These Days (3/9)

[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: I apologize for taking so long to update this. RL's  an itch-bay sometimes...

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

( Day 1 ) | ( Day 6 )

 

Day 15

I think the nightmares are getting worse.

Not just Dean’s, though – mine, too.

The weird thing is that I can’t remember them very well. They’re not nearly as vivid as my visions, or as the dreams I had after Jessica died. I mean… I remember parts of them. Like seeing Dean dying in that motel parking lot on that Wednesday. Dean being mauled by the Hellhounds. Dean chained in an endless void, hooks speared through his skin.

Always Dean.

Once in awhile Jessica or Mom will show up. Dad even made an appearance in one. That one was particularly bad.

Images of your own father shouting how much he hates you and then reciting an exorcism and emptying a clip into you while your brother was screaming in the background would scar most people, I think.

But Dean doesn’t know. Dean can’t know. He’s still not making it through the night, either. Not even close. He’s lucky if he can get three hours of sleep in without waking up from nightmares.

And the worst part is that he keeps blaming himself. Like it’s his fault that Hell has changed him. Well… I mean, in a way it was – if he hadn’t made that deal in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.

I don’t blame him for making the deal anymore, though. Haven’t since I watched him die over and over and over again. Haven’t since I risked killing Bobby to get Dean back. That still gets me every now and then.

At least Dean’s starting to recover physically. The gashes from the Hellhounds on Dean’s chest and legs are finally starting to heal up – another couple days and we can probably take the stitches out. And that gash across my spine has finally started closing up. I’ll have a few new scars on my sides, but that’s not really unexpected.

Unfortunately, neither of us is really close to being healed. I don’t know if we ever will at this rate.

And I know Bobby’s really frustrated. Hell, I know we’re frustrated. But I feel bad for Bobby. He’s trying hard to help, he really is. But… I don’t think he can. It’s not like he can fall back on personal experience in this department.

I think it’s about time we move on. After Dean gets his stitches out. Maybe a change of location will do us some good. Maybe not. But I know Dean’s itching for some semblance of normal, and for us, normal is out on the road. Even if it’s just the three of us driving around aimlessly. Me, Dean, and the Impala.

God, I’m turning more and more into my brother every day.

I suppose there are worse things to be. But it doesn’t quite seem right when Dean isn’t himself yet. It’s almost like we’ve switched roles. Not that I mind – I’ve been telling him for a long time that he doesn’t always have to watch out for me. That I need to watch out for him, too.

This journal is starting to sound like a broken record.

Whatever. It’s true. I need to watch out for Dean. He helped me get over my nightmares with Jess. So now it’s my turn. I need to help him get over these. Or at least make it so he can sleep a little longer. I’m pretty sure he would heal faster if he could sleep for longer periods of time.

As for my own nightmares… well. I’ll deal with them on my own. Dean’s higher priority right now.

Sam surged upwards in his bed with a gasp. In the next bed, Dean echoed his movements, Sam’s name dying on his lips.

For a long moment they both panted for air, although Sam’s gasping breaths were a little quieter than Dean’s. Sam tilted his head to glance at his brother and he swallowed hard when he saw how Dean’s eyes were squeezed shut, tear tracks on his cheeks glistening in the moonlight that was streaming in through the window. “Dean?”

Dean’s shoulders slumped at the croaky whisper and he rubbed a hand over his face, fingers pressing into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Sam twisted in his bed so his bare feet were resting on the worn wooden floor. “For what?”

Dean sighed, sliding up in his bed so he could rest his back against the headboard. “For this. For not being able to get a grip. For waking you up all the time.”

Sam swallowed guiltily, forcing his own nightmare to the back of his mind, trying not to picture Dean chained… bleeding… “Dean-”

Dean swung his head back into the headboard with a solid thunk, making Sam flinch. “I thought that once I got out… everything would be fine.”

“Well, then, you were an idiot,” Sam replied bluntly, moving so that he was perched on Dean’s bed near his feet.

Dean’s eyes shot open finally and he stared hard at his younger brother. “What?”

“For denying you wouldn’t be affected by what happened. I doubt I have to remind you where you went,” Sam said a little more gently, not missing the shiver that raced through his brother’s body. “Dean, no one could have gone through what you did and not be affected.”

Dean shifted, rolling his shoulders slightly. “It’s been almost two weeks. I should’ve been able to suck it up by now.” Sam snorted, rolling his eyes. Dean cocked his head. “What? You don’t agree, I’m guessing?”

“No, I don’t. Dean, if you were over it, I’d be way more worried than I am right now. You’re human, Dean – you’re allowed to feel a little sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, you know how I handle touchy-feely crap,” Dean shot back with a growl. Sam chuffed through his nose, a small smirk twisting his lips. Dean sighed again, letting his eyes slide shut. “Thought I was supposed to be a superhero,” he whispered.

Sam smiled sadly. “Yeah, but you’re Batman – not Superman, Dean. Batman’s only human, too.”

Dean chuckled, his eyes shooting open to look gratefully at his brother. “I guess that makes you Robin.”

Sam shrugged. “Better than Batgirl, I suppose.”

Dean laughed out loud at that one. It was a little hollow compared to his laughter before Hell, but it still made Sam grin. “Batgirl, huh? I’ll have to keep that one in mind, Sammy.”

“Whatever, jerk,” Sam replied, squeezing Dean’s ankle faintly before standing and shuffling back to his bed.

“Bitch,” Dean replied as he settled back down so he was flat on the bed. Sam smiled and leaned against his own headboard as Dean’s body relaxed into the pull of sleep again.

“Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’re welcome, Dean.”

In the moonlight, he could see a small smile on his brother’s face as his breathing evened out into sleep. Sam sighed, leaning over and grabbing his journal.

I think the nightmares are getting worse.

( Day 19 )