It's In Your Eyes

Just To Be Safe

Sam's POV -

I jolt awake when my mobile buzzes sharply in my fist, pulling me away from my half hour of light sleep for the day. It's still quite dim in the grimy motel room. Dad has me in some run down little town I'm not too sure where, and my school only ever has a third it's capacity attending. I squint through the hazy air, still a little disorientated from waking up so abruptly. Nope, dad's not here. Probably with some cheep date or a drink away from passed out in a bar, but I'm relieved either way. At least he's not here.

For a second I look around for Dean, forgetting he's not here either, which drags me back to why I woke up. I open my hand, the corners of the phone leaving red arcs on my palm, and I flip it open, holding it to my ear. This is precisely the kind of thing I try to be ready for, the reason I sleep holding onto this thing. If Dean needs me, I have to be prepared to answer.

"Sammy? You there? Did I wake you?" He sounds a little frazzled.

"No. Well, yeah but-"

"I'm sorry. I was being stupid..." I sigh at his words, and I can picture him near tears but not letting it show. Even if there's no one to see. I flop onto my back.

"Dean, don't apologise for calling. You know our promise." I smile when I hear a huff of a laugh.

"Yeah. I know. It's just..." His voice trails off and I sit up a bit, swapping hands with the phone absently to run my hand through my hair. This makes me feel older, more mature, with this phone, when Dean calls. Not just the little, eight year old kid I appear to be to the world. A year I've sleep, clinging onto this phone to be prepared, just in case. And he has called twice before. Every morning I wake up with it, and only twice did I have to. Both time he was just having a rough night and needed a bit of an understanding ear, nothing else.

But this third time feels different. He sounds so scared and I can't do anything but listen. I can't tell if that will be enough...

"What's up?"

"Sammy, do you remember - of course you remember - when I used to have trouble sleeping..."

"You slept just fine, it was me who didn't sleep!" I laugh slightly but he stays silent and my humour drops away. "You're having night terrors again?"

There's a long pause this time, then I hear him let out a long breath before answering.

"No... Not yet. But it feels like they might be imminent. I had a bad dream. Really vivid, and I think it's gotten to me too much." He's practically out of breath.

"It might just have been a bad dream. Everyone has bad dreams. And vivid ones. Maybe you're not very well or maybe - maybe it was just a dream..."

I'm panicking and I think he can hear it, its not like I can hide it well. But I remember, so clearly, what it was like. When I was younger, and Dad was still never home. So it was just me and Dean. And sometimes he'd bolt upright in bed with these agonising, wrenching screams, sweating, striking out at nothing or writhing like he was falling or something. And I'd always wake up, how couldn't I. And I'd have to calm him down, or at least try to. This inconsolable, unconscious Dean, it could take a while, and all I could do was listen. It got so that often I'd wake up in the night, confused, just before his attack, like I just knew inside me it was about to happen.

And he wouldn't even remember in the morning...

It took its toll, exhausting me, scaring him. Dad didn't care, he was barely here to notice.

But we went to see a doctor I'd found on the school computer, one day after last lesson. And he helped a little.

He gave Dean these pills to take, to stop him sleeping so deeply or something. Little blue pills. They may have made our nights better as a whole, but they could make Dean quite drowsy sometimes. And they didn't always work. I think I was five, three years ago, when it started. I had no idea what was happening, it terrified me. It's one of the things that forced me to grow up so fast, I think. So Dean was just nine. It took a year, more than that before I found the doctor. Dean was going away to boarding school in a few of months.

But the doctor said night terrors for children usually stop at about the age of twelve. So they should not be coming back now.

"Sam." Dean sounds tired. "It didn't feel like just a dream... So... I found my pills. I have them, in case..."

"Come home." It sounds weak and babyish, I know as soon as the words leave my mouth. But I can't bare to think of my brother alone there, struggling, me here and unable to help.

"I can't, I've got... Stuff here. Stuff I can't leave." He sighs. I feel like I should ask about this 'stuff', but that's a question, a conversation, for another time. "Should I take the pills?"

I shut my eyes, I'm pretty sure I'm shaking, my hand and my breathing. And I think with him for a moment before relying.

"Yes. Just to be safe... Take the pills again."

~~~

I just want to say thank you to anyone who has read this story and stuck with me through it so far, I am eternally greatful. And for anyone who's commented, I love the feedback and encouragement! There's so much more to come if you want it, and I hope you do. Thank you again, you're all amazing.
And that was rather soppy, sorry...

Emma.x