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It's the same nightmare again: Dad screaming Mom's name, Connor running toward him in the hall that is already filling with heat and smoke, Dad thrusting Sammy into his arms along with "Take your brothers outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Connor, go!"
Turning around to see Dean approaching, still half-asleep; somehow managing to secure Sammy with one arm and grab Dean's hand with the other, rushing both of them down the hall.
But the smoke is already too thick, he can't see where he's going. Dean is coughing violently by his side. He turns back, but the fire is advancing at him, its roar almost drowns out his father's screams – but just almost.
The smoke crawls down his throat, the heat of the fire is getting closer-
Connor woke up with a jerk. It took him a moment to realize where he was and that it was only a dream. And then another moment to hear Sammy crying, and feel someone shaking him.
He blinked and tried to make his eyes focus in the gloom of the motel room. But he didn't really need the light to know who was by his side; of course it was Dean.
"What is it, buddy?" He said, sitting up. "Did Sammy wake you up?"
Dean nodded; he was still barely speaking, even nearly a month after that night.
Connor glanced at the other bed, knowing what he was going to see even before he did. Dad was passed out – only to be expected, since he had started drinking around the time Connor went to bed. It wasn't the first time Sammy's crying hadn't penetrated his drunken sleep.
Connor wondered briefly if Dean had even tried going to Dad first. Unlikely; not even five years old, Dean already knew what the empty booze bottles meant.
Connor slipped out of the bed he shared with Dean and went to Sammy's crib. His eyes adjusted to the dimness enough to see the baby was waving his tiny fists in the air, his blanket already kicked aside with his squirming.
"Shhhh, Sammy, c'mere," Connor lifted him up and out of the crib. He braced for the volume of the cries that were going to hit him once he put Sammy's mouth close by his ear, but it wouldn't last long. Or so Connor hoped. "Shhhh, little buddy. It's okay, I got you."
He bounced the baby lightly, patting his back, and wondered if Sammy could be hungry. A quick peek at the clock radio on the night stand told him it was way too early for Sammy's next bottle. Besides, the baby had just started sleeping through the night. But that was before. He had been waking up more often during the night since then.
Connor glanced over at his middle brother. "Dean, can you find his pacifier?"
Dean slid off the bed and came over to the crib. Connor kept walking in circles in the middle of the floor, bouncing Sammy and murmuring to him as he did. The baby was still crying, but his sobs had reduced to exhausted whimpers, and he was leaning his head on Connor's shoulder.
Connor's next circle brought him to face Dean, standing there and holding up the pacifier. Connor stopped patting Sammy's back so he could reach for it. "Good job, Dean, thank you."
He thought he saw a hint of a smile – it was too dark to tell for sure, but Connor hoped he wasn't imagining it. Dean's smiles were as rare as his words these days.
Sammy accepted the pacifier – albeit not without some coaxing – and Connor shifted him to lie cradled in his arms, secured to his chest. Mom had once told him babies like the sound of heartbeats.
He had to close his eyes for a second as the thought of Mom pierced him. Then he took a breath and concentrated on Sammy.
The baby's small body still trembled with hitched breaths. Connor walked on, trying to sense when it was safe to put Sammy back in bed.
It wasn't happening. Every time Connor tried to lower Sammy into the crib, his baby brother started huffing in a way that clearly indicated he was about to resume his crying. Connor would lift him back up and walk with him some more, then try again, with the same results. The last time Sammy even grabbed Connor's pajama shirt in his fist – whether he knew what he was doing or not, the fact remained that Sammy wasn't going anywhere.
The nightmare and Sammy's crying had given Connor enough of an energy boost when he had first woken up; but it was the middle of the night and he was freaking tired. He had to at least sit down if he didn't want to risk dropping the baby.
He took a seat on the sofa, propping his elbow on the padded armrest to help him keep Sammy stable and cradled against his chest, while the little one was still firmly clutching Connor's shirt. After settling down, he watched the baby as he kept rocking him gently, trying to discern if his brother was having this, or would he need to get up and start walking again. It seemed like the former, and Connor sighed with relief.
He closed his eyes, listening to the rhythmic sound of Sammy sucking on the pacifier, but then opened them again as he felt the sofa cushion dipping.
