Title: Lullaby

Author: Ghost

Disclaimer: I, in no way, shape or form, own Sam, Dean, or Supernatural. I don't own the song, either. I can't even play a radio very well. Any similarities to any persons, living, dead, or wandering the earth in ghostly torment, are completely coincidental.

Synopsis: Song!Fic. Dean stands vigil. Done to Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters".

Author's notes: This was written for Mikiya. She was having a bad day/week/month and when I asked her if I could do anything to help, she said: "I want a big brother fic based on Metallica's song: 'Nothing Else Matters'. Here's the lyrics. Go."

So I'm posting on this account because this fic actually belongs to Mikiya. You want it, talk to her. Besides, I don't write song!fic. ;)

*Hides before Miki finds out this got posted here.*

*

Lullaby

*

"So close, no matter how far…"

The song was almost a murmur. The voice, a gentle baritone, steady and pure, but roughened by the hesitance of a deep self-consciousness.

"Couldn't be much more from the heart…"

His voice was rough from more than shyness. Hoarse and broken, it was laced with an undertone of pure exhaustion that turned his song slightly painful, an echo of his own hurt.

"Forever trusting who we are…"

Dean sat next to the bed, hunched. He held his brother's hand with a total lack of concern for his image… it was the same way he'd held Sammy's hand when they were small and Sammy had needed his hand held so he wouldn't wander away and get lost.

Sammy needed it held now.

"And nothing else matters…"

Dean's eyes were raw – his body begging for sleep; his mind so far from it, he couldn't even remember he needed it.

"Never opened myself this way…"

Dean kept shivering at odd moments. It was something his body had always done when he was caught between too-little sleep, and too-much worry.

"Life is ours, we live it our way…"

He was rocking, just a bit…an unconscious, instinctive expression of distress. His thumb moved over Sam's cold hand, stroking steadily, as if he was keeping Sam's pulse going with that tiny, gentle movement.

"All these words I don't just say…"

Sam lay, as pale and still and distant as Dean was jittery and flushed and too much here, caught in the misery of the moment.

"And nothing else matters…"

The sun had come up at some point. Dean was aware of the heat of it in the window. He hadn't bothered to turn his head to look. He wasn't looking away from Sam. Not even for that.

"Trust I seek and I find in you…"

The doctors had spit out words and phrases like geysers; hours of nothing, then suddenly a torrent. They said things about skull fracture and swelling, and that if Sam slipped into a coma he probably wouldn't make it back.

"Every day for us something new…"

So Dean stayed and held – held Sam's hand so he wouldn't wander off, held his eyes open to keep watch, held his breath, waiting for Sam to sink or swim.

"Open mind for a different view…"

And Dean would keep holding on, no matter how long it took. However long Sammy needed him, he'd be there.

"And nothing else matters…"

It was his own fault. He'd been… ordering when he should have been listening. Watching when he should have been trusting.

"Never cared for what they do…"

The monster had come up from behind, where it should never have been.

"Never cared for what they know…"

He'd been yelling at Sam; about what, he couldn't remember now. Not just yelling; berating. Browbeating.

"But I know…"

It had come up from behind him. Sam had shoved him clear, raising his pistol to get a shot. The monster – they'd never figured out what the hell it was or where it'd come from or anything before Dean had lead them in there – it had ignored the bullets as if they didn't exist. One long arm slapping Dean back, and the other sending Sam flying.

"So close, no matter how far…"

It had hurt, when Dean had struck the wall. He remembered being surprised at how hard that thing could punch. Then he'd heard Sam hit….

"Couldn't be much more from the heart…"

Sam's head had smacked into that metal crossbeam with enough force to set it ringing.

"Forever trusting who we are…"

When Dean had gotten to him, he'd actually been surprised not to see gray-matter on the floor.

"And nothing else matters…"

He'd called Bobby, once they were at the hospital. Told him the hunt had gone bad. It was like saying that the ocean was wet – an overly simple statement that covered a huge, obvious truth. The truth was that the hunt had become a mess, which had ended in what Dean hoped would not be a tragedy.

"Never cared for what they do…"

The doctors said to talk to him. That it would help.

"Never cared for what they know…"

It made him feel weird, talking to someone who was sleeping… who was near comatose. Who wasn't really there. Yeah, the doctors said it would help, but it felt like the kind of thing they said just to make people happy. Sam couldn't hear him. Sam was too far away for that.

"But I know…"

At first Dean had just sat there, holding his hand. The song had come up slowly, starting with a hum, and moving on, until he was murmuring lyrics. Even now, he didn't really know he was singing. He was too focused on Sam to think about the singing. He was hearing the song in his head, and rubbing the life into Sam's cold hand, and that was what his universe had narrowed into.

