Chapter Text
Dean hadn’t been sleeping well lately, so he was surprised when he opened his eyes to sunlight streaming through the window and the clock beside his bed buzzing with the numbers 8:23 am.
Usually, he was woken in the early hours of the morning with his ears ringing from screaming. His heart would jump in his chest, and he’d try to reason that Sam probably wasn’t in danger; it was just another nightmare. But he couldn’t stop the brotherly instinct to grab his pistol and stalk towards Sam’s bedroom, his bare feet silent against Bobby’s wooden floorboards.
He’d push the ajar door open further, grateful for the loud, creaky hinges that would wake Sam up if he wasn’t already.
Sometimes, he’d find Sam on the bed, tangled in the white sheets and drenched with sweat, but normally, he’d find his younger brother on the floor. Sam seemed to have something against the bed. Dean didn’t know why.
He’d try comfort and coax Sam into speaking, and when that didn’t work, he’d gently push his younger brother towards the bed. He wouldn’t physically touch Sam unless he initiated it. Dean had learnt his lesson.
He would stay, either leaning in the doorway or crouched by the bed, until Sam fell back asleep.
Today, none of their usual nighttime routine had occurred, and Dean frowned. Sam’s nightmares were a given, and he found it hard to believe that they’d ever give his brother a break. His stomach squirmed uncomfortably, and he resolved to check in on his brother on the way to breakfast.
Pushing his palms into his eyes to wake himself up, Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand up, and promptly almost screamed at the sight of the figure that was curled up next to his bed.
It was lucky that Dean’s gun was just out of reach or he probably would’ve fired successive rounds until his heart calmed down. Maybe he was a little paranoid. So what? He deserved to be. A little paranoia never hurt anyone, especially any hunters.
Recovering from the near heart attack, Dean recognised the floppy brown hair of his brother and sighed.
“Sam?” He called out softly, hoping to wake his brother without having to touch him.
At the noise, Sam seemed to twitch awake, stiffening before uncurling and staring up at Dean from the floor.
He didn’t know what was going on in his younger brother's head, but given he was hiding behind his hair and looked like he was trying to sink through the floorboards, Dean could guess he wasn’t feeling all that safe.
“Sam, why are you sleeping on my floor?” He tried to keep his voice low, hoping to show Sam he wasn’t in trouble.
The room was silent for a moment before Sam broke eye contact and shrugged.
Dean frowned. Normally, he could figure out his brother’s broken logic, but right now, he couldn’t understand why Sam had subjected himself to a night on the cold, uncomfortable floor when he had a bed just down the hall.
Realising he was still sitting on the bed, positioned over Sam, Dean tried to make himself less intimidating by moving to the floor. He moved slowly, trying not to scare his brother. Sam still stiffened as Dean moved closer.
He looked like he wanted to bolt, but was stuck to the floor regardless. Dean didn’t know if that was worse. The fact that Sam wanted to leave so badly, all his muscles looked ready to leap backwards and take off out the door. At least if Sam had run away, it would mean he still recognised and responded to danger, still had some self-preservation left. Yet he stayed on the floor, in the situation which was obviously causing him so much distress, as if some invisible force had ordered him to stay, and Sam had no choice in the matter. The way he just subjected himself to the terror made Dean’s stomach flip.
His eyes had focused back on Dean as soon as he’d started to move, and the fear nearing panic was clear in them.
“Sammy, you’re not in trouble. I’m just confused.” Dean was a good few feet away from Sam, hoping the distance would calm his brother down slightly. When it didn’t seem to work, Dean continued speaking.
“Is there something wrong with your bed?”
Sam shrugged again, and Dean had to avoid groaning in frustration. He wasn’t mad at Sam, he was mad at himself for failing to understand. Normally, he’d understand Sam perfectly, even when he wasn’t speaking, but the cage seemed to have ruined that.
Giving up on the issue and filing it away for later, Dean pushed himself off the floor and offered a hand to Sam, who looked at it, unsure.
“Let’s go get some breakfast.”
It wasn’t an order, but Sam took it as one, ignoring Dean’s hand (he hadn’t thought Sam would take it anyway), and moving towards the doorway. He paused there, waiting for Dean to overtake him, before following his older brother down the steps.
The house was empty as they wandered through it, and Dean was unsurprised. Bobby had been out a lot recently, either busy in the car yard or in town. Dean couldn’t blame him. Being cooped up inside with Sam wasn’t easy; the man was scared and unstable, and Dean was secretly thankful that Bobby had made himself scarce. It meant there was less around to trigger Sam, and make the job of fixing his brother harder.
Dean busied himself around the kitchen while Sam watched. It made the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stand up, and he shivered. He wasn’t a big fan of having someone behind him, even Sam, who he knew would never hurt him.
“Feel free to take a seat.” He made sure to phrase it as a suggestion, and he had to stop himself from choking on spit as Sam dropped cross-legged on the floor of the doorway.
