Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Paint Around the Empty Space ❯ A Little Conversation ( Chapter 7 )

Chapter 7

 

Dean stared down at his brother and tried to figure out what he was going to do when Sam woke up. All he really wanted to do was just sleep, but he only had a limited amount of time before he would have to actually deal with the horrible words Sam had spoken, and he wanted to have a game plan.

 

Beside him, Sam slept, his face mostly shadowed and difficult to make out in the darkness. The sleep was partly drug-induced, although exhaustion probably had a lot to do with the depth of his slumber. The kid would probably be pretty pissed when he woke up—Dean had told him that the pills had only been aspirin, and Sam still wasn't questioning anything and had downed them instantly.

 

But then again, maybe Sam wouldn't even figure it out, considering how confused he'd been.

 

Maybe he wouldn't even remember telling Dean about the killings…

 

Oh, he wanted to hope so. He wanted so much to hope that Sam would just forget about killing those people, at least until he was strong enough to deal with it. But that kind of thing just didn't fade away, and Sam was Sam, after all—he would torture himself over killing a squirrel, much less a human being.

 

And if Dean wanted to help him deal at all, he would have to have a game plan.

 

Sam stirred a little, a little line appearing between his eyebrows, and Dean immediately began to stroke his hair, keeping it up until Sam's sleep deepened again. Then he looked back up at the ceiling and heaved a small sigh.

 

The last few days had pretty much been an unmitigated disaster, but it had all seemed to come to a head when Sam had made his pronouncement a couple of hours before. He'd looked so totally, absolutely exhausted, like he was just done dealing with his life, like he wanted to lie down on the floor and cry or collapse on the bed and sleep or, oh, God, die…

 

But Dean could fix that, too. He had to fix it, because the alternative didn't even bear thinking about, ever, for any reason. It would be fixed, taken care of, and Sam would be fine. Would be normal again.

 

Dean refused to accept anything less.

 

XXX

 

“I had a bad dream.”

 

Sam sounded so much like a five-year-old when he said that, Dean thought with a small, humorless smile. So much like a five-year-old, but there was nothing young or simple about what was happening to them now.

 

“What was your dream about?” he asked, watching Sam as he pulled on a clean shirt. He had taken advantage of Sam's sleep-muzzled mind to change clothes, and Sam didn't panic too obviously when he walked the three whole feet to the dresser. That was encouraging, even though when Dean went back to lie down next to him, Sam latched back onto him just as firmly as he had before.

 

“I dreamed I was throwing people. Two boys and a girl. And then I dreamed I was killing people. Stabbing them. Two boys and a girl again. They were bleeding a lot. And then I dreamed I was beating up someone. A boy. I think he was my friend in my dream, too.”

 

Sam fell silent then, apparently confused again after saying so much at once, and Dean didn't say anything, either, so there was silence in the room for a long time.

 

“It wasn't just a dream, was it?”

 

Dean considered lying, covering, changing the subject, anything, but in the end, he just felt too exhausted, and besides, what good would it do, anyway?

 

“No, Sammy.”

 

“I killed people, didn't I?”

 

“It wasn't you, Sam.”

 

“Was I possessed?”

 

“Well, no, but…”

 

“Do you know why I did it?”

 

“I think I do, yeah.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You were just…angry. And scared. And sad. You weren't yourself, Sam.”

 

“Was it because you went away?”

 

“Yes, Sam.”

 

“Will you tell me what happened now?”

 

Dean stared down at his brother and once again contemplated lying. It would have been so much easier. But right now deceiving Sam would be way too easy, and way too much like deceiving a small child.

 

“Yeah, Sam, I'll tell you.”

 

XXX

 

He didn't tell Sam about the demon that had helped him.

 

He knew he should, felt horrible for withholding the information, wished that he could use Sam's awesome brain to figure out the mystery, but…well, Ruby had told him not to. Told him firmly, and he guessed he really did owe her. Owed her his life, actually—not to mention Sam's. Keeping her secret was the very least he could do.

