeth and claws get them nowhere. They can eliminate really stupid things, because clearly the monster had some intellect, but even after Sam mentions the weird way it wanted to just sit and smell him, they can’t make anything of that but that maybe it was a smart monster that had gone insane. Nothing they find says anything about a creature sitting around, sniffing its victims to death.
The day the monster attacked Sam, he’d been at the library researching until closing time, while Dean had driven a couple hours to the next nearest ranger station to see if the creature’s range might have been bigger than they’d originally thought. Sam had gotten bupkis at the library, not a single local legend about a wolfman or a black dog or anything. Dean grouches that the rangers were no help either, when Sam finally thinks to ask him about that. No surprise there. If Dean had found something out in the woods, he’d have said so without needing to be asked.
So, after three days at Bobby’s, they decide there’s nothing for it but to head back the way they came, right back into the thing’s territory, with no more idea what it is than they had to start with. Before they leave, they extract a promise from Bobby that he’ll keep researching, and he extracts a promise from them that they’ll keep cuffing Sam to the bed at night until at least a full month has passed. He doesn’t want them taking chances.
Dean’s strange good cheer dissipates the morning they leave. He tries to pretend nothing’s changed, but Sam can tell he’s tense climbing into the car. He's sure Dean hates the thought of heading back into the creature’s territory, totally clueless and unprepared, just as much as Sam does. He can’t forget how it felt to have those massive jaws close around his throat when he tried to struggle, how the creature patiently waited til he’d given up before it sniffed every inch of skin, from behind his ears to his freaking groin. It has his scent now, that he knows. And he wonders if the other victims had a similar nighttime visit, maybe something they chalked up to a bad dream, before the creature came back for them a second time and they realized that what they’d thought was a terrible nightmare was all true.
*****
Dean stands alone in Bobby’s kitchen, watching the old man hug his brother goodbye. Probably for the last time, though neither of them know it. He watches himself slip a sedative into Sam’s coffee for the road, and it’s like he’s watching someone else do it, someone colder, and stronger, and wiser. He has to work hard to stop his hand from trembling as he slips it into Sam’s cupholder. It’s for Sammy’s own good. He just has to keep that one fact in mind.
After all that, Sam takes two sips and then he’s so deep into his book he’s forgotten what coffee even is, much less that he has some, lovingly prepared just how he likes it by his brother. Of course he does. He's Sam, and he's always got to make things hard.
Dean’s sweating bullets by the time they pull into a rest stop, an hour after leaving Bobby’s. They’ve been heading the wrong way, and good book or not, Sam will notice eventually, which Dean really needs Sam not to do. He needs to protect Sam from this until they’re somewhere Dean can handle it, somewhere safe. Just the two of them.
Sam, of course, takes one more sip of his cold coffee, wrinkles his nose, and pops out of the car to dump it in the trash.
Dean asks him what he wants to drink, and he shrugs and says he’ll pick something out, that he’s gotta run in and pee anyway. Dean has to follow close on his heels and hover while he picks out a soda, has to distract him with a steady flow of nonsense, so he won’t ask why the hell Dean isn’t filling the car. Sam finally picks something, and Dean immediately takes it from him and sends him to the bathroom.
Dean pays for the soda, heads straight back out to the car, pops it open and throws in a new dose of roofies.
He’s just raised it to his own mouth when Sam emerges.
“Hey,” Sam grumps, “Get your own.”
“Fine. Fine,” Dean says and hands it off, brushes past him with his heart pounding. If this doesn’t work, Dean may have to resort to more drastic measures. But the thought of hurting Sam is unbearable.
Dean watches Sam through the window as he pays for his own soda. He’s standing propped on the open car door, reading his book. He’s got his soda in his hand. Dean’s heart gives a hard thump as he takes a swallow. He drinks with his eyes glued to the page, like if he looks away for a minute he’ll miss part of the story. He’s oblivious to the outside world, to Dean watching him, to what he’s just ingested.
“One seventy-five’s your change,” the clerk drones.
Dean stares at him. His skin itches under the clerk’s dull gaze, this idiot who thinks he’s just like them. Probably thinks his problems are just like theirs, except worse. Everybody always thinks their problems are worse. Dean wants to reach across the counter and get right up in his face, tell him he doesn’t know a goddam thing about problems and then go to town on him. It would be so easy. He could take this guy apart, and then this awful crawling feeling would settle, and Dean could face the rest of the day calmly, do what he has to do problem-free. Sure. He waves his change off and hightails it out of the store.