“I meant in a seat.” He corrected and turned back to making breakfast, listening as Sam pulled out a chair from the table and sat down.
That was something else he had to work on with his brother. This frightening, blind obedience. His willingness to listen to anything and everything Dean asked him to do. In fact, Sam barely responded unless someone asked him a direct question or implied for him to do something.
Dean tried to ignore it now, and busied himself with making food, an omelette for both him and Sam, and filled two glasses with water.
He sat down opposite Sam at the table, placing down the food and digging in. He frowned, fork halfway to his mouth, when he noticed Sam wasn’t eating, just staring at him. Dean couldn’t decipher the look on his younger brother's face, and it made the omelette, which tasted amazing before, catch in his throat.
“You can eat, Sam.” He hated having to give the man permission, but he knew Sam would probably just sit there starving for the whole meal if Dean didn’t step in.
“Thank you.” Sam’s voice was soft and croaky. It was the first words he’d let out all morning, and Dean winced at how torn his throat sounded. The fact that Sam thanked him at all made him want to throw up the little he’d just eaten, but he settled for taking a few more bites and pushing the rest onto Sam’s plate.
His brother needed to eat more anyway. He’d always been skinny, but since regaining his soul from hell, it seemed like the weight just dropped off him. He’d lost much of the muscle he used to have, and the cold meant that Sam was often wrapped up in multiple layers of flannel. The layers probably helped Sam feel safe, and Dean didn’t want him catching an illness, so he didn’t protest, even though he had to stifle a laugh at his freakishly tall brother bundled under fabric.
Dean washed out his mouth with water and watched silently as Sam ate. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but Dean found himself missing the days when their meals were filled with banter.
He was almost glad when Sam finished, gathering both plates and moving towards the sink to wash them. Sam moved silently next to him, grabbing a towel to dry the dishes after Dean was done washing.
They still worked well together, but the air crackled with tension, and although Sam followed him like a shadow, Dean knew it was out of fear rather than love. He was scared of everything, even Dean, and was clinging to the only other person he had contact with.
When the dishes were done, Dean turned to Sam.
“What do you want to do today?” The question was harmless enough, but Dean had obviously overestimated Sam’s ability to make decisions by the wide-eyed stare his younger brother was fixing him with. Sam’s breathing began to pick up, and Dean mentally berated himself for ruining their otherwise peaceful morning.
“Hey, Sammy, it’s fine if you don’t know.” He tried to keep his voice soft and calming. But Sam already seemed to be panicking and shook his head back and forth frantically. Sam let out a high-pitched whine and Dean mentally kicked himself.
Sam had begun to slowly shift away from him, aiming for the doorway and probably up the stairs. Dean had half a mind to let him go, but a panicked Sam wasn’t a Sam who was thinking rationally, and he was worried Sam would hurt himself, either by accident or on purpose.
“Sam, stop.” Dean knew he was being unfair, using Sam’s weakness against authority to his advantage.
Sam stopped moving where he stood, instead beginning to shake violently. Dean was sure he could hear Sam’s teeth chattering.
“It’s okay.” His words hung lamely in the air between them, and Dean inched closer to Sam, who still looked ready to bolt at any second, even though Dean knew he wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry.” The words were quick and panicked, and Dean was surprised Sam got them out with how hard he was trembling. Dean actually worried his brother might fall over.
“I’m not mad.” It was the truth, but Sam didn’t look like he believed it, the way his body hunched in on itself and continued to wobble.
“I promise. I’m not mad.” Dean repeated it and smiled when Sam nodded in response. Even though his brother’s body didn’t seem to believe it, he was glad that Sam’s brain was lucid enough to understand what he was saying.
“You’re not mad?” The words were slurred slightly, Sam peeking up at him.
“No.” He wasn’t sure how else to convince his brother without touching him. Dean ached to wrap him in a hug like they would’ve done as kids.
This time, he was sure a hug would end in silent tears and Sam dissociating.
When Sam had finally been able to breathe properly, and Dean had deemed him okay enough to move from the kitchen, he suggested they spend their morning out in the car yard, collecting spare parts and scrap metal. Sam didn’t have an opinion on the matter, but Dean didn’t think he would.
The rest of the morning passed semi-peacefully. It was always good to get Sam outside, back in nature, and his brother seemed definitely happier with the wind blowing against him, pushing his brown hair against his face.
Dean supposed there probably wasn’t any wind in the cage, so the reminder of being topside again probably helped to ground his brother.
There was one minor incident, when Dean accidentally brushed against Sam while standing up, but he was able to fix it quickly, apologising and moving far away while Sam tried to right himself. It had taken a second, and then the brothers were back to the task at hand.
Dean made sure not to touch Sam without warning again.
It was almost lunch time, the sun reaching the top of its arc, when Dean decided to get himself and Sam out of the sun and back inside.