Archive of Our Own

He thought he knew how empty a hotel room could feel - he'd lived through six grueling months after the Trickster's first Wednesday and yet four months more on top of that after Dean had made his trip Way Down South.

He thought he knew, but that was where the joke lay right there. When someone is dead, when they're gone - it is a void, a hollow ache were they should be. But when they are alive, it is like a whisper you hear behind you constantly.

Empty - but not.

Every hotel room from then on was empty, though that really wasn't the word for it. It took him over a week to cipher out just what that word was, but when he did the irony hit him with a wallop that was both amusing and depressing all at once.

Haunted.

4:44AM

Dean.

'Aw, FUCK.'

He froze, his thoughts a jumbled train wreck as he fought (and failed) to keep his facial expressions calm and rational at the sudden appearance of the last person he expected to see, standing big as Billy-Be-Damned in the doorway, his eyes, his face unreadable in the dim, predawn darkness. Sam could feel his brain jumping a million miles ahead before he even fully saw his brother, all the excuses, explanations, rants and pleas he had shored himself up with tumbling into an incoherent mess in his own mind, showing him how weak and pathetic words really could be sometimes. Nothing - nothing could have prepared him for this. Up a shit creek without a paddle was a serious understatement when confronted with Dean, alive, solid, in person and no doubt madder than Hell, too.

Not that Sam could blame him - he had promised after all. Then lied and lied and lied to cover it up.

Fucking Ruby. Never thought he'd have his face rubbed in it by a demon.

He was disgusted with himself - being so sloppy he got caught before he could properly explain what he was doing, why he was doing it, was stupid. And really, if he thought about it, he was a little pissed at Dean, too. Fucker never could keep his nose out of anything - especially anything that had to do with his younger brother. Dean had spent his whole life so far up his ass, Sam could swear he was lodged there permanently - but when he went to Hell...shit. He'd seemed so out of it here of late, Sam figured he'd never get caught - not like this, anyhow. It was fucking embarrassing!

He could feel his celebratory mood evaporating as quickly as it had formed, and damned if that didn't piss him off, as well.

He tried to keep it all in check, put his expression back into neutral (or some semblance of it) before Dean caught wind of the tangle of mixed thoughts and emotions he had, and reacted (or overreacted, as was more Dean's style) accordingly. But when Sam saw him, actually saw him...

Words just couldn't describe it.

It wasn't just horror, or anger, or sorrow - or any of the things Sam fully expected. It was pain, confusion and loss. His brother looked lost, like someone had just slapped him with no provocation, like his whole world had gone under and he was left with nothing but empty space. He looked like he had no idea where he was, or even why.

At that moment, Sam's disgust with himself, with Dean - his anger at being caught so flatfooted and at the mercy of Ruby's 'I told you so', his utter weariness at the whole game of hide-n-seek-and-gak-the-bad-guy overcame him and he knew, just knew, that Dean caught it. That he was going to misinterpret it (though maybe, just maybe, not completely) and he was going to pitch the biggest bitch-fit that Sam had ever seen in his life. He tightened his lips and looked away - turned away from that pale, stricken look on his brother's face - and before he could help himself, made what he knew had to be the biggest mistake of his life (as if getting caught playing Psychic-Wonder didn't qualify.)

He glanced at Ruby, his eyes pleading for some type of aid, some kind of help - and he could almost feel the sharp intake of breath from Dean, even knew what this looked like. But he couldn't stop himself if he tried. He needed Ruby to tell him what to do about this, as the guy he usually asked for help, asked for guidance - was the guy he needed help with. And how sad is that? That one day you wake up - and you don't even know how to be a brother to your brother anymore?

He tore his eyes from Ruby, who looked just as pissed, miserable and scared as he felt (so, tons of help there) to see Dean's face draw into itself, his eyes a blank slate of nothingness, the vivid moss green becoming dull and almost...empty. His brother wavered for a moment, like the ground under his feet was no longer solid, his eyes darting from Sam to Ruby to Sam again - but Sam didn't think he saw either of them, not really. He could feel himself swallow hard, jaw creaking with the strain of unclenching, his mouth suddenly dry and sticky, lips parting to say god knows what - but Dean was already turning, the muted thud of his boot against the concrete loud and shocking in the stifling atmosphere of the warehouse.

Bewildered by this odd turn of events, Sam could feel his brain stutter in his skull, his reactions delayed by fear, exhaustion and an odd sense of detachment - like none of this was really happening. Like he had fallen asleep in Ruby's car and dreamed this whole miserable two fucking second encounter - and that any moment now he would wake up and know what to do.

