Work Text:
MERGING WITH THE SHADOWS
By Shorts
The sky started to lighten, chasing the shadows from the land as well as from the mind. Sam mentally shook himself back to awareness, grimacing as the skin pulled along the cuts on his face. They should have stopped by now and taken care of their hurts. He took a deep breath and focused on the speeding scenery passing them. "Don't you think we should try and find a place to clean up?" he asked, turning to look over at Dean.
What he saw startled him. Dean leaned partially slumped against the driver's door, his right hand white knuckling the steering wheel in a death grip, while he rubbed his forehead with his left. In the faint light, Sam was shocked at how pale Dean's complexion was against the dark, maroon stains of drying blood on the collars of his shirt and jacket. But what truly caught his attention was Dean's eyes. They were shiny with unshed tears.
"Dean?" Sam shifted in his seat, straightening and reaching for his brother. He spared a glance out the windshield, scanning the dark ribbon of highway that stretched endlessly before them. He realized he had no idea where they were.
Dean kept his concentration on the road. The only indication he had heard Sam, was the clenching of his jaw muscles. He flinched slightly as Sam placed a questioning hand on his shoulder, torn between accepting the offered comfort and shrugging it off.
"What's wrong?" asked Sam, instantly thinking Dean had been hurt more seriously than he had realized.
Dean's only response was to push the car a little faster, skimming over the asphalt as though the hounds of hell were after him.
"Talk to me," said Sam, sliding his hand down Dean's arm. He proceeded to feel along his side and hip and started to pull back Dean's jacket to see how badly he had been hurt.
Switching hands on the steering wheel, Dean caught Sam's questing hand with his right, preventing him from feeling under his shirt. "Not in the mood to be felt up, bro."
"Dammit, Dean," snapped Sam, yanking his hand free. "If you're seriously hurt, we need to take care of it."
"Just a couple minor scratches with a few bumps and bruises thrown in," mumbled Dean. "I've had worse. But you're right, we need to see about your face. I'll pull into the next motel we run across."
Sam knew Dean's talent for understatement, and what Dean called scratches were more like gauges on the side of his neck. "Something is wrong with you, and you're not talking."
"Just let it go. It's not a hurt that can be fixed, Sammy," sighed Dean, once again focusing on his driving.
Sam's brow furrowed as he studied his brother. They were both banged up, but for Dean to be closed off like this, it must go deeper than the flesh. Whatever had him upset, he knew Dean wouldn't just come out and tell him. Over the years, he learned that with Dean he had to play his own version of twenty questions. "Not sure that Dad's leaving again was such a good idea."
"It's not like he's abandoning me . . . us," shrugged Dean. "It's just safer right now for him. He'll be back."
Sam licked his lips, thinking. He could pretty much check Dad off the list and proceeded with the next in line. "Yeah, well, Meg certainly knew our weak points. Why else would she have tried to molest each of us in front of the other?" The idea that Meg knew just how close their relationship went, caused his stomach to clench with unease.
Dean's eyes narrowed at the memory of Meg practically violating Sam.
Sam took Dean's silence as a sign that he was getting closer to the root of the problem. "I should have known something was off with Meg when I first ran into her. Who just sits on the side of the road, supposedly oblivious to anything or anyone, when you're hitchhiking? I should never have talked to her."
Dean's mouth tightened. "You evidently needed someone to bitch to about me and she was more than willing to listen. Then again, I can't blame you. Must be pretty tough on you being with me all the time."
Bingo. "Dean, I was just frustrated and needed to find Dad. Whatever I had said to her, it didn't mean anything. I was just blowing off steam. Besides, she did have me at a disadvantage. She knew what buttons to push, but in the end, I did leave her to go after you."
"Uh huh. Like it didn't mean anything when you shot me in that damned asylum in Roosevelt," Dean shot back. He shifted slightly in his seat, spotting a motel up the road.
