Chapter Text
A gasp.
His lungs can’t catch the air around them. His hands fly to his throat, nails scratching the skin. After a second, Sam draws a long, deep breath. Fresh air floods his lungs, loosening his body. But his vision blurs, and his hearing is muffled. There is a box in front of him with shows a person at a desk talking. He doesn’t understand what is happening.
“…conflict intensifies between U.S. and E.U. forces,” a man in the box says. Sam blinks, eyes drifting to the wallpaper on the walls. The soft light of the bulb makes it look yellow and old.
A tap on his right shoulder.
Sam turns his head.
Dean.
Dean!
Dean is carrying a sandwich in one hand and feeding another into his mouth with the other. He looks normal, cocky smile and everything that makes his brother Dean. “Dad made it like you wanted, bitch,” Dean says, tapping him on the shoulder again.
“Dean!” comes a commanding voice from behind.
Sam turns around. “Dad?” he asks.
“Yeah, son?” Dad sits on a wooden chair by the stove, eyes scanning the newspapers spread across the table.
His heart is beating so fast in his ribs, but he doesn’t know why.
“Are you taking one or not?”
“Dean,” Sam repeats, looking back at him.
His brother frowns, putting the sandwich on the armrest and then putting his hand on Sam’s forehead. “Are you okay, Sam?”
“…diplomatic talks are being hosted in a last hope to…”
Sam’s eyes widen, his body feels cold in a heartbeat. Memories come back to him. Dad, taking them off the high school. People buying supplies. Them, buying a lot of food. The nervous faces in the people he passed by. He does not look back at the TV. Nor to the cans of food in the kitchen.
He just wants to see Dean.
Sighing, Dean says, “You know that’s bullshit, right? It’s not a big deal, just short-dick men in power. There’s nothing to worry about.” Dean stops, and Sam sees the doubt in him. “Dad!”
The chair creaks and then there are footsteps.
Sam still looking at Dean.
Their Dad turns the TV off and sits on the couch besides Sam. A hand touches his knee, and Sam looks back at Dad.
“It’s okay to be scared, Sammy,” he says, reaching with his other hand to brush Sam’s hair. “But a war?” Dad lets out a quiet laugh of disbelief. “That’s not gonna happened, son.” The heat of Dad’s hand feels good. The way he plays with his hair makes him believe. “And if it did—In the remote case of it. I will take care of you. Both of you. And we’re gonna be okay.” Dad looks over. “Are we clear?”
“Yes, Dad.” Sam and Dean both say. And Sam doesn’t know about Dean, but he believes him. “Yes, Dad,” he repeats, nodding his head and leading towards Dad. His head falls into Dad’s shoulder and the hand in his head sinks into it, touching the scalp and massaging it.
Dad huffs a soft laugh. “You’re gonna tear a hole in my jeans if you keep that, son.”
That’s when Sam realizes he’s been squeezing his dad’s leg with his right hand. Nails and all. He lets it go and immediately regrets it. He puts his palm in Dad’s knee, feeling the heat of it.
“Good boy.”
Clearing his throat, Dean sits in the empty space of the sofa and makes their legs press together. Sam doesn’t mind at all. “You still want the sandwich, Sammy?”
Sam shakes his head. His other hand reaching Dean’s knee. And Dean returns the gesture by moving up his own hand to Sam’s chest. “Just breath, okay?” Dean commands softly in his ear. His hand now is over Sam’s heart. It’s something Dean did when Sam was a toddler. Sam remembers.
He is in a cocoon of his favorite people in the world.
The only people he has.
They are the only thing that really matters to Sam.
“Remember the ghost hunt a few days ago?” Dad asks, breaking the silence. He doesn’t wait for them to reply. “My back’s still hurting. Is that okay if you let your old man catch a few z’s in one of the beds tonight?”
Sam can’t stop the way his body starts shaking. Knows what his dad is doing. There are only two beds in the cabin they are in, and Dad has been sleeping on the couch they are sitting on.
“It’s fine by me,” Dean says.
“Sam?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he whispers, feeling the wetness on his cheeks.
✦
From under the sheet, Sam hears his dad moving around. There are hammering sounds and footsteps.
He’s not brave enough to uncover and see what Dad is doing. Instead, he makes himself small on the bed, while Dean has one arm around him.
“Shhh, Sammy,” Dean says behind him as his hand clean the tears in his cheeks. Then, he moves to press himself more into Sam.
The amulet pokes at his back, but it’s comforting, not painful. It feels warm and it’s everything he wants right now.
“We’re gonna be fine, right, Dean?”
Dean takes a breath. “We’ll be, Sammy. Dad’s with us.” After a beat, he continues, “Don’t believe everything you hear on the TV, dude. They love to play with people’s nerves.”
“Why would Dad buy so many cans, then?”
Dean shrugs and takes a moment to reply. “We’re in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, Sammy. Why wouldn’t he buy?”
It makes sense—this way, Dad wouldn’t have to drive into town every time they ran out of food It doesn’t answer the question of why they are in the middle of nowhere, though.
“Dean, why are we—”
“Sammy, stop thinking so much. Dad said to sleep—we’ve got training tomorrow, remember?”
He does. He has to run five miles tomorrow and bow practice.
Sam lets out a groan. “Do we have to?”
“We do. So, get to sleep, okay? Dad’s gonna be mad if tomorrow you’re tired.”
Dean moves his hand to Sam’s chest, tapping his ribs in a rhythm they both know.
First, the index. Then, the middle. Next, the ring finger. At the end, the pinky.
One, two, three, four.
The sounds around him fade away and his heart slows. Dean’s warmth against his back is comforting. In the distance, he hears someone sitting on a bed. Hears a ‘good night’ and curls up within his brother’s arms.
One, two, three, four.
Sam yawns.
They’re going to be okay.
They have to be.
One.
They’re together.
Two.
Dad will protect them.
Three.
And Sam has Dean.
Four.
The End.