"Never opened myself this way…"

He held on and he sang, for Sam – for himself. He'd been singing for hours.

"Life is ours, we live it our way..."

Sam would stay. Sam couldn't wander off, not when Dean had his hand and could keep him close.

"All these words I don't just say…"

Sam had always liked to wander. It had driven Dad nuts, the way Sam would just…take off. There was always some interesting tree, or weird building, or strange book that just had to be investigated. Sam had wandered a lot.

"Trust I seek and I find in you…"

He'd always come back though. When ever Dean called, he'd come trotting back.

"Every day for us, something new…"

It was as much an innate part of his little brother as the inability to take orders.

"Open mind for a different view…"

With Sammy, it was all about the tone. Ask him, and he'd cut off his hand for you; tell him and he'd laugh in your face. Dad had never gotten that. Dad ordered Sam to come back, offering nothing in return – not listening about the interesting tree, or looking at the drawing of the weird building, or reading the strange book.

Dean never told Sam to come back; he'd just asked him. And Sam always came back.

"And nothing else matters…"

He was asking now.

"Never cared for what they say…"

His thumb moved rhythmically; in time to the song, in time to the beat of the heart monitor. For a long time now he'd forgotten that. Forgotten that he needed to ask. He'd missed Dad so damned much that he'd become him…and inherited the way Dad had treated Sam right along with the leather jacket.

"Never cared for games they play…"

It wasn't surprising that Sam had wandered. It was surprising that he'd come back at all, after Dean had stopped asking.

"Never cared for what they do…"

Because, truth was, Dad had never been fair to Sammy. Loved him, sure. But he'd had always been watching when he should have been trusting. Ordering when he should have been listening.

"Never cared for what they know…"

And Sam had wandered. And not come back.

"And I know…"

Sam didn't trust easily. Sam had never made friends or hung out with people like Dean had. They told themselves it was because Sam didn't want to have to leave people behind. But the truth was so much simpler – Sam didn't know how to let anyone in.

"So close, no matter how far…"

Not Caleb, not Pastor Jim, not even Bobby. Sam cared for all of them… but none of them got close to who he really was. Even Jessica; he'd never really told her about himself, about the hunting. All he'd ever had who really knew him were Dad and Dean. Dad, who'd tried to change him, control him, and never trusted him. And Dean, who knew him well enough to know to ask.

When he'd lost Dean, he'd lost himself.

"Couldn't be much more from the heart…"

Dean understood that now. He got it. And he was willing to ask, willing to beg. So long as Sammy came back.

"Forever trusting who we are…"

Because, although Dean did better at making connections with people, he needed his brother. Needed him because he was the one person in all of creation who got him – good parts and bad, Sam understood him. And accepted him.

Because they were brothers.

"No, nothing else matters."

The song faded out, Dean's voice so used that, for a moment, he was mute. His throat was raw, dry, and felt almost calloused. He tried to clear it, but couldn't even manage that.

Without letting go of Sam's hand, he reached out with his free hand to the rolling table and got a glass of water. He drank it down, closing his eyes as the liquid first burned the abused tissues of his throat, then soothed them.

He lowered his head and opened his eyes, swallowing past the vague lump.

Sam was looking at him.

He froze, for half a second his thumb stopped moving, his heart stopped beating.

Then the world kicked in again, almost painfully. His heart gave a massive wrench as it started to beat once more. His thumb automatically began to stoke Sam's hand again as he leaned over, smiling slightly.

"Hey."

Sam blinked at him, the small movement slow and exaggerated. Dean felt the worry slide back into place like a knot tightening in his gut. Sam wasn't responding, that could be a sign of damage…

"Sammy? What's wrong?"

Sam frowned a little. Then sighed. "You stopped singing." His eyes slid closed.

"What?"

"I heard you singing. You stopped."

Dean swallowed past the pain in his throat. "You were dreaming, Sam."

"I liked it. I miss it. I miss you."

Dean squeezed his hand. "I'm right here."

Sam nodded a little, eyes still shut, drifting off again. "Know. Heard you singing. Been such a long time since I heard you."

Dean held himself still, not reacting to the words, to the quiet despair of them. "I'm not going anywhere," Dean eventually said, quietly but firmly. "I'm here. I'm back. I'm not leaving again. So you stay here with me, okay?" he asked.

Sam was sleeping.

Dean closed his eyes, rubbing Sam's hand. That was okay.

Sam could wander a little. Because he always came back, whenever Dean called him. Whenever Dean asked, he always came back.

"So close, no matter how far…"

The song was almost a murmur. The voice, a gentle baritone, steady and pure, but roughened by the hesitance of a deep self-consciousness….

*

~end