Just a small end of week fic
Agere , mention of death , nightmares , involuntary regression , agere , thumb sucking , use of mommy nickname, meltdown
The moonlight filtered through the thin curtains of the motel room, casting faint shadows across the small, cluttered space. Dean Winchester had finally managed to fall asleep after the chaotic hunt that had nearly killed them both. He lay sprawled across the bed, one arm draped over his eyes, trying to block out the sounds of the world. Sam, on the other hand, was curled up on the other bed, tucked under the thin, scratchy blanket, his body still tense from the events of the night.
Dean woke suddenly around 2 a.m. to the sound of something that immediately tugged at his heartstrings—soft, muffled sobs. His eyes shot open, and he could see the faint outline of Sam on the bed. His younger brother's body was shaking, curled into a tight ball, and the faintest sounds of whining drifted through the still air.
"Sam?" Dean called softly, his voice rough with sleep as he sat up, confusion clouding his mind. His brother was still grieving Jess's death, but tonight felt different. There was a desperation in the whines, a depth of longing Dean didn’t expect.
“Sammy,” Dean whispered, standing up from his bed. As he approached the bed where Sam lay, he noticed the soft, rhythmic motion of Sam’s thumb moving in and out of his mouth, his pillow clutched tightly to his chest as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Dean froze in his tracks. His heart sank, and a wave of guilt washed over him. Sam's voice—high-pitched, frantic, and broken—was muffled by his thumb as he whimpered, “Mommy… please…”
Dean felt a pang in his chest at the sound. He had known Sam was struggling. Hell, he was still struggling with the loss of Jess—both of them were—but this? This was something else. He had never heard Sam cry for ‘Mommy’ before. And he definitely wasn’t a kid anymore—he wasn’t supposed to need comforting like this.
“Sam, what the hell...?” Dean whispered to himself, leaning closer to his brother. He reached out, lightly shaking his shoulder. “Hey, Sammy. Talk to me.”
Sam didn’t respond at first, his thumb still sucked securely into his mouth, his face scrunched in distress. He looked younger than his 22 years in that moment, smaller and more vulnerable, like a child desperately trying to calm themselves. Dean’s heart broke at the sight, but confusion only swirled harder in his mind.
Dean sat down at the edge of Sam's bed, his eyes softening as he observed his brother's body trembling, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. He gently placed a hand on Sam’s back, trying to soothe him. “Hey, it’s okay. You're alright.”
Sam whimpered again, and his words came out garbled through his thumb, “I... I want her... please…”
Dean swallowed hard, a deep ache building in his throat. He gently took Sam's hand from his mouth, guiding it away from his thumb. “Sam, you gotta talk to me, buddy,” Dean coaxed, his voice low but full of warmth. “What happened? What’re you dreaming about?”
Sam’s body trembled even more, and for a long moment, he just sobbed softly. His face was a mess of confusion and fear, his eyes still closed as though trying to escape something that wasn’t there anymore. Then, after a moment of silence, Sam finally whispered, barely audible, “I was… I was little again. I didn’t want to be alone. I needed her... I needed... Mommy.”
Dean’s stomach tightened as he processed Sam’s words. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it. He hadn’t been prepared for this—not for Sam regressing like this, not for the broken little brother in front of him.
Dean realized then that it wasn’t just a nightmare. It wasn’t just grief over Jess. Sam was regressing.
“Sam,” Dean began, voice gentle but filled with quiet concern, “Is this... is this something you've been doing? It’s okay if it is, just... I need you to tell me. You gotta talk to me.”
Sam didn’t answer right away, but his hands were still gripping the pillow desperately. His body stiffened, trying to hold on to some semblance of control, but the overwhelming emotions kept slipping through the cracks. Finally, Sam spoke again, in the small, frightened voice of a child, “I… I can’t stop. I don’t know how...”
Dean took a deep breath, wrapping his arms around Sam, pulling him into his chest. He cradled his brother like he was still a child, like the helpless little boy he used to protect. “It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean whispered soothingly, rubbing his brother’s back. “You’re okay. I’m here. Big brother’s here. Always.”
Sam, exhausted and overwhelmed, finally let himself sink into Dean’s arms, his body relaxing as he gave in to the comforting presence of his older brother. Dean kept rubbing his back, whispering soft reassurances until Sam’s sobs slowed, and his thumb found its way back to his mouth. Dean didn’t mind. He wasn’t going to make Sam stop. Not tonight.
After a while, when Sam had calmed down enough, Dean moved them to his bed. Sam curled up beside him, his thumb still gently in his mouth, his body curled into Dean’s warmth. Dean rubbed his back softly as his brother drifted back into a fitful sleep, his breaths slow and steady now.
The room was quiet once more, and Dean felt a sense of peace wash over him. Sam was safe. They’d face the world together, as they always had.
In the morning, when Sam woke up, groggy but comforted by the warmth of his brother beside him, Dean was already up, cooking breakfast in the small kitchenette.
Sam’s voice was soft, a little sheepish. “Hey, uh... you remember last night?”
Dean turned around, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah, I remember, Sammy. And I ain’t mad at you. Like I said last night—your big brother’s here. It’s okay.”
Sam nodded, his eyes still clouded with a bit of embarrassment, but Dean could see the gratitude in his gaze. He was okay. They were okay.
As they got ready to hit the road once more, Dean handed Sam a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, his protective older brother instincts still fully in place. “You good to go?” he asked quietly.
Sam nodded again, taking a bite of the food. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Dean smiled. “Alright then. Let’s hit the road, kid.”
As they drove off into the morning sun, Dean kept a careful eye on Sam, his brother’s quiet nature serving as a reminder that even the strongest people had their moments of vulnerability. And when those moments came, Dean would be there to catch him.
