As the sun came up from under the horizon, dressing the grass and the leaves in small rubies, Dean was sitting on the side of his companion's bed, admiring the view in front of him. He couldn't believe that he could be surrounded by so much beauty. He was always fond of nature and her works of art, thanks to his animalistic side, but watching the stunning angel in the bed, sleeping in peace… He couldn't put his feelings in any words.
He slowly turned away from the painting of the ascending sun and gazed at Sam, who was blissfully sleeping under the warm blanket. The boy needed it; since that damned punishment he had some trouble with his own body. Fortunately, they were making progress in the bladder-control, but accidents do happen. The lack of food and nutrients made Sam shaky and weak, but finally, his stomach started accepting some plus and the boy was gaining slowly, but steadily some meat onto his bones. His nerves, though… Sam's arms were still not working perfectly, often missing targets and his temporarily poor vision wasn't helping, either. Dean saw it in the boy's posture that the whole thing frustrated him, so he tried to help as much as he could.
However, there was one thing they could still not address: Sam's newly-developed, submissive codependency. Because of his poor sight, Sam couldn't be left alone for too long or he would start panicking hard, plus his nature, brought out with that terrible method, filled his mind with a lot of nonsense, for example he's getting punished by being left alone to starve to death, and that's the sugary option.
Dean started gently stroking the dear face. He smiled at the only word that came to his mind all the time, when the boy got some peace in this hectic period of time: Angel. At the moment the long, brown locks were spread out on the pillow like a small, chestnut-colored glory, adorning the slightly less pale skin with a silky glow. The only thing missing from this masterpiece was the pair of hazel irises that was hiding behind the eyelids guarded by long, dark lashes. Only a couple of days flew by and those crystals were already shining with happiness, shyness and affection every time they fell onto the blurry shape of Dean. The man felt himself extremely lucky and completely worthless to be the center of that kind of attention. But now that he has it, he won't let it slip away from his fingers.
The sun was completely visible above the horizon, when Dean finally tore his gaze away from the beauty beside him and took a look at the clock. It was seven in the morning. He knew he had to go to a store to stock up with various supplies, but should he risk leaving Sam here alone? There's a smaller shop near the motel and he can make it probably in 15-20 minutes. The chance that Sam will wake up earlier than that was really low, because the boy had a rough night and he had fallen asleep after midnight.
With that thought Dean pressed a soft kiss onto the boy's forehead, stood up and left the motel room as silently as a little mouse.
Sam slowly woke up to the deep silence of the motel room. It seemed Dean was still sleeping or guarding his dreams without a sound so the man won't wake him up accidentally. As the birds started to tune for their morning concert, Sam's mind drifted away a bit to think about his situation.
After the punishment Dean was doing anything to make Sam's life tolerable until his sight improved. He was ashamed of himself, constantly feeling like a liability, an invalid. He couldn't even go to the toilet by himself! Well, he could, just not in the right place.
This whole situation is insane! Why does this have to happen to him? His pride was falling apart slowly, giving way to something else. Something he doesn't really like. His mind is continuously tortures him with stuff he couldn't even understand. Since their talk about his hair, Sam hadn't uttered a word. He knew Dean was worrying over him, but he just needed time to catch up with things, because he was trampled over by so much and he was still just trying to gather himself up from the ground. He needed time to lick his wounds for a while, not just physical and emotional wounds, but mental ones, too.
A nagging in his mind brought him back into the real world and he frowned, brow furrowing: the room was quiet. Too quiet.
Sam carefully opened his eyes, trying not to make himself dizzy by the haze covering his sight. He knew looking around was useless, so he sat up slowly, feeling around himself. Nothing.
"Dean?" he whispered softly, scared from the silence. "Dean?" he raised his voice slightly. No answer came. Sam's breathing picked up a bit at that, but he forced himself to stay calm. Now, all he has to do is to wait for Dean to come to him from wherever he went, because there is no way he would have left him alone. But as the seconds ticked by, his doubt raised its head in his heart.
He cautiously slid out from under the blanket, what if-scenarios whipping through his mind like harsh winds. He slowly felt his way around his bed and towards the motel room entrance, while his eyes flew from one blur to another in rapid movements. He carefully felt for the doorway leading into the dining area, intending to reach the entrance of the motel room and look for Dean outside. The fact that he wasn't seeing well didn't even occur in his panicked mind. All of a sudden he quickened his pace but in his haste, his right foot caught a wooden chair-leg, toppling him over. He hit his head hard in a solid surface and the world was snipped away from him by the scissors of the darkness.
