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Sam was tired, and his mind wandered. It was the good kind of tired: relaxation seeping through his stretched limbs, sitting comfortably on an armchair or at the library table, sipping slowly the warming, top shelf whiskey he would find in the bunker, reading lazily about…anything. With Dean away, running errands or God knows doing what – he would’ve asked later – and not a single Apocalypse in sight, he had a lot more moments like these. No rush, and that’s how he was used to spend his alone time, lately.
He found out that in these times of peace, he enjoyed a lot having some quality time alone, but today, after the last hunt went amok, he was still recovering from the hits he and Dean took both, if the idea of almost losing his brother counted at all as a punch in the gut from which to recover.
But Sam couldn’t find it in him to hate the girl that poltergeist who threw them around, once was. Mutilated, abused, tortured, and eventually buried alive in a basement. She took good revenge on anyone that put her in the state to become a horror worse than the one she had lived; as these stories always ended up, she couldn’t stop, and just worsened. So they did it for her and her last victims.
When they purified her and the house she attached like a leach on to, Sam sent a prayer in the sky for her soul not to be wasted and destroyed, in hope she could finally land in a peaceful place for the first time in all her existence of solitude and suffering.
Jack didn’t tell them where those trapped souls went after burning, and not even the Men of Letters had that kind of answers.
So, leaving Dean to his things around the garage, his cave, or the city of Lebanon, Kansas, Sam spent all the day after reading and letting his mind roam free, soothing his sore muscles with rest, soft music, and coffee, which, with the dawn of night, became a much stronger drink.
He was studying a book on fairies, with special attention to the specie that Sully, his not so imaginary friend, was part of. Zannas. It came out that these creatures descended from a lineage of mites and playful fairies that swore allegiance to mankind, starting from a deal. Not very likely an actual deal though; it was more similar to a promise. A promise to a human, whose story spoke of abandon and isolation but had a happy supernatural ending, for once. This human, a little girl, lost and left to roam alone in the forest until death would’ve found her, was saved by the Queen of Zannas, who took her under her protection and made her a peer of their kind, even if not allowed to acquire their powers. Just like in a fairytale, she lived a long and happy life alongside the Queen, who provided her with an unnatural long life, still staying mortal.
Sam asked himself whether the story had more to it about the relationship between the human girl and the Queen; it only lingered on the fact that the only wish the girl had for herself was to have children, but humans and Zannas couldn’t procreate, and the Queen had no power in such instances. The girl became the light in the forest that guided lost children back home and never became a mother. When she died, surrounded by all her friends and loved ones in the realm, the Queen took her last wish and made it true. Zannas, like Sully, were now bound to find lonely and abandoned kids, gently helping them grow, making sure they'd left them to be strong and independent beings.
Sam took a moment to acknowledge what that would’ve meant for him, who happened to be one of those kids.
When Sully appeared for the first time, wasn’t he already a grown kid? If it was just a matter of loneliness, shouldn’t the Zanna have been by his side since long before? That could’ve easily tracked back to…When dad learned what hunting was, Sam thought, frowning.
Then why it hadn't been like that?
He tried to recall that exact moment and…Oh. It all made sense, yeah. There was a time where he was so insistent in wanting to sleep with Dean that dad noticed and put a veto: he was too big for that, so he would either stop bugging his big brother for such an infant tantrum or he would’ve sent Dean away to Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim or whoever. Only exceptions granted were when they had no other choice, for lack of space/beds/money, etc.
Dean didn’t say a word, silently agreeing, and Sam was so frustrated; he just knew Dean found comfort in the physical closeness as much as he did, and his twelve-year-old self just couldn’t accept nor understand why he was the only one protesting for such an unfair demand. But he tried to obey nonetheless.
One night he woke up, and dad wasn’t with them. He couldn’t hear a sound, and all around him was deep, gloomy black; the darkness didn’t let him trace any form inside their room, leaving him disoriented. He tentatively called for Dean, and when his brother finally responded, he jumped off his bed and climbed blindly into Dean’s.
