writersmirth

Title:I need you whole
Author: writersmirth

Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean

Genre: Slash

Rating:PG

Theme Set: A world Divided

Prompt: 03. Agony

My Table: My Table

Summary: After Bobby's death Dean and Sam are still grieving. Sam has taken to spending copious amounts of time alone and Dean contemplates leaving. Trapped in his own body Sam wants to escape. Dean finally picks up the courage to talk to his brother but when he does the consequences are dire.

Now my heart is aching
Sometimes I fall asleep for days
But my bed is empty
I know I am too set in my ways
Tell 'em all I'm ok – Alter Bridge

Noise filled the usually quiet space. Rain poured down fast and heavy pattering against the glass windows in the house. The sound was relaxing, amidst the high pitched music playing in the background. Next door a group of people screamed and laughed, their singing drifting in through the open window of the study. Sam sat in his office. Papers strewn all over the place held together in piles contained by empty coffee cups and one pot of freshly brewed coffee. The smell was strong, the blend a delicious mixture of vanilla spice and ground coffee beans. The steam swirled to the surface welcoming and warm beneath his nose and in the damp that filled the small room. He reached for the pot, loving the sensation of the heat against his trembling hands. Warm liquid splashed from the spout as Sam tipped it up and poured himself a hearty cup. He put it back down, dabbing at the droplets with the sleeve of his t-shirt before he took his big mug in both hands and breathed in the only comfort he seemed to have these days.

*

Dean walked through the hallway. He had done this a thousand times today, going through the case in question. Should he stay or should he go? With Bobby gone it felt all kinds of wrong to be in his house. Sleeping in the empty rooms, and drinking beer out of his fridge. He had only been gone for a week, and already it felt like his own death was looming in the horizon and with Sam acting strange, locking himself up in Bobby’s study all night and day. Only coming out when he needed to make himself a new bowl of food and to top up his coffee pot, it was beginning to be a much lonelier experience, waiting around for the next hunt or for more clues to aid them in their fight to shut hell down for good.

In many ways Dean was blessed. Sam was still alive and that some small mercy in the cruel game that never seemed to end. He had lost everyone else, but he still had Sam and regardless of how many times he saw him during the day and night the comfort that he breathed in the same space and could be heard banging and crashing in Bobby’s study was the only thing that kept Dean from losing his head; literally. It was this thought that caused Dean to walk back towards his bedroom, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He would stay, another hour, another day because of Sam.

*

Sam drained his drink, and let the cup rest on his current project. Notes scrawled across the pages were beginning to blend together with coffee stains and ink. His head felt fuzzy, eyes blurry with lack of sleep and watery from the memories that seemed to haunt his every waking moment. He rubbed them hard, wiping wet liquid across his grimy skin. His hand lingered, then trailed down the side of his face, down the rough edges of his sullen cheeks, dry and aching from the tears that had fallen. His fingertips met his lips, cracked and sore, Sam winced pulling his hand away from his face.

There came a distant sound, one that he was familiar with but had not heard for a long time. How long had it been? Had it been a few weeks or a month? Time blended together these days especially when he locked himself in the room. The sound came from behind the glass, and as Sam looked up, eyes straining in the dim light he could make out the silhouette of his brother standing, rapping at the glass every so softly, but loud enough to catch his attention. Sam listened, his ears pricking like a dog at the rap-a-tap-tap over and over again. His body frozen in place as if trapped under a demons trap, only it was his body not responding, not his mind. He wanted to move from the chair, he wanted to pick it up and throw it across the room, to break it into pieces so he wouldn’t be confined to it any longer, but try as he might his body would not cooperate and he was trapped having to voice his needs. Only when he tried his voice sounded different, strained and raspy like someone had stuck a lighter down his throat and burned it from the inside.

“Sam I know you can hear me,” Dean shouted. “I am going to open the door now,” he continued.

The knocking ceased and Sam sat up straight, his arms gripped the chair. He felt his fingers wrap around the wood, curving underneath his fingers. It felt slick, and as he turned his palms towards him he noticed that sweat had began to coat his hands in a sticky film. There was no guarantee it was Dean, and panic began to rise first in the bit of his stomach like a worm wriggling around, swirling and moving, making him feel nauseated. Then came the thudding of his heart in his ears as blood rushed through his body and his breathing strained, each breath shorter and shorter as he wriggled in the chair.

“Alright I am coming in now,” Dean said, turning the handle.

Sam struggled. It felt like someone was holding him down. He had gained movement in his legs, that had almost gone to sleep and were numb and ached even more than the rest of his body, but a huge weight pinned him down to the chair, as if someone was straddling his hips or had wrapped rope around his waist. He tried pushing himself forward, but it didn’t work. Small beads of sweat seeped down from his hairline and travelled past his cheeks, slipping onto the corners of his lips where they stayed and stung his soft skin. His hands were starting to get sore, his arms stretched ached as he pushed away from the desk attempting to land the chair backwards.