But the tingling at the back of his neck, the chill in his throat from the autumn air, the tightness of his chest all told him differently. This was real. This was happening.

He had to stop it.

"Dean."

He nearly choked on the disgust, weariness and lost confusion in his tone, the very sound like shards of glass being thrown into a metal pipe. He could feel his own reluctance crawl up his windpipe and die within his voice, and for a mere moment he found his capacity to hate himself was never-ending. He just wished Dean had stayed away, that Dean had never had the notion to follow him -

That Dean didn't exist...

- that he could just start this day over and tell Ruby to fuck off and do it her damned self.
'What a fucking mess.'

He was tempted to run after him, the echoing fade of his brother's footsteps raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck, setting off internal alarms to something not-right and this-is-bad. He was not in the slightest surprised to find he was already in motion, his body on autopilot while his mind waffled and hummed to itself. The only thing stopping him was -

"Sam."

'Speak of the devil.'

"Ruby, I -"

"No, Sam - we gotta go. This guy's in pretty bad shape."

"But -"

"Sam." It was as close to a plea as she could get. He turned to face her, the rumble of the Impala's engine a counterpoint to how futile it would be to chase his brother down after all - the alarms chirruping in his skull hitting maximum before fading with the screech of the Chevy's tires. He blinked once, his pleasure over his success -

Saving people, hunting things - the family business...

- a mere tickle of relief now. His head throbbed and his stomach felt like it was turning inside out. What little light there was in the room was too much, every noise was like a rifle-shot and he had a bad feeling that things were only going from bad to worse the longer they delayed.

"Yeah," he sighed, taking in the pale, drawn face of their survivor - poor guy looked half dead. Ruby didn't look much better, her features ashen and tight in the thin wash of moonlight from the window, eyes dark and unreadable as she stared at him, her hair swaying down to hide her expression as she leaned over (Randy? Rocky?) their charge, checking his vitals. "Yeah, I hear you - let's go."

He hurried back to her side, leaning down to take the brunt of the young man's weight, his back already twinging in protest as they slung his arms over their respective shoulders, his hunched posture sending a cramp down his legs as he kept pace with Ruby, hustling the ex-victim to her Mustang. In record time they had him laid out on the back seat, Sam's jacket serving as a makeshift blanket. He wished fleetingly (for the second time in under an hour) for the Impala's worn Army blanket, but shrugged it off as he buckled himself in, feet braced against the worn floorboards as Ruby accelerated out of the gravel lot. He twisted his upper body in the passenger seat to check on the unconscious ex-host, hand hovering over him as Ruby spun the car around towards the road, ready to shift him if he rolled towards the edge of the seat. Within seconds she had the nose of the muscle car (an irony in itself that hadn't passed Sam unnoticed, the vast differences between the two people he needed most and yet the sameness of them) on the blacktop, heading towards the hospital. Once the tires touched pavement, he reluctantly pulled his arm back to his lap, assured that their passenger was dozing and secure.

He crimped himself back into the tight space, fleetingly wishing for the Impala's leg room before banishing the thought of her to the back of his mind. At the same moment, he banished all thoughts of his brother there, too - brain grinding away for a plausible explanation for the man's condition that the ER techs would swallow, his eyes unfocused and far away as the mild headache he'd been fighting back for the last ten minutes bloomed into a humdinger of a migraine. And here he thought he might avoid it this time - or at least avoid acknowledging it.

Though this one seemed less power-based and more 'I'm fucked and unable to think/talk/beg my way out of it' based. Ahhh, the joys that awaited him when he got back to the hotel room would be fucking epic. Great.

Ruby cleared her throat and he fought the spike of pain that accompanied his aborted attempt at an eyeroll, a weird, breathless dizziness gripping him for a span of two seconds, forcing him to breathe through his nose until he found his equilibrium again. Once more, lights were too bright and every sound was like steel wool being scrapped across the thin tissues of his inner ear, but at least he could turn his head and look at her afterwards without wanting to throw up - well, immediately at any rate.

'Mental note - do NOT try that again,' he thought grimly, hoping she would pass off his less than quick response as either a reluctance to talk or as an absentminded brain-fart brought on by a long night, hard work and not enough sleep.

"I thought you didn't have a headache," she began, her brow furrowed in the muted wash of light spilling through the windshield. He shrugged carefully and swiped his hair out of his eyes, dimly noting the dull ache his fingers left against his skin, his whole body wanting to join in the clamor for dark, quiet and numb.

