SKYDUST!verse, space AU, sci-fi AU, past major character death, sam winchester, dean winchester, benny lafitte
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Mornings are dull, now. A pain in the ass at the very least. On worse days, Sam can’t deal with them at all.
Staying in bed is torture. He can’t fall back asleep anyway. So he gets up—in the middle of the night, at the cusp of dawn. Whenever his sleep decides to come to an end. It’s not his choice. He has to do it, or he will go insane.
Hikes, most days. For hours on end, no destination in mind, just—moving. One foot in front of the other. Best if he fasts, so his thoughts obsess over fantasies about food instead of Cas. If only for five minutes. Ten.
Home is no longer home, but a tomb.
Dean, lingering, depressed. Memories of—them. The three of them, together, or just Cas. All the places and spots he’d touch, the objects. If it wasn’t for Dean, if this was Sam’s place? He’d burn it down. All of it.
His teachers berate him. He yells at them, because—he is focused, he does ace his work. Tinted, they call it, his heart isn’t in it, and Sam bites back curses and glares and they punish him, and he deserves it, even though he doesn’t. They don’t expel him. That’s all that counts.
Benny is cleaning up the kitchen when Sam returns home after dark.
Turns and tells him, “Saved some for you,” and Sam glares at the still-warm-looking pot by the stove, glares at the man and mumbles about not being hungry, and Benny is aware enough to not press it, not pull a joke, not try and force himself into a space that was never meant for him.
Sam hauls his bags off himself, onto the kitchen table. “Where’s he?”
“Napping.”
Sam half-nods, unpacks. “He ate anything, or? Another liquid dinner?” and Sam hates himself for even asking.
“Pretty sure he’d eat his own hand before he’d reject my efforts.”
Sam makes an approving noise.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be gone in a second. Just wrapping this up.”
Sam begins, “It’s not,” but surrenders, ultimately. He gives half a glance to Benny, who wipes down the counter. Who isn’t resentful, never. Who’s too good for Dean, really. But Sam doesn’t have it in him to chase him off.
Once Benny left, Sam drags himself around the house. Lingers in his room for a bit before he caves and finishes the leftovers. The door to Dean’s room is ajar just-so. A temptation, an offering. Sam hates how well he is understood.
Dean’s room is dark, of course. Sam bumps his foot into where he presumes is Dean’s leg, underneath the blanket. The resistance of the metal still catches him off-guard.
“You asleep?”
Dean grumbles noncommittal. Hauls his arm up, though, once, sprawled on his belly like he is, and Sam slips to his knees and next to him, and allows himself to be taken under the covers.
With his arms and legs slung around his brother, Sam informs, “You reek,” and Dean’s, “Yeah, yeah,” is muffled half by his pillow, half by the daze of his non-sleep.
Sam tucks his chin below Dean’s shoulder blade before he slowly allows his eyes to slide shut.