*

Muscle to muscle and toe to toe
The fear has gripped me, but here I go
My heart sinks as I jump up
Your hand grips hand as my eyes shut – ALT-J

The door opened, Dean’s hand wrapped around the frame and he pushed the sliding doors apart revealing his brother falling in motion. Time stopped, his heart bounced in his chest, plummeting as he witness it all as if in slow motion. One second he was at his desk, hands gripping the hard wood, next he had propelled himself, the chair, the same chair Bobby had spent so many years sitting in studying in, crashed to floor taking Sam along with it. The sound that permuted the air was numbing. Dean didn’t know whether it was the wood snapping or Sam’s back, but suddenly his body was once gain in motion and time returned. He was still too late though.

Red liquid seeped from beneath the table, a small pool, but it was enough to make Dean scream. He ran around the desk, falling to his knees at his brother who lay unconscious. Bobby’s chair broken at the legs, the seat the only thing Sam remained connected to. Dean placed his hands on the back of Sam’s head and his fingers came back wet with blood. He grabbed his brother’s body and pulled him forward till his body was against his own. He shrugged of his jacket, his favourite leather jacket, their father’s favourite jacket and rolled it up into a ball. Gingerly, he placed it under his brother’s head, applying pressure hard to stop the blood flow. Blood sank through the thick fabric, getting heavy now as it came to the surface and began to already dry on his hands beneath the fabric from the warmth emitting from Sam’s body.

“Come on Sammy, don’t leave me now. You’re all I have got.” Dean growled, his eyes searching the top of the table, looking for Sam’s cell phone. He spotted it next to a stack of ancient yellowed page books and a photograph of their family from way back, before it had all turned to shit. His mother smiled at him from behind the picture class her eyes non-judging but warming and comforting in this trying moment. He’d dealt with worse in his time, far worse than a crack in the head, but with Sam he wasn’t about to take that chance, not with the way things were going. Not with the world ending. He needed Sam fixed, not broken. He needed him level headed and not a vegetable. He knew it only look one bad wack to the wrong side of the head and then it was lights out. The fact that he could feel Sam breathing and smile back at his mother even through the tears he was fighting was enough to know Sam was being watched over; by the angel? He couldn’t be sure, but by their mother he knew that was certain.

A warm hand reached up, trembling and shaky. It touched the side of Dean’s face caressing the stubble he had allowed to grow out while in wait. He looked down, taking his eyes away from the desk for only a second to see Sam trying to move. Sam’s lips moved but nothing came out, Dean didn’t need to hear him speak to know he had mouthed his name. He pulled him closer, letting his tears fall freely, dripping like rain drops from his cheeks to Sam’s. They cascaded down his brother’s gritty mess of a beard, hidden now beneath week’s worth of growth that brought a slight smile to his lips.

“Good God Sam when I’ve got you all cleaned up I might have to take you to a leather club. You’re starting to look more like a bear every day,” another flood of tears warmed his cheeks at the sight of Sam’s lips curling into a strained smile. “Just hang on Sammy. I am going to need to leave you for a few seconds to grab the phone okay?” Dean said, daring to let his hold of Sam go. Thankfully Sam didn’t protest. He felt his brothers hand slacken, slipping from his face as he rose to his feet, it landed against his boots and Dean looked down to see them wrapped around the toe. “Just a second Sammy, keep holding on I need to call an ambulance.”

Dean grabbed the phone. The phone that used to belong to Bobby, the one their old friend had given him during the last hunt they had worked together trying to take down Dick Roman. Dean flipped it open, ignoring the dried blood on the exterior. The screen showed up black. No familiar background clock appeared and when Dean pressed the green button to turn it on, the phone refused to go to the main screen, showing a red battery icon instead indicating a flat battery. Beneath him he felt Sam’s fingers loosening their grip on his toe. Panic hit hard and fast like an arrow to the chest and vile rose in his throat. He swallowed it back. Sucking in a deep breath and fought even harder to stop the tears from stinging his eyes. He needed to focus. He needed to see.

“Fuck my life,” Dean yelled. He turned around, letting Sam’s fingers slip completely and brought his fist to the bookshelf behind him. Books collided with his fist while some fell down next to Sam while others stayed in the shelves and only shifted. Sam’s head had lolled to the side, revealing the open wound that was still bleeding onto his jacket. There was no time. He had no idea where the fuck the charger was, and his mobile was somewhere in the kitchen or maybe it was his bedroom. It didn’t matter. He was going to have to stop the blood somehow. Crouching down, he gently lifted his brother’s head and wrapped the jacket around it.

“Sam, Sam squeeze my body if you can still hear me.”

Sam did not move.

“Sammy I swear. Pinch me god damn it. Hit me. Anything I am trying here.”

The room was silent. Sam was silent. His breathing was soft and slow.

There was no more time. He pressed his fingers together, touching Sam’s jugular to check his pulse, the rhythm was still there, but it was fading and fast, it was too fast, until Dean felt it; The slow, painful sensation of his pulse move to a stop.