Caught In A Fold
Author's Notes: Thank you so much for all of the wonderful reviews! Here is chapter two, keep feeding me to get more...I'm sorry this chapter sucks. I wrote myself in to a slight corner. Busy week...I know it took me too long.
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"I've been rolling back
On a wave already broken
I can't fight the tide
As the sea
Encircles me"
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7 days earlier
"Sammy..." Dean called, in a frustrated sing song voice, having been stood here for fifteen minutes already attempting to wake his brother up from this unusually deep sleep. He was glad that he'd managed to catch up on some rest, but he'd been out for at least ten hours now and they had things to do. Besides, Dean couldn't help but be a little concerned. This was happening more and more often and it wasn't the only thing that concerned him about Sam of late. "Sam...Samuel..." Okay, in a moment he was going to just give up and slap the kid awake.
"Guh," Sam managed to mumble, still half asleep. He had been trying to say 'go away' but he hadn't managed to. He had been in such a deep sleep that he knew it was going to take him hours to wake up or actually be able to function on any level. He just snuggled further in to the covers and buried his head in the pillow, hoping that his brother might just magically go away. Or get frustrated and give up. Given their lives and the kinds of creatures and things that they dealt with, magically disappearing was probably the more likely of the two. Boy, he just really didn't want to get up. He was drained, he was weak. He didn't have the energy to search for their father, hunt whatever killed their mother and Jess. The only thing that he had the energy for was staying in bed. But apparently, Dean wasn't about to let him do that. Asshole.
"It's time to get up, Sammy," Dean told the younger man, shaking him now, just getting frustrated. He was getting this more often in the mornings recently, where it took him forever to wake the guy up and then when he did Sam would be in a total mood with him. And with life, actually. But that wasn't just in the mornings, he always seemed to feel that way. Sometimes Dean found it hard to blame him, Sam had certainly been through a lot. It was bound to mess you up, mess with your head. But he still felt like something was seriously wrong here.
At Sam's second attempt to go back to sleep, Dean pulled the covers from the bed, exposing his half naked brother. He screwed up his face slightly at the sight, but frowned. He could have sworn that he had been twice that size when they'd set out on the road together, after Jess's death. Lately he was looking frail, his skin pale. He looked like a ghost of his former self and Dean was often worried that if they got in to one of the more rough situations that they often faced, Sam wouldn't be able to handle himself. He seemed fragile, like he might break soon. Maybe it was only a matter of time? No. He shouldn't think that way. His baby brother was going to be fine, he was just stressed and depressed.
Even so, he couldn't remember seeing Sam smile for a very long time. Hearing him laugh. Watching him eat a full meal. Being enthusiastic. Not since Jess's death, not genuinely. He could tell that most of the time lately, Sam was faking. He'd always known when something was wrong with his baby brother, it was his job, or something. "Get up," he ordered, as he went in to the bathroom to finish getting ready. If Sam wasn't awake when he came back...hell...he'd probably just leave him there. Maybe he really wasn't up for the real life right now, maybe dreamland was better suiting.
When he did emerge, ready to head out, he found Sam was sat up in bed, looking quite wrecked. "Not getting sick on me are you?" Dean asked, the concern not quite shining through in his voice. He rarely let it, prefering it to be hidden. He didn't like to show too much emotion, ever. It could make you very weak, at least in his mind. "We have breakfast to eat and then investigating to do. We say this in every place...but something is definitely not right here."
"I'm not sick," Sam insisted, though he was fighting to keep his eyes open. "Just give me fifteen minutes and I'll be ready to go."
And, as he'd promised, fifteen minutes later he was up and ready to go, even if he wasn't entirely awake or well. They walked across to the diner to get their breakfast, sitting down at a table in a quiet corner. Dean ordered a feast of a breakfast and some coffee, frowning again as Sam insisted on having orange juice and fruit salad.
The next half hour was spent sat in that diner, Dean having finished his breakfast by this time. He was sat there, watching his brother poke at his salad. At least the orange juice had been gone less than three minutes after it had arrived at the table...that was something. Lack of appetite, that was another sign of depression.
It had been going on long enough, this state. It was severe, Dean was fairly sure now that he had to get help for his brother. That night, after a serious day of hunting and poking around a graveyard, they were no further forward in the case or in their battle against Sammy's depression. Having convinced his younger brother to take a long, hot bath, Dean had taken this chance to jump on to the laptop and do a little research. He was going to get Sam help, they weren't going to finish their case. They were going across the country and they'd start tomorrow. He just needed to work out what to say and what type of help was needed. He had the number for one place that dealt with many issues of the mind - he'd have it worked out by the time he called.
The next morning, Dean woke his brother up bright and early, getting the same fight as always. It took them an hour to get themselves together and out of the door, in to Dean's pride and joy, his Impala. Led Zeppelin were playing on the stereo, but Sam was just staring out of the window, lost in his own world. "Sam, you still alive in there?" Dean asked, feeling the need to check that his brother was actually still with him. Just because he was sat across from him in the passengers seat didn't mean he was actually with him mentally.
Sam nodded slightly, but remained silent for the rest of that morning's journey. When they stopped, he slowly and silently pulled himself out of the car, heading for the restroom. Dean watched with concern as the boy seemed to falter, looking as if he might drop right there. It was worse than he had thought...Sam was about ready to pass out. He hadn't been eating at all lately and when Dean had managed to force him, he was sure that the boy had thrown it up, unable to keep anything down. "You okay?" he asked, keeping some distance but not much, worried that if he didn't follow Sam that he might crash. "You look like you're about to faint there, Samantha."
Sam turned his head and glared slightly, but he looked ill. Pale, ill and Dean would bet a thousand bucks that he felt sick and dizzy. His vision blurred. He made a mental note not to tease Sam when he looked this way, he didn't respond very well to it. "I'm fine," he replied, a little sharply. He then made his way to the bathroom. As soon as he was inside, he leant against the wall, sliding down it. He was so tired, so weak. He felt like he was dying. Maybe he was. At least his brother hadn't tried to force breakfast on him again this morning. He hadn't eaten anything in twenty four hours, but he hadn't eaten much in a lot longer than that.
Jessica was dead, his mother was dead. They were both dead because of him. If he was better, then the people around him would be better. Things would be better. He deserved to be in pain, he deserved to hurt. He felt sick to his stomach permenantly. There were many things going around in his head, a lot more than Dean seemed to realise.