shatterverse | Former house of Winchesters, Lawrence, KS

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Former house of Winchesters, Lawrence, KS

Sam Winchester has totally been around for a few days, really. In those few days, he's met his sister who isn't HIS sister, met Faith (who is more than enough of an event in and of herself), returned to his childhood home and been forced to resign himself to the fact that he's probably not going to see his brother again, ever.

Is it any wonder he's sitting on the porch of the aforementioned house with his head in his hands, wondering what the Hell happened to his life?

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Sam looks away.

My that sidewalk is fascinating.

"All right, what the shit." Dean grabs his shoulder. "Lemme guess, you came to some giant realisation while I was -- out -- an' you've decided y'really are the Antichrist?"

"I've known for a year. Since Cold Oak. It...it mixed its blood with ours, Dean, that's how it gave us its powers."

"Gave you its powers, dude, that's not the same thing as being part of it. For fuck's sake, you act like you're blamin' yourself for Mom and Jess now."

VERY INTERESTING SIDEWALK.

Also the weeds therein.

Shoulder punch!

"Dude. Are you done? How 'bout we start thinking, sometime soon? You were six freakin' months old. We've been over this."

"Whatever."

There's a beat, and then Sam may be leaning against his brother.

A little.

"I'm sorry, Dean. That I couldn't save you. I would've done anything...I'm sorry."

Dean glances over at him, and softens slightly.

"Yeah ... I know, Sammy. It's a'ight. We did our best, right? And hey ... I'm here."

A moment. But Dean can't leave it at that, of course.

"Couldn't let you keep m'wheels, could I?"

"Right. The Impala."

Beat, and a little more leaning.

"Stanford's not even there anymore. Coastal cities got it worst." His voice is casual, but it bothered him to learn that. "Most of the big cities on each coast...pretty much rubble."

"Yeah?"

Dean tries to be sad about that, but it's hard.

"Still a hell've a lot better'n where I thought I was headed."

"True."

And now Sam isn't even trying to hide the leaning. It'd be hard to do, seeing as he's also got an arm around Dean's shoulders.

Dean's just going to have to deal with the limpet thing for a while.

Yeah.

That's ...

That might be okay.

"Dude... you look like shit. When's the last time you slept?"

"Uhm."

Sam scrubs his face with both hand.

"I. Really couldn't tell you."

"Yeah ... kid?" Dean wraps an arm around him and attempts to hoist his enormous little brother to his feet. "Get some damn shut-eye. We got serious work to do."

Sam's grip on his brother tightens.

"I don't want to...."

Beat.

"If I go to sleep, and I wake up, and you're gone again...."

He feels pathetic, but the fear is there.

"Sam. Sammy. Look at me."

Dean grips his arm, intent and serious.

"I'm not goin' anywhere. A'ight? I'll sit in the same room, won't even twitch. But you gotta sleep."

Shit, he remembers Sammy having nightmares for months after Jessica. He remembers neither of them sleeping for a week after Dad. He doesn't even know what he'd do if it were Sam.

"You gotta take care of yourself, Sammy."

Sam returns his brother's grip, desperately.

"I can, you know. I have. All those Tuesdays, where I watched you....they ended in a Wednesday when you died again and I didn't wake up, and for months you were gone. I was alone, I hunted alone....I was so goddamned obsessed with finding the Trickster and getting you back...and I did. I did. But I didn't like who I was and I don't want to be that person again."

There's a beat, and then, softly, "I was so much worse than Dad could have dreamed of being."

Dean holds his gaze steadily.

"Sammy. Quit it. I'm freakin' right here."

He gives his brother a shake, to emphasise it. Words, Dean is not so good with.

"I know. I know. I just...can't quite believe it."

Sam smiles at his brother, wryly. "And you can't convince me that you didn't have the same kind of thoughts for the first few days after we left Palo Alto."

'Cause....yeah.

Dean looks shifty for a second before deciding to ignore that bit altogether. Easier.

"Believe it, Sammy. Now get your ass in bed before I hafta punch you out."

"Yeah, yeah."

Sam drags himself to his feet.

"Dianne belted me in the solar plexus earlier, I'm getting really tired of getting decked by people a foot shorter than me."

It's important to note that he is heading for a flat surface to crash on, and equally important that he is not releasing Dean.

Maybe not ever again.

It should worry Dean, maybe, how OK with this plan he is.

"Should quit bein' an idiot then," he remarks, helping Sam up the stairs. The house gets a very suspicious narrow-eyed stare, and then Dean directs Sam to the porch chair instead. Considering that the last time he left Sam alone in this house an electric wire tried to strangle him, it's possible this is just good sense.

It's a little awkward, Sam trying to fold his entire body into the seat, but he manages.

Without releasing Dean, even. Go, Sammy.

"Not an idiot," he mutters, as he closes his eyes. "Jerk."

Beat, and then he looks up at his brother, seriously. "I love you, Dean."

Yeah, it's a little awkward, but hey, he almost LOST his brother, he's entitled to be emotional for a bit. Also, it's kind of important.

Dean squirms awkwardly, managing to almost wriggle free of Sam's grip, and plunks himself down on the next armchair.

"Quit that. I ain't goin' anywhere, this time. Just..."

Should he mention the hellhound that caught his scent in New York? He looks at Sam for a second. Tired, emotional, looks-like-shit, just-burned-his-brother Sammy.

"...just get some damn sleep."

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Former house of Winchesters, Lawrence, KS

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