Title: To Sleep, Perchance To Dream. Three Drabbles
No pairing, no warnings, no spoilers
Falling asleep has never been a problem for Dean. Itís not that he never has dreams or nightmares, just that they rarely, if ever, haunt him in waking like they do Sam. If anything, sleep is the escape from things that do haunt him: thoughts that follow his every waking minute, regrets that shadow him like heís the prey and they the hunter. Mistakes that have chipped at his confidence until it has to be rebuilt with increasing effort.
Sam fights sleep like Dean craves it. Itís what they have in common; thereís no real escape for either of them.
He knicks himself shaving. He puts his finger to the small hurt. The blood is bright red, smeared across his finger tips, already drying. He touches the cut again, mixing fresh, bright blood with the old.
Samís never been squeamish about blood; not his own, not Deanís or his fatherís. Looking at it now, heís reminded of Jessís blood falling on his face. It fell on him when his mother died too.
Maybe itís his blood thatís wrong, drawing evil to the people he loves.
He stares at himself in the mirror and wonders if he should be hunting himself.
Usually itís Dean guarding Samís sleep. When the screaming starts, itís Sam whoís on his feet and crouching beside Deanís bed. He finds Deanís eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Heart pounding, Sam twists around, looking up. Thereís nothing there. When he looks back Deanís staring at him. Deanís hand rubs across Samís face and comes away red.
ďYouíre bleeding.Ē Dean tries to stop it. Sam smiles and catches his hand.
ďI know. I have been for a long time.Ē
Dean wakes with his heart pounding and bile rising in his throat. In the other bed, Sam sleeps undisturbed.