Sam chose Mountain Dew. Dean got a Coke. That’s Dean’s excuse to try to steal Sam’s drink every time he forgets about it again, and within fifteen minutes it’s halfway gone. Dean's gut starts to unwind as the level drops, and he figures he should be more than a little proud of himself. It’s not so easy to get Sam to eat or drink anything fast. Especially when he knows he’ll be stuck in the car the rest of the day, he likes to draw his drinks and snacks out, eat each M&M individually, shit like that. It used to drive Dean and Dad crazy, watching him. Dean used to feel righteous stealing food from him, since he was just doing it to teach him a lesson. His whole life he’s tried to help Sam, whether Sam thought it was good for him or not. He’s always known the best way to help Sam.
Sam yawns. Dean make another subtle reach for his soda, and Sam snaps his mouth closed and slams his hand around it.
“Aw, c’mon Sammy. Didn’t you ever learn how to share?” Dean’s surprised by his own easy tone. He’s pretty sure Sam can’t possibly tell anything’s weird at all.
Sam glares at him and blinks a few times.
“I’m not gonna stop, you know? Just give up and give me the soda now. There’s no way to protect it long term, and next time you get lost in your book I’m gonna be all over that Mountain Dew like flies on crap.”
Sammy deliberately raises the bottle to his lips, chugs most of the rest down. Some dribbles out of his mouth as he finishes, and he blinks blearily down at the spill in his lap.
“Shit,” he slurs.
“Sammy?” Dean asks. “Somethin’ wrong?” Sam blinks at him and leans back against the seat. It takes him a minute to answer
“Somethin’s weird,” he says. “I’m dizzy.” His soda begins listing to port in his lax hand.
“Hey, woah, don’t let this spill,” Dean says, and plucks it from his grasp. “You tired, Sammy? Why don’t you take a nap, okay?”
He eases the car off towards the side of the road. As soon as he’s unconscious, Dean’ll need to secure him.
Sam blinks at him from where his head lolls against the seatback, too heavy for him to hold up anymore. Dean sees the dawning knowledge in his eyes.
“Dean?” he asks.
“Yeah Sammy?”
“Wha’s going on?”
“You’re just tired and you need to rest Sammy, that’s all,” Dean says, but he doesn’t have the will to really sell it, and he guesses he isn’t surprised when Sam doesn’t buy it.
“Why’m I so tired, Dean? Didjoo give me somethin’? I... Oh..." Sam whispers. "Oh my God...” Sam's eyes widen in horror. His voice gets really shaky. “You- you lied... I changed th' other night, didn’ I?”
His eyes search Dean’s face, lids drooping. He’s panting, scared to death, and struggling to keep himself awake. Dean could let him go under without telling him. That’s how he planned it. He finds he can't be alone with the truth any more.
He takes a deep breath, shakes his head. “I’m the one who changed, Sammy.”
Dean can see the second he gets it, how his eyes open wide. His right hand fumbles weakly at the doorhandle while his left tries for his seatbelt release. Tries and misses. Dean covers it with his own and pops the belt. He tugs Sam’s struggling body towards him. He pulls him down on his back, head in Dean’s lap. It’s easy to position Sam how he wants him. He’s discoordinated, and Dean has three or four times his old strength, these days.
“Dean. No,” Sam moans, lids sliding shut as fast as he can flutter them open again. Dean notes his ragged breathing, and circles his fingers around Sam’s wrist to take his pulse. He can feel Sam’s blood surge sluggishly beneath his delicate skin. It feels good. The tension has leaked out of Dean as he’s gained control of the situation, and he could spend all day like this, but, miles to go before he sleeps, and all that.
There’s a cabin four hundred miles away that not even Bobby’s aware of, old place where Dean and Dad had a hunt once. The monster killed the owner before they killed it. The place isn’t much, one old loner’s shack in the forest. Judging by the amount of whiskey the guy seemed to drink, he was probably miserable there, even before he died gruesomely. But that forest was the most beautiful place Dean had ever seen, and Dean thinks it’ll be different with two there to keep each other company. Even if one of them's not so happy about it, starting out.