"That's not fair. I wasn't in control my actions, you know that," said Sam. "Or at least I thought you did."
"Sam, somewhere underneath it all, you don't say or do anything without meaning it." Dean pulled into the parking lot of the rundown motel. He saw the hurt look in Sam's eyes and knew he had struck a low blow. But then, Sam has dealt enough blows of his own.
Parking the car out of view of the lobby window, Dean shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his shirt off. Using the unstained part, he wiped the worst of the dried blood off his face and neck, causing the wounds to start bleeding again. "Damn. Hand me your red T-shirt from the back." He held his ruined shirt against the bleeding cuts, hoping to stop the flow a bit.
Sam leaned over to reach the backseat, digging in the bag with their clothes and pulled the requested shirt free. He watched as Dean slipped it on, tugging at the neck line to try and hide the worst of his injury.
"Stay here," said Dean, climbing out of the car and striding toward the motel lobby.
Sam threw himself back against the seat. He was angry at Dean's words, but more hurt by the ring of truth in them.
Securing a room wasn't as difficult as Dean had thought. The old guy checking him in was still nursing his first cup of coffee of the morning and wasn't much up to small talk. Flicking on the light, he tossed their bag on the nearest bed and headed for the bathroom to check it out.
Sam locked the door and set the small bag filled with first aid necessities on the small table. He rummaged inside, removing the items they would need.
"Why don't you get in the shower and see if you can't clean those cuts before we tend to them?" suggested Dean, his voice almost sounding hollow in the quiet room.
Knowing better than to argue with Dean about who should be seen to first, Sam disappeared into the bathroom.
Sitting on the bed and leaning forward, Dean half hid his face in his hands. He had come to a decision while he drove through the night. He never should have let down his guard with Sam when he returned to join him on the hunt again. It had hurt like hell when Sam left him the first time to go off to college, and now he was facing the same damn hurt all over again. It would be best to start putting the distance between them now, so when the time came, maybe the pain wouldn't consume him completely.
The shower stung Sam's cuts, but he gritted his teeth and cleaned them, causing them to bleed. He stood under the needling spray until the bleeding slowed, then toweled off, taking stock of his own injuries. The cuts on his face were the only ones that needed attention. Otherwise, he sported some colorful bruises around the shoulders and ribs. Grateful the hot shower had eased his muscles a little, he pulled on a pair of sweatpants.
Dean looked up as Sam exited the bathroom, and gave him the once over. He saw the bruising on Sam's torso, but no other gashes.
"Once the gore is washed off, it doesn't look so bad," said Sam, making his way to the table and sitting down.
"Good," was all Dean said, sitting down in the other chair.
"I can take care of this, go get yourself cleaned up," said Sam, taking the antiseptic swabs from Dean.
"Right, like you can see your own face," said Dean, taking back the swabs. "Now hold still."
Pressing his lips tightly, Sam endured the stinging medication applied to his wounds. Despite Dean's light touch, it felt like an eternity before Dean finally sat back, eyeing his handiwork.
"You'll live," announced Dean, standing back up. He gathered the first aid supplies together and took them into the bathroom with him.
What that simple act implied was not lost on Sam. He stared at Dean's retreating back until the bathroom door closed.
Dean leaned against the closed door, telling himself this was for the best. It'll just take time to stop feeling again, he did it once, he could do it again. Just like walking in the dark, you never forget how to merge into the shadows. It was a grim promise he made to himself.
When he hadn't heard the shower turn on after five minutes, Sam headed for the bathroom. But as soon as his hand touched the doorknob, the sound of water started. Uncertain what exactly was going on with Dean, he sat down at the table and waited.
Dean stood beneath the hot spray his head tilted back. The physical pain as the water washed clean his wounds paled in comparison to the pain he felt inside.
Lost in thought, Sam started as Dean came out of the bathroom. He noted the white bandage professionally placed over the crook of his neck. "What's going on, Dean?"