The next thing he remembered was a stabbing pain in his head. Over that he felt warmth engulfing one of his hands and his side. Through the ringing in his ear he heard a faint hum, which he recognized as Dean's voice. He let out a relieved sigh hearing that and tried to turn towards the sound, but his head exploded into a piercing headache, pulling a moan out of his lungs. He felt bile rise into his throat and trickling down his face, but a soft material cleaned it off. With that he sank back into the blackness.
Dean never thought that he could get such a scare that his heart would skip several beats. When he stepped into the motel room, his head spun from the sight and he found himself on the floor: Sam was lying on the ground in front of the counter in the kitchen area. But what made him sick were the blood on the edge of the counter and a few splatters on the floor.
As he snapped out of the shock, he clambered across the space to Sam's unmoving body and gathered him up into his arms. A huge gash shed blood on the boy's forehead, painting the white skin in rose-red. Dean quickly got Sam on the bed and covered him up then ran for his med-kit. His heart broke, when after a closer look, he determined that the wound needs stitches. He worked carefully but efficiently, using his skills honed by his own experiences in the wilderness. Soon Sam was taken care of, so the man lay beside the unconscious boy, waiting for him to wake up.
After long hours he felt Sam stir in his arms. Dean hadn't even noticed that he started humming some silly melody, but catching up with himself he didn't stop. Judging by the sigh and the relaxing of the muscles, it worked. But as Sam tried to move, he moaned from the pain in his head, causing Dean's to snap up. The man caught the small yellow drops dripping down the side of the scrunched face so he quickly got his handkerchief out and wiped them away. Almost instantly Sam's body slackened, letting Dean know that the boy luckily lost consciousness: he wouldn't be able to deal with this much pain yet.
The numbing blackness slowly dragged its almost unbearable weight off of him, so at last Sam could open his eyes. The throbbing in his head was more bearable now, soothed by the warmness coming from the body beside him. Sam carefully turned towards the heat source and blond haze caught his eyes. A relieved smile started creeping onto his face at that and the soft snoring that was vibrating through his chest. The boy tightened his hold a bit on the fingers embracing his hand, causing Dean to nuzzle his shoulder tenderly.
A name flitted to the front of his mind: Stockholm-syndrome. He read about it somewhere in a lexicon or an encyclopedia. His situation is very similar to the signs of the syndrome. He was kidnapped, but the kindness showed to his way silenced his suspicion and survival instincts, awakening something inside him that is still a mystery for himself… He couldn't help but think his situation through. What if Dean has his own purposes and just toys with his feelings? He didn't think he would survive a heartbreak after all this. Sadly, though, this was a possibility. Maybe, he should bury these feelings deep inside of him…
This thread of thoughts was ripped to shreds by a moment, or more like moments: throughout this whole kidnapping and violent story a glint ruled out Dean's emerald irises. It was honest and unadulterated love. That shined in his eyes, when the man fed him, talked to him, even when he scolded him before that punishment. His touches were gentle and full of respect, especially after Sam's… accident. His voice was velvety, gentle, kind despite the gruffness, his tone singing about devotion towards Sam. And even though the amber glints were feeding selfishness, they were hinting about sacrifices that the man would do for him, because, as he said, Sam's "safety and happiness are more important than everything else." How could he deny his true feelings towards this wonderful man, who could have easily thrown him out the first chance he would have gotten after Sam had lost his sight? Instead Dean was trying to do everything to help Sam to deal with all this crap thrown at him.
He felt Dean slowly rouse from his slumber and get up on his elbow with a groan. Sam turned his gaze towards the blurry mass of his companion. His brow furrowed as he saw a crystal-clear emerald flash in the middle of the smaller blur.
"Sam?" Dean asked worriedly. "You hear me?"
Sam smiled slightly hearing the concerned tone and cautiously laid a hand onto the man's cheek, who leaned into it a bit; the boy could almost see the closing of the other one's eyes. Suddenly Dean couldn't stop himself from collapsing onto the boy with relief, but he could ease the force of it. He shakily burrowed into his companion's chest, causing Sam to wrap his arms around the weight. Feeling cold liquid wetting his shirt, he quietly shushed the distraught man, ignoring the frantic apologies rushing out of him. He knew that Dean felt guilty about leaving him alone even for just a few minutes, but he didn't blame him for what happened.
Hearing the breakdown of the usually stronger man, Sam realized how much he let his instincts direct his acts, forcing Dean into the role of complete leadership. At that point he decided that he won't let Dean destroy himself with this huge task. Sam finally felt some of the need for independence creep back into his soul that helped him to move away from the family nest and his father. Of course, he will have to rely on Dean in some way, if not for just his sight, but he won't let his companion take all of the weight from his shoulders. And with that decision, instead of the submissive, weak animal, Samuel Morgan finally felt himself become a normal human again. Become himself again.