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Sam woke up to his blaring alarm clock, his hand quickly reaching out to silence the noise. Blinking his eyes open, Sam pushed his hair out of his face and stretched his arms above him, wincing at the light ache in his limbs.
He and Dean had returned back to the bunker yesterday morning after a long night of driving from southern Iowa to Kansas. They’d dealt with a pretty nasty ghost that left both brothers with a couple of nasty scrapes and bruises. Thankfully, it was nothing they couldn’t handle, and they had been in and out within a couple of hours.
After they had gotten home, though, Dean went straight to the showers before retreating to his bedroom. Sam had knocked on Dean’s door in the evening about dinner, though Dean had only called back saying he’d already eaten. He hadn’t, though. After his own shower, Sam had spent most of the afternoon working at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, and Dean hadn’t come in once. Sam had taken his brother’s response as him just wanting some alone time, and left him for the rest of the night.
Sam crawled out of his bed, yawning as he shuffled out of his room. The floor felt like ice against Sam’s feet as he made his way to the kitchen. His eyebrows furrowed, surprised to be met with an empty kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of sizzling bacon absent. Not to mention the absence of Dean, as well. It wasn’t uncommon for the older to sleep in, though, so Sam paid little mind to the pang of worry in his chest as he began brewing a pot of coffee.
It was almost 10 o’clock when Sam glanced down the hallway towards Dean’s door. The older still hadn’t emerged from his room, and Sam was starting to worry that he had been hurt last night and hadn’t told Sam. He could have passed out, lying in a pool of his own blood on his bedroom floor. Realistically, Dean would have gotten Sam if he had been dying, but it could have been a concussion with internal bleeding; something Dean would have tried to sleep off unknowingly.
At that thought, Sam sprang up from his chair and made his way to his brother’s room. He knocked on the door, and after a few tense moments, a rough “ Yeah? ” sounded from the other side of the door.
Sam exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “‘Just checking to make sure you’re alright. Usually, you’d be up by now,” he called back. When he didn’t get a witty response, Sam’s face fell back into a frown. “Dean? Can I come in?” He asked, his hand already turning the doorknob before another “ Yeah, ” sounded from his brother.
Dean’s room looked startlingly normal. There was no great danger anywhere, and the space was fairly clean aside from a few (old) food wrappers and a pair of jeans (probably Dean’s from yesterday) on the floor. Dean was lying in his bed, facing the wall with the covers draped over his body half-hazardously. Sam sighed in relief. “You okay?”
After a moment, Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah. Can’t a guy sleep in every once in a while?” His quip lacked its usual bite, though, and he hadn’t turned to face Sam yet.
“Of course you can,” Sam’s tone softened. “I left some pancakes in the fridge for you. Do you want me to put on a fresh pot of coffee?”
“No, I’ll get it,” Dean grunted as he pushed the blankets off of himself before kicking his legs over the side of the bed. “Thanks though, Sammy.” Dean still hadn’t met Sam’s eyes, his voice coming out softer than usual, as if he were talking to a child.
Sam left his brother to get dressed, making his way to the kitchen to put on a fresh pot of coffee anyway. When Dean shuffled in wearing pyjama pants and his robe, Sam didn’t comment on it, only passing his brother a plate of freshly-heated pancakes with the bottle of syrup.
“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean mumbled and set the dishes onto the counter before making his way to the coffee machine.
Sam moved to sit at the kitchen table where his computer was open next to a lore book that he was translating into his online database. He pretended to focus on his work, though he was actually watching Dean, who had taken over 20 seconds to find the cream inside the fridge even though Sam had put it at the front after using it this morning.
Dean’s movements were sluggish as if he were still half asleep, and he paused every few moments, seemingly lost in thought.
After what was double the amount of time that Dean usually took to prepare his coffee, the older Winchester sat down across from Sam. Dean picked up his fork and cut a piece of pancake, and after another pause, he shoved it into his mouth.
By the time Dean had almost finished half of his plate, Sam was thoroughly worried about his brother. Dean had resorted to staring blankly into his plate, his coffee forgotten.
“Dean?” Sam cleared his throat, and Dean flinched and looked up, meeting Sam’s eyes for the first time this morning. Sam felt lost for words as he took in his brother’s glassy, tired eyes. Now that he could see Dean fully, Sam realised that his brother looked wrecked .“Did something happen?” He asked, urgency creeping into his tone.
“No?” Dean’s response came out as a question, as if he wasn’t quite sure himself. After a moment, he mumbled, “Just tired from yesterday,” before getting up and taking his dishes to the sink.
“Okay. I’m here if you need anything.” Sam said, watching his brother’s robotic movements as he cleared his plate and began to scrub it clean.
