SPN: These Days (1/9)

[moogsthewriter]

Title: These Days
Rating: T
Genre: Angst, family, h/c
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for 3.16. AU after that.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: This is the sequel to "One Hundred Nine Hours and Thirteen Minutes." I'd recommend reading that first if you haven't. Also, this was written in the summer and was completed before Season 4 ever aired. (Also written without ever looking at any spoilers for Season 4.) Partly journal, partly third person POV.
Notes the second: The first part (in italics) happens after the second part. Hopefully it makes sense without me giving a lot away. (And this happens through the entire fic, so if you're confused, let me know, and I'll explain.)

Summary: The path to recovery is more like a winding mountain road. Post 3.16, AU Season 4.

Day 1

I got my brother back today.

Actually, I guess it was about a day and a half process, according to Bobby. Well, added in to the four and a half days that we spent trying to come up with a way to get Dean out of Hell. So it was nearly a week for Dean.

A week spent in Hell.

I think that’s why Dean hasn’t really started asking just how I got him out. I mean, I was only down there for a little bit, and that was bad enough. I wasn’t even bound or anything. Finding Dean…seeing what he was going through… it’s no wonder he’s a little screwed up.

For right now, I’m just glad to have him back. He doesn’t need to know how… at least not for awhile. Preferably after all my scars heal up again. Especially that one across my spine. It freaked Bobby out, that’s for sure. I think he thought I was going to die – again. If Dean were back at one-hundred percent, he would’ve been chewing my ass for going through what I did. And some day, he probably will – once he’s back in full-on big-brother mode. It’s a day I’m looking forward to.

I got my brother back today.

I can finally start counting up the days again. Not counting down. Counting up the days that I can actually live again. Sure, Dean brought me back. But I was alive for… twenty hours? Maybe a little longer… it’s a little fuzzy. But not very long before I died again. I mean, yeah, I was still breathing, but… not really living. I guess in reality, I was pretending – for Dean’s sake.

Dean may be one of the smartest people I know, but he’s pretty stupid when it comes to figuring out just how important he is. He acts… or acted… all cocky and self-confident, but I knew better. Sure, it took even me a little bit to figure out, but I knew better. He figured I’d be able to make it without him – to survive as the last Winchester.

He was wrong.

I could’ve told him that from the get-go, but that was even clearer after that whole thing with the Trickster. I still haven’t told Dean about that first Wednesday. I’m not planning on it. But there was no way I was living without Dean. Functioning, maybe. But not living.

Even though Dean isn’t quite right yet, I can live again. If Dean’s reason for living was watching out for me, then my reason for living is watching out for him. It’s a two-way street. Maybe after this, he’ll realize it. But even if he doesn’t… I’ll settle for having my older brother back.

I got my brother back today.

I got my life back today.

Sam’s eyes popped as a strangled whimper drifted over from the adjacent bed. Dean was twisting in the sheets, his face screwed up in pain and terror. Sam slid his legs out from under his own blankets, clicked the small lamp between the beds on, and shuffled over toward Dean, wincing slightly as the movement jostled the stitched wounds on his back and sides. “Dean,” he whispered, one hand hovering over his brother’s forehead.

Dean whimpered again, his back arching slightly, his head tossing from one side to the other.

Sam swallowed, then laid his hand lightly on the top of his brother’s head. “Dean!”

Dean gasped, his eyes shooting open. The green orbs were wild and glazed as they darted frantically around, his chest heaving in a desperate struggle for air. “Dean! Dean, it’s me. It’s okay,” Sam whispered, gently rubbing his brother’s scalp in a soothing motion.

Gradually Dean’s chest settled into a more peaceful rhythm as his eyes locked with Sam’s. Sam felt something in him twist at the broken and haunted look in his brother’s eyes. “S-Sam?”

Sam smiled faintly, his fingers still moving through Dean’s hair as he tried to comfort Dean like Dean had comforted him in the past. “Yeah, Dean. You’re out.”

Dean swallowed, his body relaxing back into the bed. “Wh-where?”

“Bobby’s.”

“Oh.” Dean half-sighed, half-sobbed, but Sam didn’t say anything. He just kept up with the soothing motions as Dean’s eyes started to drift shut again. It hadn’t even been a full day since Sam had brought Dean back from Hell, but Dean was already responding to Sam like the younger Winchester had hoped.

“Don’ leave?”

The slurred whisper brought the sting of tears to Sam’s eyes. “I won’t, Dean. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Pr’m’se?”

Sam swallowed and nodded. “I promise.”

Dean sighed again, his body surrendering back to the pull of sleep. After a moment, Sam slid his left hand down under the blankets, grasping at his older brother’s hand. He twisted slightly, ignoring the pain that spiked through his back, and reached for the slightly worn leather-bound journal – his most recent birthday gift from Dean – and the pen that was resting near it on the small table.

He balanced the journal on his knee as the book fell open. Using his free hand, he quietly flicked the pages forward until he hit a blank page. Then he adjusted his grip on his pen, a faint smile on his lips as Dean’s hand curled lightly around his own. The only sounds that filled the room were unison breathing, a pen scratching on paper, and the occasional plop of a teardrop hitting the journal.

I got my brother back today.

( Day 6 )