Categories > TV > Supernatural
A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first one-shot, and it's basically just full of brother fluff between the Winchesters. It's in a hurt!Dean and caring!Sam format and I'm kinda hoping I get this right. Anyway, R&R okay? I'll appreciate that a lot :) Oh, and if there's someone out there who's wondering about my other story as of the moment, The Missing Memory, I'll get back to that as soon as I've thought of an appropriate continuation. For now, I hope you guys enjoy, I guess…
Sam was having a hard time not turning the car around and heading for that hospital he saw ten minutes ago instead of following his big brother's order and going back to the hotel. Dean was currently knocked out in the backseat of the Impala, slowly bleeding to death from three large claw marks on his chest. The youngest Winchester couldn't help his mind wander back to Harmony, Indiana on May 2008 and he forced back a shudder. No, that's not going to happen this time, he told himself vehemently. In an attempt to keep the hysteria at bay, he gripped the wheel even tighter until his knuckles went white from the effort and focused his eyes on the road. The sooner they get back to their room, the sooner he could patch his brother up. "Just hold, Dean. We're almost there," he muttered obsessively, chanting the words over and over again.
From the backseat, Dean was on fire—or so he thought—and it took all the meager strength he had left not to scream out in pain. He vaguely remembered his body being ripped apart, but he couldn't recall what did it to him. Thinking harder, he managed to dredge back a spotty memory of feeling this intense pain before. Aww, hell no. There were no hellhounds in this case, so he couldn't possible become their chew toy again! he thought frantically. In his panic, he wasn't alert enough to bite back a moan of misery.
Sam glanced on the rearview mirror when he heard Dean moaning and shifting around at the back. But he immediately pulled his gaze back to the road when he saw just how much blood was leaving his brother's system. He stepped on the gas.
The following ten minutes that Sam drove seemed like a lifetime to him. He mentally cursed the hotel they chose to stay in. Why did it have to be so far away from the forest? Because luck was never on our side, his cynical mind answered him.
Finally, more or less a half hour after they deep-fried themselves a wendigo, Sam parked their car and got out, slamming the door a little too hard. At any other time, Dean would've chewed his ass for that, but his older brother was not in the position to care about that right now. He was still conscious though his eyes were closed, and Sam didn't know if he should be relieved or what. Sure, it meant Dean was still alive but in his state, he should be in a world full of pain just by staying awake.
He grabbed his brother's shoulder gingerly, although he was sure he didn't have any broken bones anywhere—Sam had checked for that back in the forest, when he had had to move Dean to the car. Dean groaned again at the action. There was a large gash on his head though, and it had Sam worrying about a concussion. For the time being, he settled himself for half-carrying half-dragging his brother into the room they shared, his eye watchful of any civilian who might see them. Dean struggled along, wanting nothing but sleep and rest. Hopefully, once he woke up, the pain would be gone.
Once inside, Sam breathed just teensy bit easier. It should be smooth sailing from here, he convinced himself as he laid Dean on his bed, not giving a damn that the blood and the dirt on his brother's clothes were severely soiling the sheets. He took out their first-aid kit in a jiffy and emptied its contents on the bed beside Dean. Triumphantly, he found the heavy-duty painkillers they 'borrowed' from their last hospital raid, needles, dental floss, and some butterfly bandages. He also took the bottle of whiskey Dean always had for this certain occasions. Opening it up, he took a swig.
Deciding that his shirt was beyond repair, Sam cut it off with the scissors which came from the first-aid kit. Miraculously, his leather jacket seemed to have survived without much damage and he took it off Dean too.
The older Winchester gave out a protesting growl then, and Sam repeated his chanting from earlier, his adept fingers working nimbly. Dean could barely hear him among the roaring in his ears, but he heard him nonetheless. He's been fighting hard to stop the darkness from surrounding him, but once he understood that his baby brother would take care of him, at least for now, he'd allow himself the vulnerability. However, his little Sammy was trying to sit him up now and Dean huffed, annoyed. He's been so ready to rest but now his brother wouldn't let him. What the hell?
"Dean, you need to drink this," he heard Sammy say, plunging a pill of something in his mouth. Sammy tipped a glass on his lips and the water chased the pill down his throat. The coolness of the water was a respite on his burning throat, and he drank all of it greedily. He lay back down on the bed after that as the fast-acting medication worked its wonders.
