rough landing
by greensilver
--
He has a falling dream.
In the dream, he's being chased by something, and that thing is deliberately driving him toward a cliff's edge; he can't see the cliff, but he knows it's there.
He even knows that he's dreaming - that when he falls, he'll awaken; but he doesn't want to fall, even if it means waking up. He would let the unseen something chase him forever, if that would meain avoiding the fall.
But the thing drives him to the cliff's edge, and as he awakens his semiconscious body jerks on reflex, trying to stop his fall. The cheap motel blankets twist around his legs, trapping him in place.
That's what finally draws him awake: the fall was completely free of restraint, but the blankets cling to him like the strongest of fetters.
When he opens his eyes, his vision is mostly obstructed by the rough white pillowcase beneath his cheek. Just above the top line of white, Dean is partially visible: his face in profile, one arm flung up over his head. If Dean is awake, he doesn't show it; his mouth is slightly open, his breathing deep and even.
Sam's nerves are still on edge from the dream; even Dean's quiet breathing sends aftershocks rippling across his skin. He turns his face into the pillow and breathes through the worn cotton, trying to block out sound and thought, fighting off the memory of falling.
This dream isn't like most of the others; there isn't a deeper meaning to it, nothing that twists at his insides to make him sit up and take notice. This was just a dream.
But he can still feel the rush of freefall, and his muscles are still tensed for a rough landing.
He doesn't hear Dean get up, but he knows that Dean is awake - knows it just seconds before Dean's hand lands low on his back and settles there, flattening over his skin.
Dean must think he's having a nightmare.
Sam doesn't sit up, just turns his head on the pillow and squints up at Dean.
"It's not - um," he whispers, his voice still rough with sleep. "It's just a - a normal one."
"Normal," Dean repeats, sounding unconvinced. He isn't quite whispering, but his voice is lowered into the fake-casual tone he reserves for serious conversations.
"Yeah, normal." Sam rolls over a bit, and Dean's hand drags along his skin. "Falling, flying, late for an exam - normal."
Dean is silent for a moment; then his hand settles again, fingers spreading out over Sam's ribs. "So which one was it?"
"Which - oh." He's almost forgotten. "Um, falling."
Dean's hand rocks up and down Sam's side. It's probably meant to be a soothing motion, but Dean isn't the soothing type, and it doesn't come across that way.
Sam shifts back down, into the mattress. "I'll just-"
"Go back to sleep." Dean awkwardly pats Sam's side, like his hand wasn't pressed there just a moment before.
And then he's gone, retreating to the shower.
Sam hitches the blankets up over his head, and wills himself back to sleep.
--
In the morning, there's the usual: coffee, pancakes, a morning newspaper scribbled over in red. Dean has already circled all of the more unusual stories, and he reads a few of them to Sam around bites of pancake.
There isn't a mention of the night before, not that there would be.
Just after sunrise, they're out of North Dakota and en route to Great Falls, where a rash of unusual suicides have sparked interest. Early morning in Montana is cold and clear, and Highway 2 is deserted for miles in either direction. There's nothing in sight but an endless stretch of uncultivated land, all around them; the view is gorgeous, but it makes Sam feel a little bit like he and Dean are the last people left on the planet.
Every once in awhile, a house will pop up in the distance, or a stretch of fence will run along the highway for a mile or two. Some of those houses are falling in on themselves, and some of those fences are half-consumed by weeds, but even then, they're welcome signs that humanity did once set foot here.
Sam exhales slowly, letting his breath fog up the window. Better that he doesn't see the countryside, if it's going to creep him out.
Dean glances at him. "Deep thoughts, college boy?"
"Not really." Sam slouches back in his seat, closing his eyes. He's gotten used to sleeping on the road; when he was a kid, he hated sleeping in the car, but as of late he's come to appreciate the constant rhythm of road noise and the relative comfort of deep cushions. "I'm just going to-"
"Sleep?" Dean shrugs. "Yeah, tell me something I don't know."
Just for a moment, he's tempted.
Instead, he closes his eyes, waiting for the white noise of the road to lull him to sleep.
Maybe he'll dream, this time.
For once, he's so eager to get to sleep that he doesn't care if he dreams, or not.
--
The suicides in Great Falls turn out to be more than No Man's Land depression, and two days pass before Sam has time to turn introspective again. A possessed six-year-old with a kitchen knife gets a couple good slices in, and Sam wraps the cuts himself on the drive down into Wyoming.
In yet another cheap motel, Dean unwraps the bandages and checks each wound, his hands lingering on Sam's skin. Dean's fingers glide from one injury to the next until Sam covers Dean's hand with his own, locking it in place.
"I'm fine," he says, his voice almost a whisper.
Dean closes his eyes, not yet pulling his hand away.
Sam wants to push Dean back, to get up and leave, but he knows he won't -
- because maybe Dean thinks this is helping, and maybe he's right.
Sam loves his brother, and he hates his brother, and both feelings are torn through with a strange kind of self-loathing.
Sometimes the need to stay near Dean and the desire to be quit of him altogether will feel like the same ceaseless pull, forward and backward - and every direction he's drawn in will feel the same, like walking away from Dean would just be walking toward him in reverse.
He loves Dean.
He wants to be free of Dean, of the mission, of all of it.
He wants to find Jessica's killer, and walk away from Dean, never looking back -
- but it won't be like that, and he knows it.
Dean doesn't pull his hand away.
Sam doesn't let him.
--
Author's Note: Written for Cathybites in the Yuletide 2005 challenge.
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