"I didn't - not at first..." He trailed off, hoping the conversation would end there, even as a small part of his mind hoped she would punish him with more questions - keep that look on Dean's face fixed firmly in his head, keep him from being able to will it away and ignore it. She looked as if she was going to push the issue for a minute, but said nothing, waiting for a beat to see if Sam would elaborate. When he didn't she frowned in irritation and shrugged, glancing at him only once before putting total concentration on the road, tires dragging and sliding in the occasional dense slickness of predawn frost.

It seemed mere moments, but had to have been at least half an hour before they pulled up, tires screeching, at the entrance to the ER's Trauma Unit, Ruby's door open within seconds as a team of orderlies and nurses spilled out into the chilly morning, the light and noise being the last thing Sam needed - but the first thing their victim needed. He folded out of his own door and and assisted the first pairs of hands that reached into the back of the Mustang, cradling the man's neck and shoulders as vitals, stats and orders flew around and over his head, the ache that resided behind his eyes trebling as he fought to breathe through it. He stammered a half assed explanation of finding him passed out in front of a bar, as the still unnamed individual was whisked through the automated double doors, the light and noise of the trauma team fleeing close behind them. He staggered and found himself almost following them, the response to orders and shouting so ingrained that he had to will himself to stay put, to keep out of the way. The guy was an unknown - sure, they saved him, but they weren't obliged to him beyond that point.

There was one medic still hovering nearby and he waved him off before the tech could start in on him, mumbling something about a headache and going home. He equally ignored the rapid, machine-gunned questions about who he was, how he found the man, etc, etc - and crawled back into the passenger seat of Ruby's car, barely registering her murmured yet firm replies to the nosy nurse before she got back in herself, frown between her eyes growing deeper as she gunned the engine and pulled away.

They drove back to the hotel in silence, the shushing sound of the tires on the road soothing and grating all at the same time against his poor ears, his eyes closed in elf defense against the assault of light and moving lines on the blacktop. This ride was much shorter, but seemed to last forever - the silence inside the vehicle heavy with unanswered questions and obvious lies waiting to be voiced, but Ruby did him the mercy of keeping quiet, the hum of her breathing a counterpoint to the tires on the road.

Finally, finally they slid to a smooth stop in front of the room, the engine cutting out was a clanking groan that left the quiet pressing against his ears more painful (if possible) and he creaked his jaw in protest, swallowing thickly to ease the dryness of his throat. Ruby said nothing and made no attempt to touch him, a gesture that spoke of understanding and past experience and his relieved gratitude was so overwhelming he almost sobbed for the sheer beauty of it. He slowly uncurled in the seat, taking slow, deep breaths as he did so, the whiplash of pain dulling to a throb, then a distant ache. He was unsure how long he'd sat there, trying to manage breathing and not vomiting at the same time, but not too long after he'd gotten the hang of it, two pills landed in the cup rest in front of him, a bottle of water (lukewarm - but so much better than shocking cold right now) hovering just within reach.

He snatched at the water, almost regretting it as his world tilted for a moment, then slowed his movements as he uncapped the bottle, taking two short swallows, swishing the water around in his mouth to take the edge off the dryness on his tongue. Three more deep breaths and he took the painkillers, concentrating on keeping still and letting the pills work their magic before he would dare to attempt more strenuous activity. They sat in comfortable silence as he waited it out, the tense atmosphere fading with his headache - though it was still ten more minutes before Ruby dared to talk, her voice pitched low and soft in an attempt to keep his pain from reaching a crescendo once more.

"We could have gotten you looked at, Sam. It's been awhile since it's been that bad, I know - but this one...it looked really killer. I thought you were going to pass out on me. You're supposed to let me know when you get a headache, Sammy - and you are definitely suppose to wave the white flag if they get to be too much. I can't help you if you don't tell me anything - and I can't depend on you to help me if you can't even raise your head without throwing up."

He took the concern, the jibe and the scolding for what it was and nodded as much as his pain would allow, the thumping pound of his head receding faster than he thought it could, leaving only a weary blankness in its place. He tilted his head slowly to catch her gaze, the frown she'd been wearing for the past hour, now more of worry than anger or impatience, and he mustered up a tired smile for her, his mouth feeling heavy and uncooperative.

"I'm sorry, Ruby," he sighed, patting her arm awkwardly. "I didn't mean to scare you, just..."

