Leave the Window Open for Me

The air outside is fast-moving and bone chilling.

Dean doesn't care; he can't seem to feel the cold anymore. He leaves the window open for the third night in a row.

Sam realizes then that Dean isn't fine, not like he says he is. He isn't dealing, he's not doing much of anything except drinking until his eyes are as red as they are when he comes back from his trips to the bathroom, which he takes more than usual. He eats when they put food in front of him and showers when they make comments. Usually he's crashing on the couch downstairs where he leaves the window open at night. No one says anything to him, they let him go. He wakes a little earlier now, and when Sam comes down to make breakfast, he finds Dean sitting on the couch staring straight ahead. Sam knows why Dean can't sleep. But he can't help but feel like maybe they're finally starting to get somewhere because the second he comes into Dean's line of sight his brother comes alive again for a little bit. He still jokes, still smiles. But it's like the effort and the meaning had left him. Now he's just there. Which means they haven't really made progress. Sam's beginning to think they never will.

It's not just that Dean is slowly withdrawing himself from the world, it's that Sam can't do anything about it. No matter how many times Sam tries to talk to him, says "Dean, I think we oughtta" Dean cuts him off so quickly he thinks he can feel the knife slice through his efforts. He bows his head and walks away.

He's noticed that over the next five days the window stays open, not only at night, but all day now too. The house is absolutely freezing when the sun sets yet brings a warm breeze that always seems to smell like thunderstorms. He'll catch Dean standing in front of it, breathing the air in, but not for long because he sees his brother's hands clench and then Dean's moving back to the counter where he left his bottle.

~

Bobby sees, too. Probably a lot more than Sam does. Even though Dean's falling apart at the seams, he still tries to protect his baby brother from seeing it. Sadly, Bobby can't be fooled.

He's the one who hears the pained cries in the middle of the night. He's the one who gets up from his creaking bed to walk downstairs and see what Dean wants no one to. But he can't just let the boy suffer alone. Bobby pulls a chair silently up to the couch where Dean sleeps, albeit restlessly, and places a hand softly on his shoulder and tries to somehow take away some of the pain. Judging from the look on Dean's face, it doesn't really work. But Bobby thinks it just might one day.

Dean's gonna be okay, Bobby prays silently through the night. Let him be okay.

~

Sam was walking to take the trash out when he saw Dean over by the Impala. He smiled, thinking Dean was tinkering around with her. That meant coping.

But no, Dean had a beer in his hand and was sitting on the trunk looking up to the stars. His lips were moving, like he was talking to someone. Sam went to turn away and leave him be, but from the corner of his eye he caught the unmistakeable sudden flash of tan trenchoat. He couldn't help it; his own heart swelled with hope and elation, but when he turned he saw that it was just Dean opening the trunk and it had fallen from the inside. Dean picked it up and folded it again before going to put it back. When Dean was leaning forward, his eyes met Sam's. He didn't look away, he kept eye contact and Sam could hear him loud and clear.

Dean was going to get better. But he wouldn't be the same, because Sam saw it in his eyes. Sam saw that a part of Dean was missing.

~

When Bobby mentions it, Sam's washing out the coffee mugs.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier, Bobby?"

He shrugs. "Thought it would get better." Bobby moves beside Sam and grabs a mug and a rag. He dries while Sam processes what Bobby just told him.

"I know he's going to get better", Sam says sternly, tightening his grip on the mug in his hands. Soap suds slide down his fingers and fall into the scalding hot water. "Maybe not right away, but I know it."

Bobby looks down at his hands. "You haven't seen it, Sam. It's-" He can't find words. "It's not right. I don't think that boy's gotten more than four hours of sleep since then."

"But I saw-yesterday, I mean I could tell-" Sam falters. "Please Bobby. It's been hard for everyone. These things take time."

He can tell that Bobby doesn't agree, but the old hunter just nods and takes another cup.

~

Sam lies awake, unable to sleep tonight because the worry he has for his brother is consuming him.

The past couple weeks have been hell, what with the hunts that lead nowhere and the research that gives no leads. The leviathans haven't surfaced yet aside from their big introduction and Dean shows almost no signs of getting better. He spends a lot of more time out with the Impala, but Sam doesn't count that as something contributing to his recovery. He's pretty sure that he's out there talking to the stars, or praying, to someone who cannot hear him.

It kills him, not only to see Dean this way, but because he misses him too. There's this gaping hole in his chest where he aches for his friend back, wants to know that he's by their side, fighting with them until the end. He had to watch him crumble away, watch the effect it had on Dean. And Sam knows Bobby's sad too, because he watched over his boys.

But Dean doesn't seem to be moving on.

~

Sam trudges down the stairs in the morning, less than enthused due to his lack of sleep. He spots Bobby moving around in the kitchen and then gazes into the living room.

Dean's standing at the window looking out of it, breathing in the morning air. Thunderstorms, Sam thinks. He's about to look away when Dean moves forward slowly and grips the window and pulls it shut silently.

They don't say a single word about it after that, simply walk into the kitchen to join Bobby for breakfast, and Sam is glad that his brother is moving forward. If only there wasn't such a long way to go.

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