"At the moment, not much," answered Dean, checking the door and moving to the window.
"You suddenly don't trust me to tend to your injuries?" demanded Sam.
Dean paused in front of the single window, then purposefully closed the heavy drapes against the morning light. "It's never been an issue of trust, Sam. Just a matter of being dependent."
"What?" asked Sam angrily, as he tracked Dean's movements around the room. "So you're saying you can't depend on me? If memory serves me, I've pulled your ass out of the fire more than once."
"You're right," agreed Dean, heading for the bed next to the wall. "I should have been more careful."
A noise of exasperation escaped Sam.
"I just need to get back into the habit of just relying on myself," said Dean, pulling back the covers on the bed and crawling under them. "Now get some sleep. We'll find a place to eat later, then figure out what we're going to do."
"What the hell do you mean by that?" demanded Sam, his voice rising. "When haven't you been able to depend on me?"
"When you left," answered Dean, turning over and facing the wall.
Sam felt as though he had been punched. He stood frozen for a moment, then slowly went to the other bed, his gaze never leaving Dean's tense back. Speechless, he stretched out on the bed and turned his attention to the ceiling above him.
Listening to Sam lie down, Dean stared at the blank wall in front of him. He could feel the hurt radiating from Sam in the silence and it was tearing his heart out knowing he was the cause. He tried to convince himself he was doing this as much for Sam as he was for himself. That when the time came, Sam would just leave without ever looking back. He was still trying to convince himself when sleep finally claimed him.
Dean's words kept echoing in his mind. Sam had never thought how his leaving had affected Dean before. He had been too wrapped up in what he wanted and needed to even spare a thought for his brother. And here he went and told him he was going to do it again. Earlier Dean had tried to tell him, hell he had dropped all his shields trying to tell him, just how badly he needed him. For them all to be together again. All he could think was, he couldn't live his life being told what to do and when to do it by their Dad. It was a long time before he dropped off to sleep.
*******
Jerking awake from a nightmare he could barely remember, Sam sat up and immediately looked to the other bed. It was empty. He then looked back to the bathroom but the door stood open showing only darkness within. His first thought was Dean had left him. The son of a bitch up and left his ass to make his own way out of there. Throwing back the covers, he jumped out of bed and pulled back the drapes, noting the car was gone.
"I'm going to kill him," muttered Sam, "I'm going to hunt his ass down and kick it into next Thursday." He yanked on a shirt and was shoving on his boots when he spotted their Dad's journal on the table. The realization that it was still there, stopped him in his tracks. If Dean had left him, he wouldn't have left the journal behind. Taking deep, slow breaths, he finally got his heart beat down to normal.
"Jeezus," groaned Sam, slumping back in the chair. The relief he felt was overwhelming.
Half an hour later, he heard the Impala drive up and park. He forced himself to wait and not go running out to meet him. He couldn't see against the glare bouncing off the windshield, and wondered why it was taking Dean so long to get out of the car.
Dean grabbed the bags of greasy burgers and fries and then just sat there. He had even tried to force the simple act of buying food into a case of why things would be easier on his own. Less expenses. Also, he'd spend more time sleeping in the car and less money on motel rooms. The Impala was okay for one, impossible for two.
Finally, he climbed out of the car and shut the door, leaning for a moment against it. He could feel the old walls slowly building around his soul, the emptiness coming home to stay. Sighing, he braced himself for another confrontation with Sam, inevitable considering what he had to do to survive. Juggling the bags, he dug into his pocket for the room key and was startled when the door suddenly opened.
Sam had tried to wait, but seeing Dean standing against the car looking so dejected was more than he could take. "Don't you ever do that again!"
Dean was so surprised he took a step back. "Dude! What the hell are you yelling about? I go out and bring you back lunch, or dinner, whatever, and that's the thanks I get?" He expected a fight, just not out of the blue like this.
"You didn't tell me you were leaving," clarified Sam, moving back as Dean pushed his way into the room.