Dean didn’t refuse him with his body, putting instinctively his arms around Sammy’s shoulders, although he did with his words, telling Sam they couldn’t do this shit anymore and dad would be furious and would’ve found out; but those where such weak arguments, Sam wiped them away, clinging whimsically to his big brother’s pajamas.
Sam remembered distinctly Dean’s breath on his hair when he sighed and said: “Okay. Just for tonight. You’re going to put us in trouble, Sammy.”
And then, just like a magic trick, Dean was no more with him. The day after he went to buy something to eat and vanished for the next two months, leaving Sam behind without explanations, nor words, not a call until the end of the first month away.
Sam couldn’t possibly know where and why Dean was sent to and was kept in the dark about it all until a few years before, during that ghost hunt at Sonny’s boys home, where Dean actually stayed those two whole months.
So Sammy’s first reaction was to be eaten alive by guilt. He ate his nails away in the process of thinking about how their father came to know, and why punish only Dean, and why they never told him things, really?
After two days almost without sleeping, he couldn’t take that weight anymore, so when he asked dad if he would send him away too, and he began to promise he would never do that again, dad just looked at him blinking and then shaking his head and laughing softly and confessed to Sam about why Dean wasn’t there, knowing now it was all just a story, an excuse to protect Sammy and make it easier on his son, to make it easier on himself too more likely, so he didn’t have to explain how his lack of parenthood had fallen on Dean so heavy that the process of surviving shaped his oldest son in a little petty thief. How come dad didn’t think Sam was due an explanation to prevent such a reaction? He would never wrap his head around it. Sam remembered the light shock at seeing that fond smile, because, weren’t they in trouble? Then dad asked, What did you do to think I was punishing you two that brutally, and Sam, going beet red and wanting to bite his tongue, admitted it. Dad, in all seriousness then, cupped his shoulder, looked him into the eyes, and said: “Well, son, take this as an occasion to learn how to endure being alone. I know this could be hard for you now, but it could happen during a hunt, and if it finds you unprepared, you can get yourself in trouble, like your brother Dean. So you need to be focused and sharp; don’t let fear get to you. I know it sounds scary, but that’s a need you have to learn to be free of. You’ll thank me later.”
Oh, and he learned allright. But no thanks to him. The network of two hunters with whom John Winchester would’ve trusted his sons was alerted last minute; in the end, before either Bobby or Pastor Jim could come pick him up, because the story dad told him – and now Sam knew it was just a story – was that Dean was missing on a hunt and he would be gone, searching for him, Sam spent almost a week completely by himself, with dad coming and going like a ghost, checking on him once during the day, and coming back almost unnoticed, after his bedtime.
In those days, Sully showed up, let himself be seen by Sammy, and they became friends.
The most lonely and isolated time he had spent those years wasn’t when he thought his father could die on a hunt to never come back; it wasn’t at school, surrounded by people he would never get to know, whom he would never have a chance to meet again, or whom he could never call friends or grow with; it wasn’t watching infinite landscapes and cities passing by through baby’s windowsill, knowing he would never make roots in any of them, because his home had wheels and moved fast along the interstate.
It was when he thought Dean left him without even saying goodbye. Taking on a hunt by himself and getting in trouble (as Dad, and Bobby later, told him). It was when he was scared his brother was gone for good.
After a month of radio silence, with Bobby reassuring him that Dad had all under control, which, yeah, at the time, was enough to feed Sam’s hope, reveling in that belief, wanting Dean to be all right, he received Dean’s first call. Until then, Sammy went on with the reassurance and went to school, did his homework, and played with Sully. Not grasping how much the supernatural friend was helping at being independent and caring for himself, masking it all with playfulness and his funny, sweet words and smile.
He helped him also confide in his brother being okay and having more confidence in himself as well. In a way, both Sam and Dean were lost boys in that particular moment of their lives. So as much as teen Dean found Sonny and his boys home, Sam had had Sully.
Thinking about the sheer amount of responsibilities Dean had to endure at that young age and the fact that he couldn’t do it because he was just a fucking kid made Sam’s eyes’ corners sting while his mind wandered. All that inevitably led them to be lost and alone, to have just the two of them to count on in the first place. How fragile that premise was.
