Summary: Gen. A possible future drabble. Sequel to “Touched by Darkness”. Dean and Bobby perform a powerful ancient ritual.
Word Count: 1032
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. Not for profit.
Author’s Notes: What do you know, a pattern just emerged – this is now called the senses!verse, *rolls eyes* oh whatever :P
Dean waves a hand rabidly through the smoke, desperate to peel it away and with it hopefully, the fog shrouding Sam’s mind as well. Good thing he disarmed the detector before they started.
Bobby coughs as he hurries back towards the bed, looks down at the frail boy still as ever, eyes glazed and moist but fixed – relentless.
They wait. And wait… until it’s pointless to wait anymore.
“You said this’d work.”
“It was supposed to! The ritual’s a powerful one, meant to set his consciousness free. I don’t know what happened…”
Dean starts to pace, slow at first then faster. Until the length of the room isn’t enough to contain his frustration and he storms out the doors, slamming them close behind him.
Bobby is crestfallen, he’s never been so drastically off the mark before. Maybe he is slipping in his old age. “I’m sorry, my boy,” he whispers as he gathers his things. “I’m so sorry.”
Dean sits on the floor outside, slumped against the wall with his face buried in his hands. Bobby knew he wouldn’t go too far, he never does. Doesn’t even look up as the old man walks past him to leave. He's simply too furious, too desperate too… too defeated, and Bobby seems a good mark to blame right about now.
Why the hell didn’t it work? How long is he supposed to stand by and just watch while Sam slowly wastes away? Dean thumps his head back against the wall hard, struggling to swallow down the tears that refuse to be stopped any more.
Dean… are you there…?
He straightens up, hardens his face and heart once again. He can’t afford to fall apart, not now.
Please don’t leave…
Not when his little brother needs him to be strong. Dean picks himself off the floor and goes back to Sam’s room. “Hey, bro. Miss me?”
The smile doesn’t have to be forced, it comes automatically when he sees Sam’s right hand twitching for contact. Dean quickly entwines the cold fingers with his before taking his usual seat by Sam.
“I’m here. Ain’t going nowhere. I know it didn’t work tonight but we’re not giving up, you hear me? Bobby’s working on it.”
Don’t be mad…
Dean sighs, pushes the hair back from Sam’s forehead… he’d cut it a couple months ago so it won’t fall into Sam’s eyes anymore but the damn thing sure grew fast.
“It’s not anyone’s fault. And I’m not mad, just… go back to sleep, okay Sammy?”
Andrea the orderly shakes him awake next morning, and the first thing Dean does is check on Sam. His eyes are open, slanted to his left looking out the window for a change. Dean sighs, winces as he straightens his tortured back up.
“How long’s he been awake?”
“About an hour. You should get some rest, Mr. Carpenter,” she says, pulling open the rest of the curtains to let in the sun while also quietly checking him out. “You don’t look so good.”
Dean smirks and yawns all at once. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe. And I told you before Andy, call me Dean.”
The girl bites her lip trying hard not to smile but doesn’t get to respond as Stephen, the second orderly assigned to the Carpenters, wheels the bath-trolley into the room. Which is Dean’s cue to take his much-needed break. He stands up, stretches and picks up his jacket then gives Sam’s hand a quick squeeze.
“I’ll see ya when you’re pretty, kiddo.” Winks at Andrea and walks out of the room.
The shivering starts at the base of his spine, crawling up rapidly the same time as his knees morph into jelly. Dean grips a wall just in time before he hits the floor, gasping for breath and struggling to identify the source of his sudden… fear? No.
Panic. Distress, like he’s never felt before. An utter helplessness that prickles his eyes and threatens to paralyze him from head to toe. But what could possibly be so wrong?
Dean… don’t go. I need you through this… please…
Dean frowns, surely there’s nothing to worry about right? Rapidly runs through the sequence of tasks in his head just to make sure – they’ll take the IVs out first, the monitor wires next and the catheter in the end, strip off the pajamas and then Stephen will pick Sam up and put him in the tub. Of course Andy will make sure the water is just right before he does and… damn it they’ve been doing this for months. Then where the hell is all this anxiety coming from?
// The ritual’s a powerful one, meant to set his consciousness free. //
Dean spins on his heels, running in and nearly startling Stephen as he’s about to slip one arm under Sam’s knees.
“Something wrong, Mr. Carpenter?”
Sam’s eyelids flutter, his breathing faster than normal. Dean looks into his brother’s face and knows he did the right thing coming back.
“Guys, do you mind if I stick around and help?” Without waiting for an answer he gathers Sam into his arms. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t know. It’ll never happen again, I promise you, okay? Okay Sammy?”
The orderlies look at each other, but wisely keep their mouths shut, knowing better than to argue when the man’s in full-on overprotective big-brother mode. They let Dean recheck the temperature and stand back as he lowers Sam into the bathwater.
“He seems more responsive today, Mr. Carpenter.”
Dean smiles, shaking his head as Sam on a spastic motor reflex, attempts to dip his head under the water. "Ah, you big dufus," he softly chides, making Andrea giggle.
So maybe this is the best the ritual could do. Or maybe Dean’s finally lost his marbles, and is hearing imaginary sounds in the never-ending silence?
Call Bobby… apologize…
Better yet, maybe this is the voice of his conscience. Which would mean Sam again… if it weren’t for Sammy, he’d have lost his way years ago.
Dean rolls up his sleeves, opens the bottle of shampoo and gets to work.
“Hey it’s not my fault your damn hair grows like wild weed, kiddo! Yes, Yes. I’ll cut it again.”
A/N: Pls let me know what you think?