#deleted because i think it's sadder to end it when Brady leaves for thanksgiving because you know what'll happen

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

Little deleted scene from the Sam/Brady fic I'm still working on . . . Brady was supposed to be back two days ago, classes are starting up again in the morning and he’s not back. Sam tries to reason that he’s probably just spending a bit more time with his family, you know, that thing normal people do over the holidays. But something doesn’t feel right. He closes his eyes, he’s not felt like this, the insistent, spiralling anxiety of not knowing where someone is or when they’ll be home, since he’d come to Stanford. He tries to ground himself, something Brady had taught him, ‘five things you can see around you’. But he’s got visions of Dean being carried back through the motel room door in dad’s arms, his side torn open, of dad barking at Sam to go grab the med kit and the bottle of whiskey, Dad smoothing his hand over Dean’s hair, worry etched on his face, of his own hands covered in his brother’s blood as he knits him back together. “He’s ok, he’s ok, he’s ok. You got out, monsters don’t follow you anymore, you’re safe. He’s safe.”

There’s a thud at the door and then there’s Brady, silhouetted against the light in the corridor, his features obscured. Brady stumbles unsteadily over the threshold, and Sam frowns, he reaches over to the nightstand and turns on the lamp. Brady looks over at him, his eyes slightly glassy and unfocused.

“Are you . . .drunk?” Sam asks concerned and confused. He slides off his bed, steps closer to Brady.

“You bet!” Brady slurs in response. He lunges forward and almost falls on top of Sam. Sam catches him in his arms holding him steady. A strange slightly twisted smile forms on Brady’s face, and he presses forward to kiss Sam. Sam intervenes before their lips can meet, gently pushing Brady away.

“Not now,” Sam says softly “you are in no state.”

Brady gives him a patronising pout and crowds back into Sam’s space “Oh come on Sammy.” He tries to kiss him again, and Sam grabs Brady’s shoulders this time, holding him firmly at arms length.

“I said no. And its Sam, you know that.” He’s trying to keep his voice even, but his stomach feels twisted up in knots.

“Fine.” Brady gives a violent shrug of his shoulders and Sam lets him go. He staggers over to his bed and collapses onto it.

Sam lies back down on his own bed, he stares blankly at the ceiling for a moment trying to process. He rolls over onto his side so he can see Brady, it looks like he’s already asleep. It wasn’t even the drinking really that worried him, that wasn’t like Brady but they were at college and everyone was allowed to be stupid and messy sometimes. It was that smile. It just hadn’t seemed right. “You’re just tired, it’ll be alright in the morning”. He wills himself to believe it.

--

Sam wakes from restless sleep, he peers blearily across the room, rubbing his eyes. Brady is still passed out, sprawled across the covers, fully dressed. Sam grabs his watch off the nightstand, checking the time. English Lit starts in 30 minutes.

He slips out of bed, pulling a t-shirt over his head and pads over to the bathroom. He rummages in the mirror cabinet and finds a pack of Tylenol, grabbing it, and filling a of glass of water at the sink. He places them down on the nightstand next to Brady’s bed. Perching himself on the edge of the mattress, he reaches over to Brady and gently combs his hair from his eyes. He doesn’t stir. Sam can see his chest slowly rise and fall, faint puff of breath across the back of Sam's hand. He gets back up and crosses the room to his desk, tears a sheet of paper from a notepad and grabs a pen. He scribbles out a note:

“I’ve headed to class, there’s Tylenol and water on the nightstand, you’re going to need them.”

He pauses for a second and then adds:

“Hope you’re ok? Talk tonight. Sam.”