He turned his head to see Dean climbing onto the sofa beside him. Connor had been so focused on Sammy, that Dean had slipped his mind; it instantly made Connor feel like shit. He pushed the feeling down and smiled at Dean.
"Hey, buddy," he said, reaching the hand that wasn't trapped under the baby to card his fingers through Dean's hair. "Thanks for helping me with the pacifier. See how Sammy likes it?"
Dean rose on his knees so he could peek at the baby, now resting peacefully in Connor's lap, and nodded, then reached a hand and patted Sammy's leg as if congratulating him.
"You tired?" Connor asked. "How about you go back to bed?"
Dean shrugged his shoulders and slipped down to settle next to Connor, pulling his knees up and curling against his brother's side.
"Okay," Connor sighed. It wasn't like he could carry Dean to bed right now, let alone stay there with him. He wished he had thought of grabbing a blanket before settling down, but whatever; he had dealt with so much during the passing month, what was a little chill compared to that.
But he didn't want Dean to get too cold. He wrapped his arm as best he could around the little boy and Dean curled closer, resting his head on the side of Connor's chest. Maybe it wasn't just babies who liked to listen to the sound of heartbeats.
Connor let his head lean back and closed his eyes. The noises of the motel were wrong; the smells were wrong. The little night-lights each of the boys used to have in their rooms were not here, and without them, the darkness felt heavy, weighing down on him from all sides. Without Mom, there was nothing to help him fight it.
He missed Mom so much. He missed Dad, too, even though he was right here. He wanted things to go back to the way they were. He wanted to open his eyes and find himself back in his own bed, in their house, in their town. He didn't care if school was annoying sometimes, or if Dean took stuff from his room without asking, or if Sammy screamed his head off because he was teething. He just wanted his home back. He wanted his mom back.
He was vaguely aware that his eyes were stinging with tears and his breath was hitching, like Sammy's had a little while ago. But Connor had nobody to soothe him like Sammy had. His mom was gone. His dad was gone into his grief. He was in a strange motel room, in a strange town, sitting on a strange sofa in the middle of the night, surrounded by the shattered pieces of his nine-year-old existence.
Something was touching his face, and at first he thought it was the tears, but it wasn't. He opened his eyes to see that Dean had reached his little hand up and was trying to wipe at his tears.
The boy had his face turned up to Connor's, and Connor's eyes had adapted to the gloom enough by now to be able to see Dean's eyes were somewhat shiny and his expression distressed. Connor did his best to swallow the last of his whimpers and smile at Dean.
"Everything's okay, buddy," he said, trying to make his voice sound normal, even though he wasn't sure he managed it. "I'm sorry if you got worried. I'm fine."
Dean eyed him like he was considering whether to take his word or not. Connor was usually truthful with his little brother. His parents and him had sometimes simplified the facts to make it easier for the kid to understand, but Connor had always done his best not to outright lie to him. He was lying through his teeth now, and hoped to God that Dean would believe him like he always did.
He thought it might be best to just distract the kid. "Why don't you settle down so you can help me watch over Sammy, whaddya say?" He nudged Dean back into his former position at his side and wrapped his arm around him. Dean leaned his head on him readily enough, probably too tired now to exercise any kind of stubbornness.
Connor let his head drop back onto the backrest and stared into the gloom. He was exhausted, but he didn't know if he could fall asleep with how his insides were throbbing with the same hollow pain that had been his constant companion for the last month. He could ignore it when he was busy enough, but he had nothing to keep him busy now.
Except there was.
Sammy's warm weight was in his lap and Dean's against his side. They trusted him, their big brother; trusted him enough to fall asleep in this strange room of this strange motel, because he was here with them.
Dean's hand snuck up, groping around Connor's belly until the fingers grabbed the fabric of his pajama shirt. Now both of them were clutching at his shirt, and strangely, it felt like they were holding him in place, anchoring him down.
He could feel both of them breathing against his body, slow and regular. Peaceful. Trusting. Connor breathed in, the familiar scents of tearless shampoo and baby formula he associated with his little brothers mixing with the unfamiliar ones of the motel room.
The throbbing pain inside him didn't cease. Connor thought it never would. But Sammy and Dean's presence softened its edges, just enough for him to be able to drift off to sleep, hugging his little brothers close.