"Thanks, S'mmy," he mumbled, his head getting absurdly heavier.
"Anytime, Dean. Anytime."
~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~
Dean Winchester fought valiantly through the fog of unconsciousness that held dim down. Why was it so hard just to wake up?
Irritated, he dragged his heavy eyelids open. His eyesight was blurry at first, but when they focused clearly enough, he saw his little brother in deep slumber on the other bed fully-clothed. The events of the yesterday came back to him.
Dean listened to the stillness in the air warily, his flare gun cocked and ready as they trekked deeper and deeper into the wilderness of Georgia. "I almost forgot how fast they are," he commented. Leading the way, he walked as noiselessly and as stealthily as he can, heading for the caves they think the wendigo has made a lair out of. "The last one we hunted was more or less three years ago, right?"
"Yeah," Sam answered, a bit distracted. For a moment, he thought his head was being cracked open by the splitting headache he had developed half an hour ago. Feeling a tickling sensation in his nose, he sneezed three times onto the sleeve of his jacket.
"What the hell, Sam?" Dean spun around, just in time to see the wendigo a few feet behind his brother. Without a thought, he expertly maneuvered Sam out of the way and took the full brunt as the monstrous creature charged forward and swiped his big ass claws. It caught Dean point-blank and, aside from the air being knocked out from him, Dean immediately began to see stars as his head swam, the smell of iron overwhelmed him. If it hadn't been from his extreme pain threshold and his hunter training, he would've passed out then and there.
Dean had enough sense in him to use the flare gun that was still clutched tight in his hands. He fired once and the wendigo immediately caught fire, howling in pain as the fire ate away his rotting flesh.
By this time, Sam had already recovered from the shock of being tackled to the ground by his older brother and he watched in silent fascination as the wendigo was engulfed in fire. He just stared at it for a minute, until he opened his mouth to apologize to his brother from being too slow to react, "I'm sorry, Dean. It's just this damn cold—" he stopped midsentence when he realized that his brother was unmoving on the ground, crumpled in a heap of dirt mixed with his blood.
Dean's recollection of the drive back was murky at best, and after a minute of trying to remember what happened afterwards, a stinging headache developed and he stopped. He made a move to get off the bed before he froze in pain. Like the seasoned soldier that his father has made of him, only a grunt and a quickening of his breathing indicated that he was hurting. Pushing past the sensation that his flesh was starting to tear which was probably an accurate description of what was happening, Dean managed to stand up on wobbly legs, needing only a hand on the side table to steady himself.
His attention was caught by a white bottle on top of that table and a glass of water. Smiling despite of his condition, he dry swallowed two of the pills and made the treacherous journey to the bathroom to unload his bladder's content.
When he was done, he found the first-aid kit by the duffel of weapons at the foot of his bed and checked its contents for some medicine for colds. Finding none, he decided that he'd have to go to the pharmacy to replenish their stock anyway. And his stomach was starting to protest too.
Since he was in his boxers short and a white shirt, he tugged on the first pair of jeans he got his hands on. Thankfully, his leather jacket seemed to have survived the excursion yesterday basically unscathed so he put that on too and wore his boots. It was simple torture just to get dressed, but he managed. That's just the way Dean was built. He grabbed his keys from the bed side table and headed for the door.
Glancing back one last time at his sleeping brother, Dean closed the hotel room door silently.
Lovingly patting the hood of his baby, Dean opened the driver's side door and got in. He gunned the engine with experienced ease and started to back her out of the parking lot and onto the road. He drove around town for awhile, looking for a pharmacy and hopefully a place where he can get something to eat. He found exactly what he was looking for a good fifteen minutes later and pulled over.
After he got the things he needed to replenish their first-aid kit, specifically something for Sammy's colds, he walked over to the nearest diner he could find. He ordered coffee for the both of them, a bacon cheeseburger for himself and some sort of salad for his little brother.
"Is that all?" the waitress asked him, batting her eyelashes at him flirtatiously.
"Your number would be nice." Dean flashed her his most charming smile, holding eye contact until the girl blushed and got out a muttered okay before heading back to the counter.
The waitress got back in record time, holding two paper bags of the food Dean ordered and another drink holder for their coffee. Stapled to one of them was a paper with a few numbers scribbled on them and a little note.
Call me, Lian—it read.