Sam’s lashes flutter once more, eyes so unfocused Dean doubts he can make out more than the barest outline above him. He arches weakly. Dean holds him gently in place until his body slumps back down. His eyes slip shut and his breath finally evens out.
“Don’t sweat it,” Dean says, and brushes hair back off his face. “I’ve got it under control, Sammy.”
Author:
mya_rofkiRating: PG-13
Words: about 4,000
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby
Warnings: Bad language, Little bit of blood
Spoilers: Heart
Summary: Set some unspecific time post-Heart. AU. Sam gets attacked by a monster. Then Sam and Dean have to figure out what it was, and how to deal with the consequences.
Disclaimer: These are not my characters. I'm not making any money off of this.
Authors Note: Unbetaed and written fast, so definitely not perfect. (If you see any typos, feel free to point them out. :) Written for my "Supernatural" Angst Bingo Square.
Sam wakes to an empty bed. His heart jumps as he registers the lack of wet nose on his neck, breaths panting across his skin, and rustling beside him. He’s surprised, both that the bed is empty, and that he woke up at all.
He can hear birds chirping outside, and the room’s light enough to see by, though still dim enough to mean early morning. He carefully turns his head and looks around. Dean’s laid out on his back partway down the other bed, feet dangling off the end, no pillow beneath his head. For the instant before he sees Dean’s chest rising, he knows in his gut that Dean came in unawares last night and was killed by the monster. Then he sees that Dean’s breathing and wrenches himself upright, convinced now that Dean’s mortally wounded, bleeding from the side Sam can’t see.
He darts a quick look around the room, listens hard, but the bathroom door is open, and unless the creature’s hiding down in the bathtub, he’s not in there.
He looks Dean over carefully, but there doesn’t seem to be any visible damage, and his breathing is smooth and deep. He puts his fingers on Dean’s neck to take his pulse, and Dean snaps awake, grabs his arms, and flips them so that Sam’s beneath him on the floor.
“Dean!” Sam shouts, alarmed.
“Jesus fuck, Sammy!” Dean shouts back. He stands up and pulls a hand through his hair, half groggy, half bursting with adrenaline. “Wow, Sam, what the hell? You know I don’t wanna wake up to your big ugly mug in my face... and what the hell happened to you? You look like you fell in a shark tank!” Fear-driven anger gives way to concern-driven anger with barely a hitch.
Sam looks down at himself, the twenty or so scratches, small and shallow, that adorn his chest, shoulders, neck, wrists, even his calves and ankles from the monster’s foot-talons.
“There was something here,” he answers, eyes stuck on the damage. There’s nothing serious, but altogether the effect leaves him breathless and off-kilter. “Where were you last night? When- What time did you get home?”
“What? Something was here?” Dean looks pretty off-kilter himself. “What do you mean there was something here?”
“Something, man, whatever’s been ripping people apart. It was here. It attacked me. I don’t really know why I’m not dead right now.” Sam stumbles to his feet and look around the room again, more carefully this time.
He should be dead. He should be cold and in pieces by now. He hustles over to the door and takes a close look at it. The lock is engaged, and the doorframe isn’t splintered.
"I got back around 2:30," Dean's saying behind him. "Stopped for a couple drinks first, you know? There wasn't any freaking thing in the room then. You were asleep alone on the bed, and I didn't wanna wake you so I never turned on the light. Jesus, Sam, I just brushed my teeth and went to sleep. Fuck. There was something here?"
There are a few light scratches in the doorknob and the paint surrounding it. They might have been there before, but they look pretty fresh. He thinks about those claws slicing into him, but not deep enough to even produce cuts that will scar, and he swallows down fear. There’s something wrong about a creature that big and aggressive also being that... delicate.
Sam knows he and Dean locked the door behind them when they left yesterday. The creature didn’t just break it’s way in. It either unlocked the door, or picked it, then relocked it and lay in wait for him. Then it held him down, tore off his clothes piece by piece, frickin sniffed him all over, waited til he fell asleep, and left again before Dean got back, without waking him. And it must have relocked the door behind it so Dean wasn’t suspicious, must have known what time Dean was coming home, or moved so fast...
