authoressnebula: (spn sam 6x22 dream)
[personal profile] authoressnebula
Holy god it's been so long since I've done this I almost don't remember how to do it.

Title: Follow Your Voice Home
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Beginning of season 7.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Written for [ profile] citizen_ephiny's prompt at the [ profile] ohsam fic challenge: Dizzy/disoriented/hallucinating Sam falls in the shower. He is hurt: cue massive amounts of comfort, Winchester-style. Preferably with lots of cuddling.
Wordcount: 2011 (on a lol-range, happy almost new year)

He'd only been in the shower for a few minutes when he heard it the first time. A soft but firm call that spoke his name like it had spent its whole life doing so.


Sam turned without even thinking about it, calling out into the bathroom, “Yeah?” His voice was loud, enough to be heard over the spray, to let Dean know he'd heard. Except his brother wasn't calling back. Confused, Sam pulled aside the curtain slightly and realized there was no one in the bathroom. The door was shut.


Still soft, still firm, but definitely not Dean. There was no way that voice was Dean's. Sam fought back a shiver and turned the water to a hotter temperature. He was fine. Dean would be back with lunch in no time at all. They'd keep traveling, get to the next town by tonight and start really researching the hunt. He'd be fine.

Please, god, let him be fine.


Oh god, not that name. Please not that name. Sam shut his eyes tight and stuck his head under the spray. Anything to keep that voice from ringing in his ears. The water stuttered over his ears a few times before filling them, the roaring rush cutting off the outside world. For a few seconds, it worked.


Somehow, over the thundering flood of water in his ears, Sam could still hear it. He opened his eyes to ground his vision, to tell himself he was in a shower in Wyoming, where the water pressure was actually fairly decent. The heat was nice, too. Not too many places kept the water warm for more than ten minutes per room.

Except now, now it was maybe a little too hot. Sam pulled his too warm arm in closer to his side, away from the water, and found his side burning from the heat of his arm. The flames were suddenly licking up his side, too hot, scorching his skin, leaving it charred and black. The shower head was pouring out flames, flames that were everywhere and going to consume him-

With a gasp Sam stumbled back, catching himself on the side of the shower. The water from above still trickled down, the warm spray sliding down his skin in rolling drops. Not flames, not anything but warm liquid water.

Too warm. Sam quickly twisted the dial over and felt the water cool immediately. He let out a small sigh of relief and reached for the shampoo.

“I always ran too hot for you, Sam.”

Sam whipped around, eyes desperately seeking the source of the voice while his heart pounded in his chest. He opened his mouth to retaliate then stopped, forcing himself to swallow hard. It almost felt like swallowing his tongue, and god he knew what that felt like. Worse than swallowing your gum, because it stuck but then it slid down nice and easy, and there was no sound, he could try and talk all he wanted but it never happened until the tongue grew back.

“I always liked your voice, myself.”

With a shudder that ran through his entire body, Sam turned back to the spray and grabbed the shampoo bottle with a determined focus. He washed and rinsed his hair fast, no longer interested in the sanctuary of the shower. There was no sanctuary anymore in the world, except for his brother.

Something felt like it was stuck to his arm, and Sam quickly brushed it off, only to freeze when he saw what it was. Ice. He could feel it sticking to his body now, cold fragments that wouldn't let go. It would weigh him down, wrap him up and leave him frozen, unable to move, stuck and waiting for-


“No!” Sam shouted, twisting and forcing his muscles to move. His body finally responded, breaking out of the ice, freeing himself from Lucifer's grasp. Something caught him, slid slick and wrong against his skin, and he shoved it away in a panic. The ice was everywhere, drowning him, forcing him to slow down, and suddenly he was falling, hitting a hard surface. Pain shot through his shoulder and straight down his back, making him gasp for air. His head collided with something unforgiving, and the room grew dim, too dim, even as he fought to stay aware. Everything was so cold, god, and it hurt, it all hurt. His head was pounding, his shoulder ached, his back was painfully tight, and all around him was the ice. He wasn't getting away, he was never getting away. He curled up as best he could to block what he knew was coming.


There was something different about the voice, Sam realized, even as he blinked through suddenly sluggish eyes. Everything felt frozen, and he groaned, feeling kitten weak and frozen down to his core.

And there was that voice, again. It wasn't Lucifer. There was no mocking, no hard edge, no definite promise of pain. This was warm, familiar in a way Lucifer could never be. Lucifer may have touched his soul, but he had never become a part of Sam's soul. Not like this voice.

“Sammy. Jesus, Sammy, easy, it's me.”

Not like Dean.

Sam blinked slowly, his gaze finally focusing on the blurry image above him. The ice pouring on him stopped, replaced by heat that burned and made him scrabble to get away. “Easy, Sammy, gotta get you warmed up,” Dean said softly, and he was being propped up, being pushed to sit up while the heat rained down. For a moment, flames flashed behind his eyes, and the memory of burning was enough to make him fight to stand.