Grinning at himself, Dean was still busy looking through the stuff he bought when a big muscled guy came through the diner's front door. He started to walk towards the door and the guy was headed for the counter when their shoulders bumped a little. Of course, Dean was annoyed, but his brother was in the motel room probably feeling like crap from that stupid cold and he needed the medicine he bought so he let it slide.
Apparently, though, the buff guy wouldn't. "Watch where you're going!" the big guy grumbled, shooting daggers at the Winchester.
Dean's natural sarcasm kicked in, "Sorry, didn't see the 'big jerk crossing' sign."
"You calling me a jerk?" he snarled, cracking the bones on his fist.
The hunter made a show of looking around the diner first before answering him in a cocky tone, "You see anyone else as big as you are in here?"
"Looking for a fight, huh?" Sneering menacingly, Muscled Guy pushed at Dean and he winced as his hand made contact with his wounds. Dean just shook his head, doing everything in his power to reign his temper in. It wasn't working. "You're not gonna wimp out on me, are you?"
That was the final straw. Nobody could call Dean weak and get away with it. He punched Muscle Guy on the nose with all his might, and even as the stitches his little brother made on his chest began to tear, Dean just kept throwing punches until the guy was knocked out cold on the tiled floor. The patrons of the diner just watched, almost like they were amused, really, and one of them spoke out, "No one's been brave enough to stand up to that big bully until now," he said as a sort of explanation, respect clearly in his voice. "We owe you one."
"Well, I just can't stand jerks like him, so you don't owe me anything," he replied, stalking out of the diner before any of them noticed the wetness on Dean's shirt. "Damn it!" he exclaimed once outside.
Repositioning himself behind the wheel of his beloved car, Dean drove silently back to the motel.
Meanwhile, Sam was just stirring from a fitful sleep. However, his eyes snapped open when he remembered that Dean had to drink his pain meds so his wounds wouldn't bother him. He looked to his brother's bed and was alarmed to find that he wasn't there. Another glance at the bed side table told him that the Impala's keys weren't there as well. Sam got up immediately and fished in his jacket's pocket for his phone.
Before he could dial, the door to their motel room opened and in came Dean, holding two paper bags worth of food and two cups of coffee. He wore a sort of guilty expression on his face that bordered on a smirk.
"What the hell were you thinking, Dean!?" he began, but Dean held up a hand to shut him up. He dug around in his leather jacket's pocket and threw something white at Sam which he caught.
Holding it up, Sam read the label on the bottle. Dean was out buying medicine for him. Damn it. Sam felt hot tears prickling his eyes.
Dean placed the food he bought down on the bigger table they used for eating and doing research. "I got you your salad, little brother," he announced, rummaging through the paper bags, oblivious to Sammy who was doing his best to keep the tears from spilling. Dean wouldn't let him live that down.
Unfortunately, luck was never in the Winchesters' side, and Dean did notice the moisture gathering on his eyes. "Sammy?" he said, worry apparent in his voice.
Dean's jacket shifted a little and that's when Sam noticed bloodstains on his white shirt. "Oh my God, Dean! You're bleeding!" he exclaimed, spurred into action in an instant. He snatched the first-aid kit again and pushed his brother gently to sit on the bed.
Looking at his brother's face, Dean didn't even try to argue as his baby brother fussed over him. One of the worst things you could ever do to Dean Winchester is to mother-hen him, but right now, Dean didn't care. He actually missed being cared for by his oversized little brother.
He trembled a little as he was assaulted by his memories from being downstairs and Sam noticed it. Thankfully, he associated it to the fact that he had just poured alcohol on Dean's injuries and not hell-adjacent in anyway.
There was a dull ache as Sam stitched Dean's wounds again, and he was glad that he had downed two pills earlier today. He was just so goddamn tired of fighting the pain. And the memories, his mind added for him. He grimaced at that.
Dean watched Sammy's face as he tended to him. There were still moisture in his eyes. Maybe his colds got worse, Dean thought to himself. He stilled Sam's hands. "Go drink the meds first, Sammy," he said.
"After I patch you up," Sam answered stubbornly.
Dean sighed. "You can patch me up all you want after you drink your medicine."
Sam ground his teeth together, "Fine."
Dry swallowing one tablet, Sam resumed his task. Finishing it, Dean got off the bed, tugging a new shirt over his head as he approached the food on the table. He was seriously starving and the cheeseburger was just waiting for him right there.