 

So Dean left Ruby out of the story, managing to twist things so that it looked like he'd escaped through sheer willpower. Normally he never would've gotten away with such a lame and obvious ploy, but right now Sam's cognitive skills weren't exactly at their best and he didn't challenge the story.

 

Of course, he didn't say anything else, either. Long after Dean's rambling story came to a close, Sam lay silently on his half of the bed, resting on his side and staring up at his big brother, his eyes nothing but two deep pools of pain.

 

“Sam?” Dean asked after awhile, unable to keep the concern from his voice. “What're you thinking?”

 

Sam shook his head a little and turned his head so that his forehead rested on Dean's shoulder, hiding his face from view.

 

“Sam, c'mon. Don't do that. Just...talk to me.”

 

Sam looked up at him a little and said, “I don't know what to say.”

 

“Whaddya mean?”

 

“It's just…you were in hell. But you're just the same as ever. And I couldn't handle even being here.”

 

“Oh, Sam, no. Don't think that way. I didn't have to have any sort of real strength. That place wasn't hellish at all. It was just gray and empty and boring. They didn't even touch me, remember? But you…well, you had to be here alone. Without me. And with 24/7 visions flashing through your head—it's amazing you even survived.”

 

“But I killed people.”

 

Dean sighed. “Yeah. I know you did.”

“I killed four people.”

 

“I know. And I know there's nothing I can do to make that okay. But I never blamed you, not for one second, Sam.”

 

“I know.” But I do.

 

The words remained unspoken, but Dean heard them loud and clear, and for a minute there was just an awkward silence.

 

It was Sam, surprisingly, who changed the subject. “Cal and Niko found me.”

 

Dean assumed it was a question, but everything Sam said since he'd woken up the first time had been so simple, so flat, that it was kind of hard to tell. He answered anyway, though, just to keep the conversation going before Sam shut down again.

 

“Yeah. They found you, took you home, and called me.” He didn't mention the fact that Cal and Sam had beaten the crap out of each other beforehand—what was the point? “And then I called Missouri and Cal and Niko brought in their own psychic, and we just had ourselves a regular reunion.”

 

“Are we going to see them before we leave?”

 

“Well, yeah, if you want to. Especially since I dunno when we are leaving.”

 

“Aren't we going soon?”

 

“We're not going anywhere until you're better,” Dean said calmly. Sam opened his mouth, but he continued before his brother could get a word in. “And that means when I say you're better.”

 

“We have jobs.”

 

“The jobs can wait, Sam. This is the important thing right now. You hear me?”

 

Sam didn't agree, but he didn't protest, either, so Dean put a check in the victory column.

 

“Besides, I can do some hunts here. This city is overloaded with `em, anyway. I can team up with Cal and Niko. And you can talk to George King about that whole psychic thing she's got going.”

 

Sam nodded against his shoulder. “I'd like that.”

 

“Okay, then that settles that. I'll call Cal and Niko later and tell `em about it later. I know it's not the greatest motel, but maybe we can move in a few days.”

 

Sam shrugged a little. “This is okay.”

 

“Well, yeah, but it's not great.” Dean shrugged. “Well, we'll blow up that bridge when we come to it.”

 

That drew a small chuckle out of Sam, but it cut off quickly, and Sam looked surprised at himself for uttering such a sound. Dean looked down at him in amazement, and then grinned.

 

“Wow, Sammy, I know you're kind of a humorless geek and all, but is it really that shocking when you laugh?”

 

Sam stared up at him for a minute, then smiled. And not even a tiny quirking of the lips—his teeth actually flashed for a second before disappearing back into the solemn expression he'd adapted since returning to his brother.

 

So it wasn't perfect. But it was a smile, and Dean felt like maybe he could fix this, after all.

 

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Author's Note: Okay, so there's one more chapter. An epilogue, actually. But that's not all we're gonna see of this wonderful Sam/Dean/Cal/Niko team, because I decided—completely last minute—to make a sequel.

 

So. Yeah. Stay tuned for that! And for the next chapter!