sweet, sweet sinus-meds coma, let's be bffs

[whitereflection]

Day 16 11/16/10 1:23-2:05

stand-alone thing, gen I guess, post-resouling what-if



After, he's a wreck. A blubbering, broken, shattered wreck.

He screams himself hoarse, sobs so hard he coughs and chokes and sometimes even gags, and he shakes so hard he can't even stand up.

But there's someone there who holds him up to keep him from falling, who holds him steady when he trembles and tremors. Someone who anchors him here and keeps him from falling back down into the gaping black hole beneath his feet. Who clothes him and makes him eat and drink, who wipes the snot and sticky tears from his face when he still can't fucking stop crying, then lays a cool, damp washcloth over his swollen, raw eyes.

He clings to that someone, and they let him.


After that after, he's a wreck. But a salvaged one, one that's gradually being repaired, rebuilt.

Sometimes, though, inside Bobby's house is still too small and the outside world is too big, and he's just a mass of aching, burning nerve-endings.

But there's someone there that sits with him then, when he retreats to the Impala. Someone who understands that the car isn't so much about driving as it is about sanctuary. Who stays with him so it isn't just him hiding there in the passenger seat, but instead them spending time together in their space, their home. Who's just there until the shivering beneath his skin eases and finally fades.

When it does, Sam reaches over to Dean, carefully grasps his sleeve, holds on tight. And Dean lets him.


(252)

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