He munched happily for a little while, until he noticed his brother still hasn't stood up from where he sat, a somber look on his face.
"You want to talk about it?" Dean asked quietly, dropping the half-eaten burger on the table. His brother cocked his head to one side, and Dean remembered Cas doing the same whenever he was confused. Damn, that angel was growing on him. "You know, those girly tears on your eyes? Is it the headache?" he joked. That was purely the way Dean Winchester worked. Making a joke about a very chick flick moment.
He almost died and he's still worrying about me, Sam thought gravely. "You almost died yesterday, Dean, trying to protect me," Sam voiced his concerns so softly that Dean had to strain to get every word right.
So that's what this is all about… "But I didn't Sam. No big deal. Get over it," Dean replied, dismissing the topic.
"That's not the point, Dean! You almost died, I almost lost you! Again! And now you just want to walk it off? For what? Friggin' cold meds? Why don't you think about yourself for once, Dean? Why don't you take care of yourself for once?" Sam exploded angrily.
"Because that's just who I am, Sammy," Dean explained calmly in the face of his angry brother. It's not like this is the first time he's faced an angry Sam. "I take care of my pain in the ass little brother no matter what it takes."
"But why , Dean? I'm not a kid anymore!"
"But you still need protection," Dean concluded. An incredulous look passed on his brother's face and he felt compelled to elaborate. "When we were younger, whenever Dad would leave for a hunt, he would always tell me, 'Watch out for your little brother, Dean'. But he never had to tell me that. You're my responsibility. You're my little brother, Sammy. And taking care of you, that's just who I am."
When Sam started to look like he would kiss Dean, the older Winchester decided to lighten the mood. "Are you just gonna stare at me like you want to kiss me or are you gonna eat your salad? 'Cause I am seriously hungry and I could almost eat your veggies."
Sam walked over to his brother and hugged him fiercely. Dean almost recoiled; he was never comfortable with this kind of display of affection over something as petty as this. But he hugged back anyway, comforting his baby brother the way he's known all these years.
A/N: Okay. I think I did okay, considering… I hope you enjoyed, although it wasn't kinda what I was expecting from myself. Please take a moment and review, either way. I take criticism seriously.
A/N Part Two: I can't update in this site very often for reasons I would rather not disclose, but if you guys want more of my stories, you can check me out in fanfiction.net. I write under the same pen name of HunterChic1807 :)
Sam was having a hard time not turning the car around and heading for that hospital he saw ten minutes ago instead of following his big brother's order and going back to the hotel. Dean was currently knocked out in the backseat of the Impala, slowly bleeding to death from three large claw marks on his chest. The youngest Winchester couldn't help his mind wander back to Harmony, Indiana on May 2008 and he forced back a shudder. No, that's not going to happen this time, he told himself vehemently. In an attempt to keep the hysteria at bay, he gripped the wheel even tighter until his knuckles went white from the effort and focused his eyes on the road. The sooner they get back to their room, the sooner he could patch his brother up. "Just hold, Dean. We're almost there," he muttered obsessively, chanting the words over and over again.
From the backseat, Dean was on fire—or so he thought—and it took all the meager strength he had left not to scream out in pain. He vaguely remembered his body being ripped apart, but he couldn't recall what did it to him. Thinking harder, he managed to dredge back a spotty memory of feeling this intense pain before. Aww, hell no. There were no hellhounds in this case, so he couldn't possible become their chew toy again! he thought frantically. In his panic, he wasn't alert enough to bite back a moan of misery.
Sam glanced on the rearview mirror when he heard Dean moaning and shifting around at the back. But he immediately pulled his gaze back to the road when he saw just how much blood was leaving his brother's system. He stepped on the gas.
The following ten minutes that Sam drove seemed like a lifetime to him. He mentally cursed the hotel they chose to stay in. Why did it have to be so far away from the forest? Because luck was never on our side, his cynical mind answered him.
Finally, more or less a half hour after they deep-fried themselves a wendigo, Sam parked their car and got out, slamming the door a little too hard. At any other time, Dean would've chewed his ass for that, but his older brother was not in the position to care about that right now. He was still conscious though his eyes were closed, and Sam didn't know if he should be relieved or what. Sure, it meant Dean was still alive but in his state, he should be in a world full of pain just by staying awake.