"You were sleeping," said Dean, his tone clearly aggravated, as he dropped the fast food on the table. He bit back the words that screamed to be spoken of who was leaving whom.
"You still should have told me," repeated Sam, looking hard at Dean.
"Better yet," snapped Dean. "Next time I'll wake your sorry ass up and you can go get breakfast."
Sam opened his mouth to continue the bitching back and forth, and snapped it shut. This wasn't the first time Dean had gone out to take care of things and left him sleeping. In fact, once he started sleeping the nights through again, Dean took it upon himself to see to the day to day necessities. Not to mention the money they needed to acquire them.
Satisfied that Sam wasn't going to resume ragging on him, he sat down and started eating. He felt Sam staring at him as they ate, but neither of them spoke until only a few fries were left.
"I'm sorry," said Sam, shoving the remains of his fries toward Dean.
"You should be," said Dean around a mouthful of fries. "The closest place to get anything to eat is ten miles down the road."
"I'm not talking about that," said Sam, wadding up the used wrapper from his burger and tossing it into the empty bag.
Scooping up the remainder of the fries, Dean popped them in his mouth and gathered up the trash. "Then what?"
Now that the time had come, Sam couldn't find the words. Instead, he leaned over and kissed him.
For a long moment, Dean lost himself in the kiss, but reality hit and he pulled back abruptly. He almost knocked his chair over jumping to his feet.
"What's wrong?" asked Sam, taken aback by Dean's reaction.
"I think it might be a good idea to put that part of our lives behind us," said Dean, unable to look at Sam. If he looked at him, he wouldn't be able to hold to the promise he had made to himself.
"Wha . . . why?" asked Sam, grabbing Dean by the arm when he tried to push past him.
Clenching his teeth, Dean forced out the truth. "Because I'd rather lose you a little at a time, than all at once when you leave again."
"When I woke up and you were gone, I honestly thought you had left me. And well, I freaked." Sam ducked his head, trying to capture Dean's eyes.
"Dude, if I was going to leave you, I'd be sure to tell you," said Dean, pulling his arm loose.
"It hurt, Dean," admitted Sam. "And when I realized you hadn't, the relief was unbelievable."
"Well, you don't have to worry about that," said Dean. "I'm not the one who'll be doing the leaving."
"If this is how you felt when I left home," said Sam, "how did you ever let me go?"
"What did you expect me to do, Sam? Hold you against your will so that you would come to hate me? I'd rather know you were happy, than be stuck with me and hating me for it. Knowing that letting you go was the best thing I could do, didn't make it any better." Dean rubbed his face, suddenly uncomfortable with revealing so much to Sam.
"And now you're protecting yourself for when I leave," said Sam, understanding where Dean's mood has come from.
"It's called survival, dude," said Dean. "I had forgotten a very important lesson. Don't get close to anyone."
"Not even family?" asked Sam.
"Especially family," answered Dean. "They're the ones that can hurt you the most."
"Aw, Dean." Sam reached out and pulled Dean close, tightening his embrace when Dean tried to push him away.
"Stop it, Sam," pleaded Dean, not yet strong enough to completely separate himself from him.
"No," said Sam. "I can't make any promises of what tomorrow is going to bring. But I learned a different lesson. Never pass by any opportunity to be loved."
Dean stilled his struggles and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Knowing he would be damning himself later down the road, he hugged Sam tightly in return.
Hiding the grimace as his ribs protested, Sam captured Dean's lips once again.
This time, Dean pressed into the kiss with all the desperation he had been feeling for the last few days. Blinded by the need consuming him, he barely remembered how they came to be crushed flesh against flesh on the bed. His spirit soared along the waves of pleasure that enveloped him.
Afterward Dean held Sam close, feeling the familiar comfort of having him curled beside him. He knew that it was only a temporary reprieve, that the shadows were lurking in the dark to once again welcome him home.