He trailed off there, closing his eyes and taking pleasure in the void of pain for a moment, the ache disappearing slowly but surely as the seconds passed, his skull now one piece instead of the shattered conglomeration it had been just mere minutes before. It was becoming easier to think, to speak now that the crash of pain was erasing itself. It was taking longer than he'd like, but at least the pills were working. At one time, all the Tylenol in the world couldn't touch this kind of pain, but this was more of a stress headache anyhow - he recognized it from long hours cramming for exams and poring over Dad's journal for information on the latest hunt.

He barely avoided thinking about Dean - and forced his mind to stay away, to not go there right now. He'd be dealing with him soon enough, he supposed - though why Dean hadn't yet come out of the room to check why they were still sitting out here was a head-scratcher. Shit, Ruby was taking a real chance by hanging out here with him this long - he must've looked real bad this time around.

"It creeped up on me before I could really tell how bad it was getting - and then when we were dropping him off at the hospital...well, my mind was on him, not on my headache, you know?"

"Sam..." Chiding, but worried again. "Sam, you need to take better care of yourself, " Dean should take better care of you. "I mean, if this is too much - if we need to stop for awhile -"

"No!" A flare of lightening behind his eyes, a warning and a threat. "No - this was... This had nothing to do with the job tonight. I think I just need to get some sleep and some actual food in my stomach and I'll be okay. I don't...I don't want to stop - and I'm not going to let anything stop me from doing what is right, not even a little headache -"

Named Dean.

"Okay, Sam - but if you ever need to take it easy, slow down some -"

"I'll let you know, Ruby." He forced himself to look at her, the last whispers of agony fading back to the dull buzz they had started out as and managed a watery smile. "I promise, okay?"
She smiled softly in return and threaded her fingers through his, her eyes shy and unsure as she snuck a glance at the still closed hotel door.

"Can you -?"

"Yeah...hopefully he'll reserve all of his yelling for later. Depends on his mood, I guess. He's had time to cool off, soo..."

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, still cautious about too much fast movement, the fear of pain almost greater than the pain itself. Ruby nodded in understanding, tension flowing out of her upper body at the confidence and assurance in Sam's smile. She squeezed his hand gently and then released herself from his grip, eyes drifting back to the windshield, squinting as if she could see through the door to the room beyond.

"If you need me -"

"I'll be fine," he soothed. "It's just Dean, Ruby. He'll be pissed, he'll be growly and want to scream a whole lot - shit, he might even lay a punch on me, but it's nothing I can't handle. And I might even have that punch coming - I did lie to him, after all."

Her lips thinned in disapproval (but she disapproved of most things concerning Sam and Dean and Dean and Sam, anyhow) but she said nothing, a mild snort the most she would muster over his statement. Sam really wasn't in the mood to discuss it with Dean, wasn't really in the mood to deal with Dean - but he figured he could at least hear him out. Dean would probably puff and blow, overreact to the whole thing and say hello with his fist rather than his voice - and though this would only prove Sam right about keeping it to himself for so long, he knew he'd be able to bring his big brother around. It would take a lot more talking, cajoling and groveling than he felt up to at the moment, but it was doable. He just hope the coming roundhouse wouldn't send the churchbells in his head back to ringing.

He stalled a moment longer, concerned that Dean hadn't yet made an appearance (and they had been sitting in front of the room for damn near twenty minutes) and caught between the hope that he was asleep and the hope that he had cooled off and was now concerned, too. A worried Dean could be unpredictable, but a worried Dean was easier to talk down overall. Didn't mean Sam wasn't hoping harder than not that he was asleep, though.

'Well, no time like the present,' he thought wistfully, cracking his door open with a squealing snap while trying not to cringe at the echo of it in the dawn quiet, automatically casting about for any pissed guests as he clambered out of the tight confines of the Mustang. He managed to successfully jackknife himself out of the cramped seat, stretching to relieve the ache in his back and legs, before leaning back down to peer at Ruby, hand held loosely on the door.

"Just, ahhh...call me. 'Kay?"

"Sure Sam, you know I will," she replied, smile sitting gently on her lips. She still looked worried, but not as badly as before - and her eyes sang apology for what awaited him inside. "Just, you know - take it easy, alright?"

"No problem," he muttered distractedly, leaning away from the inside of the car as he pushed the door closed with a muted thud, digging into his pockets for his keys before he even stepped foot on the sidewalk, turning to give her a small wave when the engine came to life once more, vehicle swinging away from the curb mere moments later.

"See ya'..." he whispered, finally locating the plastic card in his right jacket pocket, turning to face the room again as a flutter of mild panic rose out of nowhere to settle at the bottom of his stomach. He grimaced at the sudden surge of emotion, unsure what caused it, but all too aware of the prickle of fine hair that rose along his neck and arms the closer he got to the room. He flicked a glance at the curtains, sure he would see Dean peering out of them, or even a silhouette of his shadow outlined against them - but the curtains remained still and bland in the weak light from the rising sun, not so much as a flicker of movement stirred the stiff cotton weave.