He grabbed his brother's shoulder gingerly, although he was sure he didn't have any broken bones anywhere—Sam had checked for that back in the forest, when he had had to move Dean to the car. Dean groaned again at the action. There was a large gash on his head though, and it had Sam worrying about a concussion. For the time being, he settled himself for half-carrying half-dragging his brother into the room they shared, his eye watchful of any civilian who might see them. Dean struggled along, wanting nothing but sleep and rest. Hopefully, once he woke up, the pain would be gone.
Once inside, Sam breathed just teensy bit easier. It should be smooth sailing from here, he convinced himself as he laid Dean on his bed, not giving a damn that the blood and the dirt on his brother's clothes were severely soiling the sheets. He took out their first-aid kit in a jiffy and emptied its contents on the bed beside Dean. Triumphantly, he found the heavy-duty painkillers they 'borrowed' from their last hospital raid, needles, dental floss, and some butterfly bandages. He also took the bottle of whiskey Dean always had for this certain occasions. Opening it up, he took a swig.
Deciding that his shirt was beyond repair, Sam cut it off with the scissors which came from the first-aid kit. Miraculously, his leather jacket seemed to have survived without much damage and he took it off Dean too.
The older Winchester gave out a protesting growl then, and Sam repeated his chanting from earlier, his adept fingers working nimbly. Dean could barely hear him among the roaring in his ears, but he heard him nonetheless. He's been fighting hard to stop the darkness from surrounding him, but once he understood that his baby brother would take care of him, at least for now, he'd allow himself the vulnerability. However, his little Sammy was trying to sit him up now and Dean huffed, annoyed. He's been so ready to rest but now his brother wouldn't let him. What the hell?
"Dean, you need to drink this," he heard Sammy say, plunging a pill of something in his mouth. Sammy tipped a glass on his lips and the water chased the pill down his throat. The coolness of the water was a respite on his burning throat, and he drank all of it greedily. He lay back down on the bed after that as the fast-acting medication worked its wonders.
"Thanks, S'mmy," he mumbled, his head getting absurdly heavier.
"Anytime, Dean. Anytime."
~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~
Dean Winchester fought valiantly through the fog of unconsciousness that held dim down. Why was it so hard just to wake up?
Irritated, he dragged his heavy eyelids open. His eyesight was blurry at first, but when they focused clearly enough, he saw his little brother in deep slumber on the other bed fully-clothed. The events of the yesterday came back to him.
Dean listened to the stillness in the air warily, his flare gun cocked and ready as they trekked deeper and deeper into the wilderness of Georgia. "I almost forgot how fast they are," he commented. Leading the way, he walked as noiselessly and as stealthily as he can, heading for the caves they think the wendigo has made a lair out of. "The last one we hunted was more or less three years ago, right?"
"Yeah," Sam answered, a bit distracted. For a moment, he thought his head was being cracked open by the splitting headache he had developed half an hour ago. Feeling a tickling sensation in his nose, he sneezed three times onto the sleeve of his jacket.
"What the hell, Sam?" Dean spun around, just in time to see the wendigo a few feet behind his brother. Without a thought, he expertly maneuvered Sam out of the way and took the full brunt as the monstrous creature charged forward and swiped his big ass claws. It caught Dean point-blank and, aside from the air being knocked out from him, Dean immediately began to see stars as his head swam, the smell of iron overwhelmed him. If it hadn't been from his extreme pain threshold and his hunter training, he would've passed out then and there.
Dean had enough sense in him to use the flare gun that was still clutched tight in his hands. He fired once and the wendigo immediately caught fire, howling in pain as the fire ate away his rotting flesh.
By this time, Sam had already recovered from the shock of being tackled to the ground by his older brother and he watched in silent fascination as the wendigo was engulfed in fire. He just stared at it for a minute, until he opened his mouth to apologize to his brother from being too slow to react, "I'm sorry, Dean. It's just this damn cold—" he stopped midsentence when he realized that his brother was unmoving on the ground, crumpled in a heap of dirt mixed with his blood.
Dean's recollection of the drive back was murky at best, and after a minute of trying to remember what happened afterwards, a stinging headache developed and he stopped. He made a move to get off the bed before he froze in pain. Like the seasoned soldier that his father has made of him, only a grunt and a quickening of his breathing indicated that he was hurting. Pushing past the sensation that his flesh was starting to tear which was probably an accurate description of what was happening, Dean managed to stand up on wobbly legs, needing only a hand on the side table to steady himself.