“Hey, Earth to Sam! I would really love to be filled in on what the hell happened okay? Now, please.”
Dean’s hand comes down on Sam’s shoulder and he flinches and whirls.
“Woah,” Dean says quietly. “Just me.”
Sam nods and swallows. “I got back from the library around 9:30,” he begins to explain, striding into the bathroom just to check. Nothing there. “The door was definitely locked. I remember unlocking it.”
He comes back into the bedroom and finally hunts up some boxers. Not that Dean hasn’t seen it all before, but Sam is really not a fan of being naked right now.
“I stepped in, I shut the door behind me, I reached for the light switch and boom, something hit me. It was like, snarling, grabbed me and dragged me to the bed. It was big, probably seven feet tall. Strong. Claws, fangs, dark fur. Could’ve been a werewolf, maybe. Could’ve been something else. I never got a real good look at it. It got pissed when I tried to get away, but when I finally lay still it just, uh, it just lay down beside me. I went to sleep, and when I woke up ten minutes ago, it was gone, and you were back.” Sam shrugs and stops staring at the blood dotted sheets long enough to check how Dean’s taking it.
Dean’s brow is furrowed and his mouth is grim. Wordlessly he comes over and begins inspecting Sam’s skin. He looks at every scratch before he speaks.
“It bite you?” he asks, low, eyes fixed on Sam’s throat.
“I, uh, I don’t think it the broke skin,” Sam reassures faintly. His fingers raise up to feel his neck before he’s even aware of it. It had closed its jaws there, once, without breaking skin. But God, what if it bit him again, after he fell asleep? Or maybe during the struggle, something he thought was claws but was actually teeth? What if it didn’t kill him, was so fascinated by him, because... because it was thinking they were family now? Sam feels like he’s going to be sick.
*****
The drive to Bobby’s is tense and long. They need to make it before nightfall. Sam tells himself Dean’s just focusing on the road, and that’s why his brother doesn’t seem able to meet his eyes. He tells himself they’re just being careful, that he would’ve felt it if the creature had bitten him, that he would feel different if it had changed him, that they don’t even know it was a werewolf.
Until the damn thing had jumped him, werewolf had never crossed either of their minds. The slayings weren’t even bound to the lunar cycle. So, it couldn’t be a werewolf as they defined the term, and therefore even if it had bitten him it meant absolutely nothing. Not one thing.
Dean’s music blasts, but Dean doesn’t sing along to a single word.
About fifteen minutes from Bobby’s, Dean turns down the music and turns to Sam. “It’s gonna be alright,” he says, clears his throat roughly. “Whatever happens, we’ll just deal with it. S’not the end of the world.”
“Dean,” Sam answers disapprovingly. “I could have been bitten. I could have been infected and we don’t even know exactly with what. Let’s just- Save the pep talk, okay?”
“Sam,” Dean says.
He pulls the Impala smoothly over to the shoulder, and Sam feels his eyes bug out of his head. They’re racing daylight to get to Bobby’s, and Dean wants to pull over and have a talk, now?
“Whatever happens, I will get you through it. You got me? This is not some kind of ‘kill you to save you’ situation-”
“Dean-”
“No.” Dean glares at him, eyes dark and glittering in the gathering dusk. “If the situation were reversed and it was me we weren’t sure of, you’d be telling me the exact same thing right now, and you’d mean every word of it. Or do you see yourself putting me down like that Madison chick?”
Sam jerks his face away to glare fiercely out the window. Madison’s been playing around the edges of his mind this whole car ride, but until Dean brought her up, he’d managed not to name her. Now her face is in front of his eyes: tearstricken, doomed.
“Well, do you?” Dean asks, surprise creeping into his voice.
“Of course not,” Sam spits, whirling around. “But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be the right thing to do!”
Dean stares at him, long and hard. Then he surprises Sam by reaching out and cupping a hand around the back of his neck, a move that’s more Dad than Dean.
“Hey,” he says, giving Sam a gentle shake. “It’s gonna be okay. Whatever happens, it’ll be fine.”
Sam snorts at the obvious lie, then ducks his head to blink back a few tears in privacy. Dean ruffles the hand through his hair and withdraws it.
“Shit, we better get,” he grumbles. “Bobby’s gonna be waiting on the porch with his gun cocked at this rate.”