Moreover, Dean had to leave that gold mine, that opportunity that Sam worked so hard to find for himself, all for his family. And never said a thing. Never told what his take on the story was, even when for Sam was as clear as a full moon.
Sam sniffled and let his vision blurry. Wow, he made himself cry over memories. If Dean would’ve seen him.
They ended up together, in any case. They never served separated anyway, and they never had been normal once, now Sam accepted it. Maybe Dean had a hard time doing it too, but at least he stopped pushing Sam towards women – and men sometimes – ending up bashing his head on the wall because of jealousy. Sam maybe succeeded in putting in his brother’s thick skull the idea that all those efforts were a waste of time and energies.
Bobby and Dad could keep the secret that Dean wasn’t in danger anymore, just for that long, so, after a month, Sam started asking pointed questions: If he’s okay, then why doesn’t he come back? Why doesn’t he call?
So they got Dean on the phone, this one time calling Bobby from Sonny’s place, and the month after Sam lived thanks to that call. It had been very scarce of information from Dean’s side; he hadn’t talked very much, giving laced-up answers about what he was doing, the hunts he was taking, and the secret trainings Dad was submitting him to; nothing much for you to know, he’d said. On the other hand, he’d been eager to know about Sam, glad to let him babble about everything, even Bobby’s snoring; making Dean laugh his ass so loud through the phone at his little brother’s imitation was one of the things that made Sam proud of himself still. His smile, at the time, couldn’t relax enough to falter, and it stayed sewed ear to ear for a while, while Dean's laughter faded.
“You’re doing pretty okay without me, huh, little brother?”
Sam clearly remembered the question, making that smile blow in a second. He had missed Dean painfully. He just couldn’t say so; Dean wouldn’t let him live it down. But those last days hadn’t been that hard; he had thought guiltily, and he’d been happy to be finally strong enough to feel like an actual adult for once.
In the memory, Sammy stuttered but found his courage back because he knew he didn’t do anything wrong: “W-well, yeah, and…I-I also made a new friend; his name’s Sully!”
“Oh yeah?” Dean seemed surprised but curious. “Can’t wait to come back and know this new friend of yours then.”
Sam didn’t think it through and spilled the beans, never imagining Dean would be interested in his friends. He muttered, mortified: “Yo-you wouldn’t…actually…see him.”
“Oh. Oooh. Like…an imaginary friend?” Sam flushed red hearing the smile in Dean’s electric voice. He seemed strangely relieved.
“Y-yeah. But he’s real to me; he helps.”
“Glad he does, but do you believe in him like you did with Santa?”
“No. No, I don’t.”
“Good.” The talk about Sully seemed over, but then Dean added, softer: “You okay, Sammy?”
“Yeah…” and it sounded more like a question, like Sam wasn’t sure of it at all. He didn’t keep answering right away, hearing Dean’s shallow breaths through the static of the phone.
Dean wasn’t using his revelations against him, and comparing this conversation with the argument they had about Santa Claus and how Dean was firm about his inexistence, this…this looked like acceptance, almost. Maybe Dean knew something he didn’t about himself, or Sully, and why he was there in the first place. But Sam felt like he could be free to be honest with Dean and asked: “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”
“What is it, Sammy?”
He tried to make himself microscopic, closing around the phone like an armadillo and whispering: “Dean, I…I really missed you.”
Dean's breath hitched inside the receiver: “Mh. Me too, yeah.”
Dean hesitated, like he didn’t know what to say. Could it be that he felt just like Sam?
“Dean, I thought. I thought you were…” Dead. No, he couldn’t say. “I was afraid some monster got you or…”
Sam was suddenly overwhelmed with all the fears he hadn’t been allowed to dwell into since he found out about Dad’s journal, monsters' existence and the heroic curse of the family business.
“Hey. I’m here, Sammy, right?”
“Yeah…” He couldn’t stop his voice from being chocked no matter how hard he tried, and it came out high and again, like a stupid question, something he couldn’t come to believe.
“Don’t cry, Sammy, c’mon…” Dean didn’t sound annoyed, just powerless, impossibly far away from his ability to console his little brother.