His attention was caught by a white bottle on top of that table and a glass of water. Smiling despite of his condition, he dry swallowed two of the pills and made the treacherous journey to the bathroom to unload his bladder's content.
When he was done, he found the first-aid kit by the duffel of weapons at the foot of his bed and checked its contents for some medicine for colds. Finding none, he decided that he'd have to go to the pharmacy to replenish their stock anyway. And his stomach was starting to protest too.
Since he was in his boxers short and a white shirt, he tugged on the first pair of jeans he got his hands on. Thankfully, his leather jacket seemed to have survived the excursion yesterday basically unscathed so he put that on too and wore his boots. It was simple torture just to get dressed, but he managed. That's just the way Dean was built. He grabbed his keys from the bed side table and headed for the door.
Glancing back one last time at his sleeping brother, Dean closed the hotel room door silently.
Lovingly patting the hood of his baby, Dean opened the driver's side door and got in. He gunned the engine with experienced ease and started to back her out of the parking lot and onto the road. He drove around town for awhile, looking for a pharmacy and hopefully a place where he can get something to eat. He found exactly what he was looking for a good fifteen minutes later and pulled over.
After he got the things he needed to replenish their first-aid kit, specifically something for Sammy's colds, he walked over to the nearest diner he could find. He ordered coffee for the both of them, a bacon cheeseburger for himself and some sort of salad for his little brother.
"Is that all?" the waitress asked him, batting her eyelashes at him flirtatiously.
"Your number would be nice." Dean flashed her his most charming smile, holding eye contact until the girl blushed and got out a muttered okay before heading back to the counter.
The waitress got back in record time, holding two paper bags of the food Dean ordered and another drink holder for their coffee. Stapled to one of them was a paper with a few numbers scribbled on them and a little note.
Call me, Lian—it read.
Grinning at himself, Dean was still busy looking through the stuff he bought when a big muscled guy came through the diner's front door. He started to walk towards the door and the guy was headed for the counter when their shoulders bumped a little. Of course, Dean was annoyed, but his brother was in the motel room probably feeling like crap from that stupid cold and he needed the medicine he bought so he let it slide.
Apparently, though, the buff guy wouldn't. "Watch where you're going!" the big guy grumbled, shooting daggers at the Winchester.
Dean's natural sarcasm kicked in, "Sorry, didn't see the 'big jerk crossing' sign."
"You calling me a jerk?" he snarled, cracking the bones on his fist.
The hunter made a show of looking around the diner first before answering him in a cocky tone, "You see anyone else as big as you are in here?"
"Looking for a fight, huh?" Sneering menacingly, Muscled Guy pushed at Dean and he winced as his hand made contact with his wounds. Dean just shook his head, doing everything in his power to reign his temper in. It wasn't working. "You're not gonna wimp out on me, are you?"
That was the final straw. Nobody could call Dean weak and get away with it. He punched Muscle Guy on the nose with all his might, and even as the stitches his little brother made on his chest began to tear, Dean just kept throwing punches until the guy was knocked out cold on the tiled floor. The patrons of the diner just watched, almost like they were amused, really, and one of them spoke out, "No one's been brave enough to stand up to that big bully until now," he said as a sort of explanation, respect clearly in his voice. "We owe you one."
"Well, I just can't stand jerks like him, so you don't owe me anything," he replied, stalking out of the diner before any of them noticed the wetness on Dean's shirt. "Damn it!" he exclaimed once outside.
Repositioning himself behind the wheel of his beloved car, Dean drove silently back to the motel.
Meanwhile, Sam was just stirring from a fitful sleep. However, his eyes snapped open when he remembered that Dean had to drink his pain meds so his wounds wouldn't bother him. He looked to his brother's bed and was alarmed to find that he wasn't there. Another glance at the bed side table told him that the Impala's keys weren't there as well. Sam got up immediately and fished in his jacket's pocket for his phone.
Before he could dial, the door to their motel room opened and in came Dean, holding two paper bags worth of food and two cups of coffee. He wore a sort of guilty expression on his face that bordered on a smirk.
"What the hell were you thinking, Dean!?" he began, but Dean held up a hand to shut him up. He dug around in his leather jacket's pocket and threw something white at Sam which he caught.
