Walking Nightmares
Bruce groaned as he pushed his glasses up on top of his head and scrubbed both hands over his face. It was early morning or really late night depending on which end of the sleep cycle the observer kept, but for Bruce, it was time for coffee. He’d been up working on a side project, studying all the information Sam and Dean and Crowley had been able to help them dig up on the whole Croatoan virus. While there were no live samples, and no guarantee that the supposed antibodies that Dean said Sam apparently had once upon a time were still around, he was studying their blood and reviewing reports from the secret CDC files on the people who had died from it. It wasn’t much, but he’d like to have a headstart if it happened again.
He was shuffling into the communal kitchen with his eyes half open when he felt the hand go over his mouth and jumped. Eyes now wide, he looked up into Natasha’s face. She had a finger over her lips to gesture for him to be quiet and then tilted her head across the room. He nodded, waiting for her to lower her hand from his face before taking a full look.
The lights were dim but he could clearly see Sam, swaying between Clint and Dean. Sam was in sleep pants and a loose t-shirt, barefoot. He was staring around at them with anger and fear on his face. His hair was whipping as he looked from person to person. As Bruce looked closer, he could see that Sam’s eyes weren’t focused, not really taking in anyone or anything. It wasn’t until Sam fully twisted towards him and Nat that he noticed the blade in Sam’s hand.
“Back off,” he growled, twisting back to threaten Dean. Dean darted back with an athleticism that impressed the doctor.
“Whoa, whoa. Easy with that thing, Sammy.” Dean was watching his brother closely, concern evident.
“Where’s Dean? What did you do with him?” Sam growled louder, swinging around to swing at Clint, who had gotten a little too close while trying to sneak up behind him. It was obvious they were all trying to disarm him without hurting him or getting hurt in the process. “I said back off!” Clint had done a backflip away from the blade and crouched on the top of the counter now, eying Dean and waiting for his next chance.
“What’s going on?” Bruce asked Nat quietly, feeling her tension beside him. She never took her eyes off the tall man.
“Sleep walking. Walking nightmare, Dean says,” she whispered in reply.
Sam was still dancing with the blade in hand, but swaying like he was exhausted, close to collapse. When the brothers had come to the tower late the night before, it had been straight from a very bad case, where Dean had been captured and tortured and Sam hadn’t slept for days trying to find him. He’d finally rescued his brother and Cas had healed the older brother before they’d again parted ways, Cas returning to working on getting Heaven reopened, the brothers deciding to drop in for a day of rest at the tower.
Thor was away on Asgard and Tony and Steve were off one some diplomatic thing across the country. That left Nat, Bruce, and Clint there to hang out with the brothers.
“Sammy, come on. Wake up, little brother.” Dean was cajoling the taller hunter now, trying to diffuse the situation quickly, but Sam was deep into the nightmare, apparently reliving some of the recent fight. “I’m right here.”
“Need a tranq arrow?” Clint asked from the countertop, peripherally aware of Bruce and Nat in the edge of the hallway. Dean shook his head.
“Will just make it worse. We’ve tried that before.” Dean went down into a crouch, hoping to appear non-threatening and shock Sam from the nightmare. Sam did flinch and furrow his brow in confusion. “He has to wake up before he hurts himself or one of us gets cut.” Sam was still swaying but his defensive stance didn’t ease up. “If I can’t wake him up, and Nat’s already tried too, not sure what’ll do it.”
Sam lunged towards him, causing him to body roll out of the way, the blade catching on the edge of his shirt, slicing through it, but not drawing blood. Dean cursed loudly, popping back to his feet in frustration.
“Damnit, Sammy!” He yelled.
“Guys…,” Natasha’s voice cut through their attention just as there was a grunt.
“Puppy Man,” Came rumbling across the room, causing Sam to stand tall, blink, and whip around. Dean and Clint both whipped around to face the new danger as well. Natasha was wide-eyed staring at the man beside her.
Bruce, short, sweet-faced, curly-haired, biochemist, had fully transformed into Hulk and was squatting calmly in the hallway, shoulders brushing the walls, not touching Natasha but staring intently at the tall hunter. Sam, for his part, blinked, and shook his head. Hulk had taken to calling Sam ‘Puppy Man’, much to Sam’s chagrin after Dean had once teased his brother for having long hair and giving a ‘puppy face’ when he wanted something. Dean had further joked that Sam’s loyalty was like a dog, always giving love and being really protective. And once Bruce had seen the tall hunter as a big, shaggy puppy, albeit a ridiculously competent and terrifying guard dog, Hulk had picked it up and that became his nickname.
“Hulk?” His voice was hesitant and quiet. Dean turned his head back in time to see Sam lower the blade, stumbling a moment as he shook his head again.
