Foundations, for Daxa

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Title: Foundations
Author: serawade
Recipient: Daxa
Rating: T
Wordcount: ~1,400
Warnings: Season 8 spoilers
Author's Notes: This is based on two different prompts I got: Sam’s feelings on something and the friendship between Dean and Benny. It’s short, but thinking (and talking) about feelings for very long would be kind of out of character for the Winchesters, I guess. English isn’t my native language, but my beta was wonderful and made everything much better.

Summary: Dean is grieving. Sam is contemplating and then he tries to help.




Sam woke up as he did every day nowadays: almost as tired as he was when he went to bed.

He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before he got up and he suddenly realized that he didn't even remember how he got into bed. He was reading one of the demon-files in the living-room.

And wasn't it strange that they had a living-room now? Actually, they probably had more rooms than the number of flats was they've ever lived in, they even had their own shooting range and sparring room.

But he was diverging. He remembered that Dean made him eat some soup - that was actually home-made - and then… Then not much more. He had some vague memory of Dean's voice and the corridor leading to his room. This wouldn't be the first time he was put to bed by his brother after he had slept in while reading, but it probably was an easier feast twenty-five years ago.

He got up, took a shower and dressed, then walked out to the kitchen. He found a thermos with coffee and two sandwiches with a glass of orange juice. He drank the juice but he didn't feel much like eating. Dean was nowhere to be seen but there was no note left, so he was surely around somewhere.

It's been less than a week since the second trial, since they came back to the bunker and Dean decided that Sam needed some rest. He was probably right too, Sam had to admit. He also guessed that Dean needed some time too. Sam didn't have much more to do than sleep, eat (which he wasn't very keen on) and study his brother. And he didn't really like what he saw when he looked at Dean.

Once upon a time, Sam was a fairly believer of talking things out. He was called a girl for it enough times. But he changed, he knew that and his relationship with Dean changed too. It was an immensely sad fact and there were a few days when Sam wanted to scream from the feeling of loss over it. He wished for the simple times when he knew what Dean was thinking and vica versa.

One would say they lived in each others' pockets their whole lives but with both their times in Hell, with Sam's year without a soul, with Dean's year in Purgatory, in reality they spent more time apart than their official years combined. They both went through a lot that they couldn't share, couldn't even speak about and all that heaped up baggage tainted everything.

That didn't mean though, that Sam couldn't see that Dean was suffering. More than average, that is.

Before, Sam couldn't really understand Dean's special connection to a vampire, but after seeing Purgatory with his own eyes, feeling the danger of the place in his nerves, he started to get a clearer idea of it. Being in constant fighting mode brought people close quicker than any other situations. And Benny took on the task to go back to Purgatory because Dean asked him to. For Sam. And then the vampire sacrificed himself, just so him and Bobby could get out safely.

Sam saw Dean's face when he realized that Benny didn't get back out with them. He saw the pain, the guilt, the sadness, but then Dean shut it down and closed it in, or at least tried to. On the surface, he looked all right, except there were signs that suggested otherwise.

The day before, for example, Sam found Dean at the shooting range emptying about a dozen chambers into a - by the end pathetic looking - target board. Dean didn't hear Sam coming in, so for a while Sam could just watch his brother and he could see the tensed up muscles and the slightly slumped posture, and how his hands tended to tremble between shots. When Dean turned - for a second, before the mask fell back in place - there was a painful expression on his face, and in that moment he looked old and broken, like someone who was trampled by one too many tragedies.

Sam poured himself a cup of coffee and then went to look for Dean this morning too. His brother wasn't in his room, or at the shooting range. The fitness room and the weapon storage were empty and that left only one more place to go. Sam walked up the stairs and stepped outside.

Dean was cleaning the Impala, polishing the hood with angry movements. The car was already shining in the morning sunlight. Now, Dean heard the door opening and looked back with a carefully hooded expression.

“Everything all right, Sammy?” he asked.

“Yeah, I was just looking for you.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

There was a softness in Dean's eyes and voice as he said this and Sam - despite everything - felt reassured.

“Can I help you?”

Just like Dean's statement, the question meant more than the words. Sam looked into Dean's eyes, conveying that he didn't mean cleaning the car.

Dean closed his eyes for a second and the muscle in his jaw twitched lightly. When he looked at Sam again, his eyes were hollow.

“No, it's fine. I'm finishing up, then I'll go into town for groceries. You should take some rest.”

He turned back to the car and continued the polishing of the spotless surface, furiously. At least, he didn't go at her with a cow-bar this time.

Sam sighed and went back inside.

***

Dean did as he told and came back around lunch time with some take out - salads for Sam - but neither of them ate much. They didn't speak much, either. After lunch, Dean disappeared to the weapon storage and Sam got lost in his thoughts again. Then he slept in. But after his nap, he was sure that things couldn't go on like this, that they needed to talk.

Dean was in the kitchen, so Sam decided it was now or never. He walked over and sat down at the table.

“Can we talk?” he asked and Dean turned immediately.

“You feel sick?”

“No, Dean. I'm fine. I don't want to talk about me, I want to talk about you.”

Dean quickly became guarded at that.

“There's nothing to talk about.”

He turned back to the counter and started chopping some vegetables quite vehemently.

“I think there is. You lost a friend.”

“I've lost many friends. So, have you.” Dean mumbled, the knife in his hand moving up and down, quickly.

“That doesn't mean, you get used to it or that it gets any easier. And I actually think that Benny was more than a friend. You said yourself that he was like a brother.”

Dean's shoulders slumped forward, his fingers around the handle of the knife were turning white.

“I thought that we should have some ceremony, light a candle…”

The knife was stabbed into the counter with such extreme force that it sank into the counter about four inches deep. Dean was trembling in a strange synchronicity with the blade.

“I asked him to go back there” Dean spoke quietly. His voice deep and wounded. “I saw that he was not well. I knew deep down that he wouldn't want to come back. I asked him, anyway. Before that, I also asked him to stay away. When he needed help. When I should have helped him to adjust… or something.”

“He saved my life.” Sam said softly.

“Yes, he did.” Dean turned and looked straight at Sam.

There were a lot of things, Dean didn't really need to say, things Dean would never say out loud, but Sam knew nevertheless. Despite everything, Dean was glad that Benny did what did and he felt guilty about that. Because even now, even after everything that had happened to them - between them - Dean would sacrifice everyone and everything to save Sam.

“You would have done it yourself, if it were in any way possible.” Sam said and Dean nodded jerkily. “Benny knew that too. That's why he did it.”

Dean lowered his head and for moments just stood there staring at the floor. Sam let him chew on it.

“Probably.” He said, then turned to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

“That doesn't mean I shouldn't feel guilty about it.”

He poured a good amount in both glasses.

“No candles.” He said then raised his glass. “To Benny. He was a crazy bastard but he saved both of our lives… and I liked him.”

“To Benny, the friendly vampire.” Sam raised his glass, as well and Dean smiled at that, the saddest smile Sam has ever seen.

They didn't eat dinner that night, they just got awfully drunk.

But in the end, Sam thought, it was worth it.



***