The lack of any activity, of any sounds from within made him pause on the threshold, key hovering millimeters away from the slot, head cocked against the splintered, washed out paint of the door, his whole body straining to listen. But there was nothing. The very air felt sludgey and thick in the leaning quiet, tiny alarms that he had thought long silent more than an hour and a half ago becoming loud and insistent once more beneath his breastbone, the whole atmosphere off-kilter and whispering of 'not-right'. He stared at the beaten plywood of the door dolefully, hesitant to see what was making all of his senses go on alert, but curiosity making him anxious to just get it over with.

He'd alway been the more cautious of the two brothers, but an insatiable nosiness was usually the first thing to do him in. He depended more naturally on his head, his knowledge, than his gut. Instinct was Dean's department - his internal radar would make a veteran cop green with envy and his street smarts left even the most adept con-artist shaking their heads with admiration. Every now and again Sam was blessed with a sliver of intuition, sometimes powerful enough to rival Dean's - but he always had a hard time relying on it, mistrusting the sensations that came with it, especially when hard logic defied such feelings. Though there were times...times just like this -

He stilled his muscles and his mind, concentrating on his breathing, his heart-beat - using these two constants to gauge what he was feeling, get a bead on his surroundings.

The seconds ticked by with the thud of his heart. Behind and to the left of him, a bird let out a sharp call, raucous voice cutting through the fog of his concentration and he jumped in response, air forced out of his lungs with a pained whoosh. He felt dizzy for a moment from the lack of oxygen, unaware until now that he had stopped breathing, he'd been so focused. He took another deep breath and let it out again slowly, a small laugh escaping him at his bizarre behavior. There was no reason to be apprehensive, no reason to be nervous - all he was doing was delaying the inevitable anyway. He smiled to himself, shaking his head again as he unlocked the door, the odd sensation of something wrong slipping away almost as suddenly as it had come, as if he had dreamed it while awake. He chalked it up to a left over side-effect of his receded headache and opened the door, taking care to keep quiet in case Dean had fallen asleep after all.

He slipped the key into the front pocket of his jeans, shucking his coat with practiced ease as he scanned the dark room. There seemed to be no movement, no sound inside the small space and Sam sighed quietly in relief. Meant that any and all confrontation would have to wait until Dean woke up, which meant (hopefully) a few hours of shut eye himself.

He would normally hang his coat over a chair or in the closet, but he was too tired to be formal and too wary of waking Dean to put that much effort into keeping quiet while shuffling around the room, so in an uncharacteristic display of carelessness, he dropped his jacket across the table, missing the muted hiss-scatter of the Impala's key as he stumbled to his side of the room, lulled by the protective front of his brother's bed near the door. Some things hadn't changed, and while Dean slept like the proverbial dead, now - he still insisted on sleeping closest to the door, just in case.

He located his bed and slid his body across it, half-heartedly toeing off his shoes, but not making much effort beyond that to get undressed, the blessings of cool, dark and quiet (finally) too hard to resist as he tugged a pillow under his head, covers foregone in favor of a faster slide into slumber - sure that Dean would cover him up if he found him like that. He might jump up and down and holler when they were both awake and moving, but until then, he'd just be...Dean - and for a moment he thought about how glad he was to have that back, how much he had missed Dean and his Dean-ness while he was...away. He knew 'away' didn't cover the whole fucking load of baggage Dean had brought back with him, he knew 'away' didn't even come close to describing what his brother had gone through. When all was said and done though, he knew he had to make more of an effort to help Dean, to let him know (especially after tonight's little fiasco) how much he loved him, how he'd missed him - that he was there for him. But he would be no good to his brother dead on his feet, that was for sure.

He tried to force his mind to stop churning, pull it away from the uncomfortable territory it was edging towards and concentrated instead on the lovely (fucking awesome) euphoric feeling he got from exorcising demons, at his easy success tonight, at his win. He fell asleep quickly, his dreams unfettered or riddled with nightmares for the first time in a long time, secure in the inner knowledge that his brother was nearby, watching over him as he always had. He slept for a good portion of the morning and afternoon, relaxed and almost smiling into his pillow as his body enjoyed the rest it so justly deserved.

It would be the last time for a long time that he would sleep so well, so securely - and so untouched by the nightmare that he would awaken to barely six hours later.