Whoa! Content on this blog! While it’s not my usual stories, and not even Doctor Who, it’s part one of a ficlet based on a special series of comics by @asksamstuff for their contest [x]. There’s two parts, and I’ll explain more about why in the next bit, but anyway!
Original inspiration and dialogue used is from this post.
~ Sam was cursed to revert back to his five-year-old self, with only the memories he had at that age. Dean’s taking care of him, but he can only hide his demons for so long… ~
Sam’s breath hiccupped as he shuffled down the dark hallways of the bunker toward Dean’s room. His big brother was always there for him, he’d know how to comfort Sam how the nightmare he’d just had.
He could never remember his dreams after he woke up, but they always left him with a bad feeling deep down. Sometimes he even woke up all hot, like he was in an oven. And he never knew why.
Dean would make it better. He always did.
The door was open a crack when Sam reached it, pushing it open the rest of the way with on tiny hand.
“Dean, I had a bad dream and I…” Sam’s whisper trailed off when he noticed the shadow. Dean wasn’t in bed at all. He was sitting on the floor, all hunched.
“Dean? Y’okay?” Sam padded further into the room as his eyes adjusted, noticing the tension in his big brother’s shoulders, the sweat dripping from his face, the shaking in his fist.
“D-Dean?” Sam tried again quietly, his concern mounting the longer he went without an answer.
“Sam,” said Dean in a strained voice. “It’s not… Go back to sleep.”
Sam was sad for his big brother. Dean tried to hide it, setting Sam up by the TV with his Power Rangers DVDs while he took a nap or went out for some air, but Sam could tell. Dean wasn’t alright all the time.
But that was okay, neither was Sam. The least he could do was show Dean he wasn’t alone.
“Did- did you have a bad dream, too?” Sam ventured, tiptoeing closer. Dean’s shoulders bunched up even more and his left hand flew to grab the inside of his right elbow as the shaking in his fist got worse.
None of this deterred Sam as he reached a little hand to rest on his big brother’s shoulder, lightly patting the soft black tee.
“It’s okay, Dean—“
“I SAID GO!”
In a flash, Dean’s elbow swung out and connected with Sam’s chest. He was shoved hard, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
Everything fell silent as the brothers stared at each other, Dean in shock at what he’d just done to his de-aged little brother. Tears pricked at the corners of Sam’s eyes, and before Dean could stop him, apologize – something – the kid was off like a shot.
“Sam—Sammy, wait! Come back—shit!” Dean jumped to his feet and hurried down the darkened passages of the bunker after his little brother.
Dean searched and searched, turning on every light he could find and calling after Sam. “Sam… Sam, I’m sorry,” he lamented. And he truly was. He didn’t know what came over him…
A twinge in his right arm reminded him that that was a lie. Dean stubbornly ignored it.
“Where are you??”
Truth be told, Sam had no idea where he was. He ran and ran in the dark, finding the deepest corner he could nestle himself into. There he curled into a ball, trembling and cringing as Dean’s voice echoed through the halls.
“Sam… Please, I just…”
Sam could hear Dean calling, but this time he did not want to come out. When he squeezed his eyes shut, he could still see it… The tattoo on Dean’s arm. It looked like a funky number seven, but something about it felt bad to Sam. Somehow, he just knew it was what was making Dean act all out of sorts.
It was the only thing different about Dean, from what Sam knew.
“I didn’t mean to—,” Dean’s next plea was cut off by a muffled guitar riff, one of Dean’s favorite songs. His ringtone.
It stopped when Dean answered.
“Cas—Now’s not a good time. Where are you? …Sam? He’s… Uh…”
Sam barely registered Dean’s voice anymore, curling into a ball as his head spun with bad thoughts.