Holding it up, Sam read the label on the bottle. Dean was out buying medicine for him. Damn it. Sam felt hot tears prickling his eyes.
Dean placed the food he bought down on the bigger table they used for eating and doing research. "I got you your salad, little brother," he announced, rummaging through the paper bags, oblivious to Sammy who was doing his best to keep the tears from spilling. Dean wouldn't let him live that down.
Unfortunately, luck was never in the Winchesters' side, and Dean did notice the moisture gathering on his eyes. "Sammy?" he said, worry apparent in his voice.
Dean's jacket shifted a little and that's when Sam noticed bloodstains on his white shirt. "Oh my God, Dean! You're bleeding!" he exclaimed, spurred into action in an instant. He snatched the first-aid kit again and pushed his brother gently to sit on the bed.
Looking at his brother's face, Dean didn't even try to argue as his baby brother fussed over him. One of the worst things you could ever do to Dean Winchester is to mother-hen him, but right now, Dean didn't care. He actually missed being cared for by his oversized little brother.
He trembled a little as he was assaulted by his memories from being downstairs and Sam noticed it. Thankfully, he associated it to the fact that he had just poured alcohol on Dean's injuries and not hell-adjacent in anyway.
There was a dull ache as Sam stitched Dean's wounds again, and he was glad that he had downed two pills earlier today. He was just so goddamn tired of fighting the pain. And the memories, his mind added for him. He grimaced at that.
Dean watched Sammy's face as he tended to him. There were still moisture in his eyes. Maybe his colds got worse, Dean thought to himself. He stilled Sam's hands. "Go drink the meds first, Sammy," he said.
"After I patch you up," Sam answered stubbornly.
Dean sighed. "You can patch me up all you want after you drink your medicine."
Sam ground his teeth together, "Fine."
Dry swallowing one tablet, Sam resumed his task. Finishing it, Dean got off the bed, tugging a new shirt over his head as he approached the food on the table. He was seriously starving and the cheeseburger was just waiting for him right there.
He munched happily for a little while, until he noticed his brother still hasn't stood up from where he sat, a somber look on his face.
"You want to talk about it?" Dean asked quietly, dropping the half-eaten burger on the table. His brother cocked his head to one side, and Dean remembered Cas doing the same whenever he was confused. Damn, that angel was growing on him. "You know, those girly tears on your eyes? Is it the headache?" he joked. That was purely the way Dean Winchester worked. Making a joke about a very chick flick moment.
He almost died and he's still worrying about me, Sam thought gravely. "You almost died yesterday, Dean, trying to protect me," Sam voiced his concerns so softly that Dean had to strain to get every word right.
So that's what this is all about… "But I didn't Sam. No big deal. Get over it," Dean replied, dismissing the topic.
"That's not the point, Dean! You almost died, I almost lost you! Again! And now you just want to walk it off? For what? Friggin' cold meds? Why don't you think about yourself for once, Dean? Why don't you take care of yourself for once?" Sam exploded angrily.
"Because that's just who I am, Sammy," Dean explained calmly in the face of his angry brother. It's not like this is the first time he's faced an angry Sam. "I take care of my pain in the ass little brother no matter what it takes."
"But why , Dean? I'm not a kid anymore!"
"But you still need protection," Dean concluded. An incredulous look passed on his brother's face and he felt compelled to elaborate. "When we were younger, whenever Dad would leave for a hunt, he would always tell me, 'Watch out for your little brother, Dean'. But he never had to tell me that. You're my responsibility. You're my little brother, Sammy. And taking care of you, that's just who I am."
When Sam started to look like he would kiss Dean, the older Winchester decided to lighten the mood. "Are you just gonna stare at me like you want to kiss me or are you gonna eat your salad? 'Cause I am seriously hungry and I could almost eat your veggies."
Sam walked over to his brother and hugged him fiercely. Dean almost recoiled; he was never comfortable with this kind of display of affection over something as petty as this. But he hugged back anyway, comforting his baby brother the way he's known all these years.
A/N: Okay. I think I did okay, considering… I hope you enjoyed, although it wasn't kinda what I was expecting from myself. Please take a moment and review, either way. I take criticism seriously.
A/N Part Two: I can't update in this site very often for reasons I would rather not disclose, but if you guys want more of my stories, you can check me out in fanfiction.net. I write under the same pen name of HunterChic1807 :)
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