“I’m not crying.” Sam said, sniffling, maybe sobbing a little.
Dean snorted softly and added: “Yeah, right. I’m okay, Sammy. I’ll be back in no time, you’ll see.”
“P-promise?”
“Promise.”
Dean came back after all. Sam and Dad went to pick him up personally at Sonny’s, but at the time he was told that was a motel his brother was staying at, waiting for Dad to collect Sammy, and then, immediately go for the next town. Sammy wanted to launch himself from the car, but they needed to flee, so dad said something like: Hugs must wait, boys making Dean’s smile flake, while ducking his head to hide it. Sam registered that little heartbreak in his mind at the time, just to relieve it once again, now, fresh in his vision as if it was yesterday.
Sammy couldn’t wait to show Dean how grown he was and how he wasn’t anymore the needy little brother Dean had left behind two months before. But Dean hadn’t seemed happy.
Maybe proud – he had patted Sam’s back a couple of times while his little brother recounted all the incredible gestures he was capable of now – but wearing a crooked smile, Dean had looked resigned. Like someone who’d lost the opportunity to witness the once-in-a-century passage of a comet he’d been waiting for a lifetime, and didn’t have another chance to wait a next time; who had no hope left to take that moment back.
Sam didn’t notice he fell asleep on the library table, on the book he was reading, more precisely. The old pages all scrunched up under his cheek, leaving their signs like wrinkles from another time and another space.
Something was putting a feather touch pressure on his shoulders; a warm, gentle fabric surrounded him, and what possibly was – a hand? Yeah, a kind hand – a familiar hand – his body knew genetically, instinctively, and told him not to retract but to find solace in it – ruffled his hair on his scalp, moving a rebellious lock of hair behind his ear.
“Goodnight Sammy.” Said a low, gruff voice.
“Dean!” He startled awake, confused by his own jolt upright.
“Hey, hey. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up…” Dean said softly, a hint of a chuckle towards the end of the sentence, after he’d given a good look at the state of his little brother suddenly awake.
“Hey. You’re back.” Sam said lamely, with a tongue too big for his mouth and his lips chapped.
“You could’ve slept some more. Knowing your fakir sleeping habits, the table mustn’t even be the most uncomfortable you’ve ever slept on.”
“Ugh, shut up. I’m too tired for this.” Sam yawned.
“Yeah, yeah, let’s take you to bed, Bear in the big blue house.”
Dean guided him to his room, but Sam refused to enter and gave his brother a rough nudge, almost completely slumped over Dean’s shoulders, to clearly tell him he wasn’t interested in passing the night alone one more minute.
Dean obliged and changed direction, snorting at Sam’s little sleepy noises. Reaching the bed, Sam threw himself on it like a dead weight, taking Dean with him and pushing with an oof the air out of his lungs.
Dean chuckled, low and languid. "C'mon, Sam, you’re not twelve anymore, I can’t lift you!”
“Nhhh…” mumbled Sam, sleepy and clingy, not letting Dean disentangle from the embrace in which he was trapping him. The memory foam didn’t bounce accordingly to their combined weights, in an unsatisfactory way.
“I’ll never like this thing.”
“Then why you want to sleep on it? You can go snuzzle on your stone mattress, y’know?”
“Nahhh, I’ll stay here juss’ to annoy ya.”
Dean stopped trying to fight his brother’s grasp, but kept letting the smile creep in his words: “What has got into you today?”
Sam was practically spooning him and holding him closer, whispering like a secret: “I missed you.”
“Yeah?” Dean gasped, surprised; Sam could feel it.
Dean put his hand on the one Sam had on his stomach. Then, Sam opened one eye and basked in the sight of one of Dean’s ears that was visible from that close behind him. Sam nuzzled his nose right behind that ear, and Dean retracted on himself, pressing their bodies together even more.
“I’m here, Sammy.” He said it lovingly, with a tone Sam knew was reserved for no one else. Only to him.
Sam kissed his nape, and Dean’s ear became impossibly red, the freckles in the little patch of skin visible, standing out.
“You’ve always been.” He said, certain. “I know, now.”