*****
Bobby’s grim and weary all evening. Pretty much the way Sam feels, though below that he’s got a running current of terror that he doubts Bobby can even come close to right now.
Dean is curiously upbeat. Sam’s always known Dean was the number one person he wanted at his side in a crisis, but that’s never been because of his Pollyanna attitude. Sam guesses it’s just an attempt to cheer him up through sheer force of personality. Or else some kind of mania. Pure panic distilled into smiles and jokes.
Dean makes them all big thick burgers, though Sam can only get about halfway through his, and pulls a whiskey bottle out of somewhere in the Impala, and refreshes Bobby and Sam’s drinks steadily, and talks enough that in Sam’s alcohol sodden mind it’s possible to forget for whole minutes at a time about the heat Bobby and Dean are packing, and the careful way they won’t let him out of their sight for a single second.
It certainly comes back to him when Dean accompanies him to take a piss, and makes him leave the door open. But even then, Dean tries to make it better, talks to him the whole time about fuel injectors or something.
By the time midnight rolls around, Sam’s drunk enough to hardly even register Dean slapping cuffs on his wrists as he tucks him into bed.
*****
He wakes up the next morning with a dry mouth and the need to piss like a racehorse. Dean’s perched in a chair in the corner, tranq gun across his lap, eyes on Sam. Bobby’s sprawled in the other bed, snoring.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean grins, just as jolly as the night before.
“I’m okay?” Sam asks, heart in his throat.
“I watched you all friggin night,” Dean answers. “You owe me big for this one. You know that, right?”
Sam laughs with relief and Bobby snorts in his sleep.
*****
They stay at Bobby’s for two more nights, researching big hairy monsters for hours on end. Bobby does several purification rituals on Sam, just in case, but nothing’s as tense after that first night. The real problem is just that they don’t have enough information to narrow anything down. Big teeth and claws get them nowhere. They can eliminate really stupid things, because clearly the monster had some intellect, but even after Sam mentions the weird way it wanted to just sit and smell him, they can’t make anything of that but that maybe it was a smart monster that had gone insane. Nothing they find says anything about a creature sitting around, sniffing its victims to death.
The day the monster attacked Sam, he’d been at the library researching until closing time, while Dean had driven a couple hours to the next nearest ranger station to see if the creature’s range might have been bigger than they’d originally thought. Sam had gotten bupkis at the library, not a single local legend about a wolfman or a black dog or anything. Dean grouches that the rangers were no help either, when Sam finally thinks to ask him about that. No surprise there. If Dean had found something out in the woods, he’d have said so without needing to be asked.
So, after three days at Bobby’s, they decide there’s nothing for it but to head back the way they came, right back into the thing’s territory, with no more idea what it is than they had to start with. Before they leave, they extract a promise from Bobby that he’ll keep researching, and he extracts a promise from them that they’ll keep cuffing Sam to the bed at night until at least a full month has passed. He doesn’t want them taking chances.
Dean’s strange good cheer dissipates the morning they leave. He tries to pretend nothing’s changed, but Sam can tell he’s tense climbing into the car. He's sure Dean hates the thought of heading back into the creature’s territory, totally clueless and unprepared, just as much as Sam does. He can’t forget how it felt to have those massive jaws close around his throat when he tried to struggle, how the creature patiently waited til he’d given up before it sniffed every inch of skin, from behind his ears to his freaking groin. It has his scent now, that he knows. And he wonders if the other victims had a similar nighttime visit, maybe something they chalked up to a bad dream, before the creature came back for them a second time and they realized that what they’d thought was a terrible nightmare was all true.
*****
Dean stands alone in Bobby’s kitchen, watching the old man hug his brother goodbye. Probably for the last time, though neither of them know it. He watches himself slip a sedative into Sam’s coffee for the road, and it’s like he’s watching someone else do it, someone colder, and stronger, and wiser. He has to work hard to stop his hand from trembling as he slips it into Sam’s cupholder. It’s for Sammy’s own good. He just has to keep that one fact in mind.
After all that, Sam takes two sips and then he’s so deep into his book he’s forgotten what coffee even is, much less that he has some, lovingly prepared just how he likes it by his brother. Of course he does. He's Sam, and he's always got to make things hard.