“Whoa, there,” Dean murmured softly as he reached out and took the knife from Sam’s now relaxed hand. He took in Sam’s clearer eyes as he reached behind himself to hand off the blade to Clint who had quietly slid behind him and then slid quickly away. Sam’s eyes focused on Dean, the flickered to watch the archer glide away. He blinked hard, the dark shadows under his eyes standing out stark as the anger left his face. Sam turned to Hulk again, then glanced at Natasha. It finally dawned on him where he was and he looked around, then back at Dean.
“Dean.” The name was a sigh as he fell forward into hugging his brother. Dean grabbed him tight, looking over Sam’s shoulder with gratitude at Bruce, who had returned to his human self once Sam was out of danger. Natasha threw her arm around Bruce’s shoulders and helped him to the nearest chair. The late night and then the transformation had drained him.
“I got ya, Sammy.” Sam let go after a moment, his eyes and face set in that familiar grimace that Dean would know anywhere. His brother was holding back from crying but the sheer exhaustion was making it really hard. “You good now?”
Sam ducked his head, understanding what had happened and profoundly ashamed for the hubbub he’d caused.
“None of that. We’re safe and at the tower. Let’s get you back to bed, Sasquatch.” With that, he turned, keeping his arm around Sam’s waist to steady him as they made their way back down the corridor to the guest room. Because Natasha had been off tracking down a Red Room lead when they’d come in the night before, he’d preferred not to invade her space and had crashed in the guest room Kevin sometimes used instead.
“And I thought you had bad nightmares,” Nat shuddered as she bumped Clint with her shoulder. He rolled that shoulder and remained quiet, his eyes still on the corridor they had disappeared down.
“Jarvis,” Bruce’s voice cracked in exhaustion as he addressed the AI, “Can you set an alert to let one of us know next time Sam gets like that?”
“Certainly, Doctor Banner,” Jarvis replied. “I have taken the liberty of informing Mr. Stark of the incident after he inquired about the tower was locked down. All is back to normal.”
“Thank you, Jarvis,” Natasha said, eying the scientist. “Good idea, shocking Sam out of it, but definitely unorthodox.” Bruce grinned self-consciously.
“Guess this might be my own wake up call that I need to get some real sleep, huh?” Natasha smiled down at him fondly, then helped him back to the elevator and instructed Jarvis to make sure he got to his room and was undisturbed for at least eight hours.
Clint was twirling the blade between his fingers when Dean emerged, shaking his head. Both former-SHIELD agents looked at him in question.
“He’s back sleeping now. I made sure to tie an anchor this time.” Both assassins gasped and glared at him. He raised both hands. “It’s just a short piece of rope tying his ankle to the corner of the bed. He can move around but if he gets out of bed without being awake, it’ll knock him down and should jolt him awake. It’s got a quick-release knot and his hunter senses will know it’s there if he wakes up normally.” They both calmed down.
“This happen a lot with you two?” Clint asked, laying the blade down on the counter. Dean reached for a cup of coffee and sighed.
“Used to. He’s had nightmares since he was a kid,” Dean started slowly. “Used to sleepwalk but back then, it was easy to dodge kid punches and he never went for a blade.” He took a deep swig of the black brew, heaving a breath in and out. “Seemed like they got better as he got older. After Jessica it was mainly screaming or crying nightmares. I’m surprised Gabe’s ‘Death to Dean Repeating Tuesday’ episode didn’t kick them off, but he never did give me full details and honestly, I didn’t want to know. It wasn’t until after Cas raised me and we found out about the Apocalypse thing that they got bad again. There was that siren, demons, dad’s death, then Lucifer sneaking into his dreams trying to get him to say ‘yes’.”
Clint and Natasha exchanged sad looks.
“Being hunters, we always have weapons nearby. When we found the bunker, it took us both a while, but we got used to still having them nearby but no longer needing them under our pillows, etc. Just within reach. And when we come here,” he looked around and then smiled at them, “it’s safe enough to do without them cuddled in bed with us too.”
“Unless you have a weapon as a bed partner,” Clint smirked, bumping Natasha with his shoulder, making her roll her eyes.
“Anyway, the point is, when he pushes himself too far, when things get really bad, he has nightmares.” The green-eyed man frowned. “It’s been a long time since he’s had a walking nightmare. Hope once he’s rested, it’ll be done for now.” He took another deep swig. “Until the next catastrophic event or near-death experience.”
Clint snuck his arm around Nat’s waist and she laid a head on his shoulder. It was a silent communication, just showing his concern for her well-being, and her reassurance that she could take care of herself, but it eased them both. Dean raised his coffee mug in a final salute.
“Here’s to saving the world, and fuck anyone who messes with the Avengers and the Winchesters.” He slammed the last dregs in his mug, slamming it down on the counter like he was in a bar, then nodded at them and headed back to the guest room. They followed him with their concerned eyes, both knowing he’d end up sleeping next to Sam, them holding onto each other like children, comforting each other as they always had.