Suddenly, Dean stopped moving, his head drooping lower than necessary for washing dishes, and Sam noticed as his shoulders began to shake. “Dean?” Sam called softly, though his brother didn’t turn around. Sam stood up and crossed the kitchen until he was standing next to Dean. At this angle, he could see the tears running down the other’s cheeks, his hands limply holding onto the handle of his mug as the sink continued to sputter.
Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and turned off the sink. “Hey. I’m right here, Dean, if you wanna talk,” he said, which only made Dean’s breath hitch as he squeezed his eyes shut, a few tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Fuck. I don’t know what’s wrong, Sam,” Dean whispered, the exhaustion in his voice breaking Sam’s heart. “I just feel like crap. Nothing hurts, nothing happened.”
Sam squeezed Dean’s shoulder, his heart heavy with empathy as he realised what was going on. His brother was caught in a mood. “Do you wanna head back to bed?” He asked, and Dean only nodded as he suppressed another sob, his breath hitching unevenly.
Sam guided his brother towards his room, and when they got there, he helped him lie down under the covers.
“Do you need anything?” He asked after Dean had gotten comfortable lying on his side.
Dean sniffled and rubbed a hand across his eyes. “No,” he answered.
“Okay. Let me know if you do.”
Sam turned to leave but stopped when Dean cleared his throat. “Sammy…” He mumbled, and Sam turned around to face him again. “I don’t really wanna be alone, right now… D’ya think you could do your work in here?”
“Uhm, sure.” Sam’s eyes scanned Dean’s room, noting that he’d need to bring a chair to sit in. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
By the time he’d gotten back with his laptop and a chair from the kitchen, the tears had stopped flowing from Dean’s eyes. Sam set the chair in the corner next to the dresser and sat down, opening his laptop to the tab he’d been on before.
Before he started reading, Sam glanced up, surprised when his eyes met Dean’s. His brother’s eyes were red and puffy, and his face was sagging with exhaustion. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” He suggested, though Dean shook his head.
“Not tired,” he mumbled.
“Okay. Do you wanna watch something on my laptop, then?”
Dean seemed to think for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t wanna stop you from doing your nerd crap…”
“I’ll just grab a book. Here.” Sam stood and handed Dean his laptop. As he was leaving the room, Dean stopped him again, calling his name.
“You wanna watch something together?” Dean asked hesitantly, peaking at Sam over the mountain of blankets that were covering his body. Sam’s face melted into a grin at the request.
“Sure. Do you wanna move to the Dean-Cave?” Sam asked, and all Dean had to do was shake his head before Sam was crawling to sit on the empty side of Dean’s bed. Once he was settled, Dean passed Sam his computer back, telling him to choose anything as long as it wasn’t “a friggin’ chick-flick.”
Sam queued up a movie and reached over Dean to set his laptop on the bedside table. As the intro credits began to roll, Sam propped himself up on his elbow to see the screen.
The room fell into a quiet tranquility, the only sounds being the movie and two sets of soft breathing. Sam was hardly paying attention to the movie, his mind too jumbled with concern for his brother to focus on anything else. Dean had off days every once in a while; they both did, especially after all of the trauma they’ve experienced over the years. Dean was better at hiding his bad moods, though; staying in bed or curled up in the Dean-Cave. Today seemed worse than usual, though. On rough days, Dean would usually make it through breakfast before retreating to his room for the rest of the day. Today, he didn’t even finish half of his food.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much they could do about their moods. They didn’t have time to see a therapist, let alone finding one that they could be honest with about their lives. The best Sam could do was be there for Dean when he needed him, and Dean likewise.
Sam was beginning to think his brother had fallen asleep when suddenly, Dean rolled over to face him, his expression twisted with unguarded exhaustion.
Sam met Dean’s eyes, trying to express as much sympathy as possible without saying anything.
“I hate feelin’ like this,” Dean said as he rubbed a hand down his face.
“I know. It’ll pass.”
Dean’s gaze fell to the sheets. “Friggen’ sucks,” he muttered, his eyes beginning to water. Sam brought a hand up to rub Dean’s arm in a comforting gesture. He could understand Dean’s frustration. It sucked feeling terrible for no reason and not being able to shake it off like they usually did.
“Yeah…” Dean melted into his brother’s touch, too tired to care about how “girly” he was acting.
In seek of comfort, Dean shuffled forward and wrapped his arms around Sam, burying his head into the other’s chest. Sam smiled and moved his hand to rub Dean’s back, who sighed in contempt at the contact, the movie forgotten. It was nice being close. Sam could almost forget about the weight on their shoulders when he was lying with Dean, even if the thousand tons of weight on their shoulders was what prompted their cuddling.
“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean mumbled into Sam’s chest, warming his brother’s heart.
“Of course, Dean.”