Dean’s sweating bullets by the time they pull into a rest stop, an hour after leaving Bobby’s. They’ve been heading the wrong way, and good book or not, Sam will notice eventually, which Dean really needs Sam not to do. He needs to protect Sam from this until they’re somewhere Dean can handle it, somewhere safe. Just the two of them.
Sam, of course, takes one more sip of his cold coffee, wrinkles his nose, and pops out of the car to dump it in the trash.
Dean asks him what he wants to drink, and he shrugs and says he’ll pick something out, that he’s gotta run in and pee anyway. Dean has to follow close on his heels and hover while he picks out a soda, has to distract him with a steady flow of nonsense, so he won’t ask why the hell Dean isn’t filling the car. Sam finally picks something, and Dean immediately takes it from him and sends him to the bathroom.
Dean pays for the soda, heads straight back out to the car, pops it open and throws in a new dose of roofies.
He’s just raised it to his own mouth when Sam emerges.
“Hey,” Sam grumps, “Get your own.”
“Fine. Fine,” Dean says and hands it off, brushes past him with his heart pounding. If this doesn’t work, Dean may have to resort to more drastic measures. But the thought of hurting Sam is unbearable.
Dean watches Sam through the window as he pays for his own soda. He’s standing propped on the open car door, reading his book. He’s got his soda in his hand. Dean’s heart gives a hard thump as he takes a swallow. He drinks with his eyes glued to the page, like if he looks away for a minute he’ll miss part of the story. He’s oblivious to the outside world, to Dean watching him, to what he’s just ingested.
“One seventy-five’s your change,” the clerk drones.
Dean stares at him. His skin itches under the clerk’s dull gaze, this idiot who thinks he’s just like them. Probably thinks his problems are just like theirs, except worse. Everybody always thinks their problems are worse. Dean wants to reach across the counter and get right up in his face, tell him he doesn’t know a goddam thing about problems and then go to town on him. It would be so easy. He could take this guy apart, and then this awful crawling feeling would settle, and Dean could face the rest of the day calmly, do what he has to do problem-free. Sure. He waves his change off and hightails it out of the store.
Sam chose Mountain Dew. Dean got a Coke. That’s Dean’s excuse to try to steal Sam’s drink every time he forgets about it again, and within fifteen minutes it’s halfway gone. Dean's gut starts to unwind as the level drops, and he figures he should be more than a little proud of himself. It’s not so easy to get Sam to eat or drink anything fast. Especially when he knows he’ll be stuck in the car the rest of the day, he likes to draw his drinks and snacks out, eat each M&M individually, shit like that. It used to drive Dean and Dad crazy, watching him. Dean used to feel righteous stealing food from him, since he was just doing it to teach him a lesson. His whole life he’s tried to help Sam, whether Sam thought it was good for him or not. He’s always known the best way to help Sam.
Sam yawns. Dean make another subtle reach for his soda, and Sam snaps his mouth closed and slams his hand around it.
“Aw, c’mon Sammy. Didn’t you ever learn how to share?” Dean’s surprised by his own easy tone. He’s pretty sure Sam can’t possibly tell anything’s weird at all.
Sam glares at him and blinks a few times.
“I’m not gonna stop, you know? Just give up and give me the soda now. There’s no way to protect it long term, and next time you get lost in your book I’m gonna be all over that Mountain Dew like flies on crap.”
Sammy deliberately raises the bottle to his lips, chugs most of the rest down. Some dribbles out of his mouth as he finishes, and he blinks blearily down at the spill in his lap.
“Shit,” he slurs.
“Sammy?” Dean asks. “Somethin’ wrong?” Sam blinks at him and leans back against the seat. It takes him a minute to answer
“Somethin’s weird,” he says. “I’m dizzy.” His soda begins listing to port in his lax hand.
“Hey, woah, don’t let this spill,” Dean says, and plucks it from his grasp. “You tired, Sammy? Why don’t you take a nap, okay?”
He eases the car off towards the side of the road. As soon as he’s unconscious, Dean’ll need to secure him.
Sam blinks at him from where his head lolls against the seatback, too heavy for him to hold up anymore. Dean sees the dawning knowledge in his eyes.
“Dean?” he asks.
“Yeah Sammy?”