“Sam,” Dean started, but Sam didn't give him a chance to say anything. He crawled away from the heat, the warmth, what his body desperately wanted but his mind couldn't take. The slick and wet fabric of the curtain kept him trapped, wouldn't let him out, and he shoved it away in desperation. He'd rather have the ice. No, not the ice. The ice that was wracking his body with shivers even now, the floor cold beneath his naked skin. Warmth, he needed warmth. No, the flames, and he felt tears spring to his eyes. He was trapped between a rock and a hard place and nowhere to go.

Something soft was wrapped around him, wiping the ice away. “Jesus, Sammy, you're blue,” Dean said, running the towel down and around him. “Cold shower, Sam? Who were you thinking of, huh?”

No one good. Sam shuddered and closed his eyes.

“Eyes open for me, Sam. Sam. Wake up. You hit your head in the shower, you get the nagging big brother. That's how this goes.”

Sam wearily opened his eyes. Dean's face hovered in his vision, a bright grin offered below eyes that were starting to fill with panic. No, panic was no good, he didn't want Dean to panic. Had to get up, away from the ice and the flames...

“Sam, open your eyes, now.”

He hadn't even noticed when he'd shut his eyes, but the darkness around him was a comfort. But the demanding voice of his brother insisted on being listened to, and Sam fought desperately to obey. He was rewarded with a bright, genuine smile from Dean for his efforts. “There you go,” Dean praised, running the towel down Sam's body. “Keep 'em open, tiger. That's it.”

The bright lights were fading out to a darker room, a warmer room. The soaked towel was traded for cool sheets, and Sam found himself shivering again. He curled up into a smaller, warmer ball, eyes drifting shut again.

Something very warm wrapped around him, a tight vise, and Sam's eyes shot open. A thin, well worn t-shirt met his gaze, and the chin that dipped to rest on the top of his head was a welcome weight. Not trapping him. Protecting him. Healing him. He burrowed into Dean's embrace, feeling Dean's arms tighten around him in response. The bed sheets were cool, but Dean wasn't, settling his shivers and warming his soul.

Sam gingerly flexed his left shoulder, feeling it stiffen and protest at the movement. A warm hand settled on top of it and began to gently knead the muscle. He hissed and tried to twist away, but it only made the shoulder hurt more. “Easy, Sammy,” Dean soothed, fingers digging in to warm and massage the muscles beneath. “I could hear you fall from out here. Not the sounds I wanted to hear when I got back to the room.” The quip was quickly replaced with a gentle, concerned voice. “Still sore?”

Sore wasn't an apt enough word to describe the pain. It hurt, god did it hurt, but even as Sam thought about it, the pain began to fade away into a buzz of lethargy and heat. It was tender to the touch, and soon the skin Dean was massaging got a little too sensitive, like his skin had been rubbed raw. There was no way in hell Sam was going to tell his brother to stop, though. He needed Dean there to keep him there, in the motel. Not in the Pit. Not with Lucifer.

“You hurt anywhere else?” Dean murmured into his hair. “Besides the head?”

His head suddenly began to throb, as if it'd been given permission to, and Sam shut his eyes. Dean murmured soft, nonsense phrases but moved a hand to gently probe all over Sam's head until he pressed on a point that made Sam hiss. Fingers tenderly danced over the spot, assessing the need for first aid, then merely brushed hair back over it and carefully didn't touch it again. If Dean thought it was safe, then Sam was fine. Dean would keep him safe.

“Anywhere else?” Dean asked again. This time, Sam shook his head before settling it back onto Dean's arm. His brother's own shoulder would be numb before too long, but if Dean wasn't forcing him to move anywhere, Sam sure as hell wasn't volunteering. Sam was feeling pretty numb himself, worn out and nothing but a warm feeling inside where there'd been heat and ice before. Here, now, he could forget that there'd been another voice, that there'd been someone else who'd burned him, hurt him, destroyed him from the inside out. It was just Sam and Dean in a warm motel room.

A faint aroma met his nose, and Sam blinked his eyes open to spot two white bags on the table. Lunch. Dean had been getting lunch. Then they'd been planning on leaving. Then Sam had freaked out. He bit his lip and turned his head away from the table, feeling ashamed and stupid and still completely unwilling to let go of his brother. All he had on was a towel and a blanket because his brother had had to haul him out like a child. And they were supposed to be on the road right now for another hunt.

“We're in no rush,” Dean said softly, as if knowing what Sam was thinking. “We'll stay another day. We'll be fine.”

They were fine. Sam pushed away the guilt and shame, growing drowsier with every moment he stayed wrapped in his cocoon of safety. He made a noncommittal sound and closed his eyes again. “Sam?” Dean asked. “Sammy? You all right?”

Sam didn't know. The only thing he'd been aware of was flames, ice, and a taunting voice. “Dean,” he whispered. It was an answer and a plea all in one, and he hoped Dean would hear it for what it was.

Dean settled his chin back down on top of Sam's head, his warmth wrapped around Sam's body like his own personal heater. “Sammy,” he said softly in return. His voice was a balm, a safety, a promise. No more ice, no more flames. Just a warm bed and a big brother there to warm his soul.

Sam let his eyes drift shut, Dean's voice a welcome echo in his ears.


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