“Wha’s going on?”
“You’re just tired and you need to rest Sammy, that’s all,” Dean says, but he doesn’t have the will to really sell it, and he guesses he isn’t surprised when Sam doesn’t buy it.
“Why’m I so tired, Dean? Didjoo give me somethin’? I... Oh..." Sam whispers. "Oh my God...” Sam's eyes widen in horror. His voice gets really shaky. “You- you lied... I changed th' other night, didn’ I?”
His eyes search Dean’s face, lids drooping. He’s panting, scared to death, and struggling to keep himself awake. Dean could let him go under without telling him. That’s how he planned it. He finds he can't be alone with the truth any more.
He takes a deep breath, shakes his head. “I’m the one who changed, Sammy.”
Dean can see the second he gets it, how his eyes open wide. His right hand fumbles weakly at the doorhandle while his left tries for his seatbelt release. Tries and misses. Dean covers it with his own and pops the belt. He tugs Sam’s struggling body towards him. He pulls him down on his back, head in Dean’s lap. It’s easy to position Sam how he wants him. He’s discoordinated, and Dean has three or four times his old strength, these days.
“Dean. No,” Sam moans, lids sliding shut as fast as he can flutter them open again. Dean notes his ragged breathing, and circles his fingers around Sam’s wrist to take his pulse. He can feel Sam’s blood surge sluggishly beneath his delicate skin. It feels good. The tension has leaked out of Dean as he’s gained control of the situation, and he could spend all day like this, but, miles to go before he sleeps, and all that.
There’s a cabin four hundred miles away that not even Bobby’s aware of, old place where Dean and Dad had a hunt once. The monster killed the owner before they killed it. The place isn’t much, one old loner’s shack in the forest. Judging by the amount of whiskey the guy seemed to drink, he was probably miserable there, even before he died gruesomely. But that forest was the most beautiful place Dean had ever seen, and Dean thinks it’ll be different with two there to keep each other company. Even if one of them's not so happy about it, starting out.
Sam’s lashes flutter once more, eyes so unfocused Dean doubts he can make out more than the barest outline above him. He arches weakly. Dean holds him gently in place until his body slumps back down. His eyes slip shut and his breath finally evens out.
“Don’t sweat it,” Dean says, and brushes hair back off his face. “I’ve got it under control, Sammy.”
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Date: 2010-09-07 12:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-11 03:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 12:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-11 03:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-11 03:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-11 03:08 pm (UTC)P.S. Credit for the desire to write about were!boys right now totally goes to you. So thank you!
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Date: 2010-09-07 02:01 am (UTC)Also for reasons inexplicable to me, I adore your icon beyond telling. *stares*
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Date: 2010-09-11 03:24 pm (UTC)The icon is cropped from an image by Shepard Fairey. I kind of adore his work. Hopefully he never finds out about me shamelessly borrowing it, but I'm happy for the excuse to pimp him out.
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Date: 2010-09-07 03:00 am (UTC)It's going to take me hours to recover from this! Yeesh.
(Tell me there's going to be a follow-up... I'd love to hear about their new life.)
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Date: 2010-09-11 03:30 pm (UTC)But, um, anyway, I hope you recovered, and thank you so much for commenting, and if I ever do get good at follow-ups, this is definitely on the list. :)
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Date: 2010-09-07 03:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-11 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 06:30 pm (UTC)Any chance of expanding this - either pre or post? I think this would make a wonderful verse!
Thanks for sharing!
:D
Caroline
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Date: 2010-09-11 03:41 pm (UTC)And thank you for commenting!
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Date: 2010-09-07 09:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-11 03:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-11 04:07 pm (UTC)Just look at poor Sammy
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Date: 2010-09-09 03:15 am (UTC)Loved Dean drugging Sam, especially when the why of it came crashing down.
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Date: 2010-09-11 03:54 pm (UTC)In other news, I suddenly want to make a twisted bingo card, and have one of the prompts be "Drugging someone 'for their own good.'" Could that ever fail to be awesome?
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Date: 2010-09-12 10:03 pm (UTC)I do not in fact think that ever could fail to be awesome.
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Date: 2011-02-07 01:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-07 12:21 pm (UTC)My dear, thank you very much for reading and commenting. I'm glad you enjoyed it. :)