Just You and Me (Supernatural, General Series, #26-headache)
Title: Just you and Me
Author/Artist: my_sam_dean
Pairing: Sam, Dean
Fandom: Supernatural
Theme: 26 - headache
Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural.
Dean looked over at his brother, not liking his pale color. Sam didn't respond to his questions exactly, but he'd make noises to indicate his discomfort. Whenever Sammy wouldn't talk, it was bad.
They'd had what they thought was a run of the mill poltergeist, and they'd been wrong. It was a sneaky sucker and had confused both boys once they were in the home. Dean was scolding himself for not being more prepared before Sam was even attacked. Once they crossed from what they expected into surprise, he'd felt responsible for the lack of information.
He was used to speeding down the road in the Impala. He and Sam were good hunters, and they were careful, but they still got injured. It was just part of the job. But, most of the time, Sam was quite verbal and giving Dean feedback. Sam asked just as many questions when Dean was hurt and they knew what information was needed to access their situation and get appropriate treatment. Sam's silence was unnerving.
In the parking lot, he tried not to squeal to a stop. He didn't want to attract attention but he was in a hurry to get Sam inside and check him over. When the car jolted to a halt, Sam didn't even complain. He jerked in his seat but didn't respond otherwise.
"Come on," Dean tried to coax Sam out of the car and into their motel. "We're real close. You can rest when we get inside." Sam didn't even open his eyes. Dean bent his knees and then hooked his arm under Sam's and around his back. "Up on three. One, two, three! Ugh! Help me out here a little, man!"
Sam barely lifted himself from the passenger seat. It was a small movement, but it was showed that he could obey orders and offered a good sign about Sam's mental condition. He started to fall forward when his feet tangled together. His world was spinning and he had no chance of keeping up.
"On your feet!"
The muddled man tried to comply. It was ingrained in him that Dean knew best.
"Almost there. Through the door, Sammy. Just a little further."
Balancing Sam and operating the lock proved difficult but not impossible. Dean used some choice four letter words before the door swung open. He shuffled inside, trying to get the both of them through the threshold.
Sam's boots scuffed along the carpet slowly until Dean set him on the bed furthest from the door.
"Where's?" Sam mumbled.
"The monster? I got him and then saved your ass. Up on the bed, big guy." Dean swung Sam's legs up on the bed and got his boots off. "Stay with me, Sam."
He methodically removed Sam's clothes until he was stripped to his boxers. He ran his hands over Sam's skin, looking for cuts and broken bones. He had abrasions from where he'd hit but nothing that needed stitching. Bruises were already starting to form and Dean knew they would hurt like hell.
"You really cracked that big head of yours," Dean commented as he felt the goose egg forming on Sam's skull. "Luckily, I dropped you a time or two as a baby so I know you can handle it."
"Dean," Sam feebly tried to bat Dean's hands away from his head. Dean had no problem avoiding the half-hearted blows.
"Almost done." He laid Sam's head back on the pillow. "Just that one huge knot. Looks like you'll be fine. You've knocked yourself goofy, but otherwise okay."
Sam drifted off when Dean went to get ice.
***
In Sam's mind, he traveled back in time to when he had the flu shortly after he'd moved in with Jessica. He was a tough guy and could take a lot but when he was attacked with the high fever and chills, he was at the virus's mercy.
Jessica had tried to 'mother' him in the beginning when Sam was grumpy and refused her help. When he thought back to whenever he'd been sick before, Dean had taken care of him. He remembered worrying about John when he as gone, but he never cried for him as he did for Dean.
Once he was too miserable to do much more than breathe, he happily accepted Jessica's offer of Tylenol. He didn't fight when Jessica helped him out of his drenched t-shirt and jogging pants. He shivered when the air hit his sweaty skin.
Jessica watched him toss and turn. She ran a washcloth over his skin when he was too warm, and covered him with a sheet when he shivered. While he was in and out of consciousness, Jessica never left his side.
She took very good care of him. He couldn't fault anything she did. But, she wasn't Dean. She didn't have his certain TLC that Sam was used to and responded to best.
When she took sick after catching the bug from him, Sam felt awful but knew how to care for her since he’d been the only one around to tend to Dean when he was sick. He hated the feverish look on her face and the dull glaze of her eyes when she wasn’t making any sense. He really appreciated her more after that ordeal.
***
"Oww," Sam rolled over, away from the small rays of light coming through the bathroom door that was ajar. The light hurt his eyes and switching sides made him feel disoriented.
"Sam?" Dean shot out of bed. He brushed Sam's hair back from his face and noticed how damp it was. "Shit. You're soaked."
Sam moaned and moved away from Dean's touch, his eyes still squeezed shut to block out the light.
"Be right back." He returned with a washcloth and wiped the sweat from Sam's face and neck. Sam fought him at first, then relaxed when he realized what Dean was doing.
"Hurts."
"I bet. Think you can swallow some Tylenol for me?"
There was a brief pause before Sam answered, "Yeah."
Dean propped Sam up so he could place the pills on Sam's tongue and give him some water. "Swallow." He moved the glass away and asked, "Need more?"
Sam nodded and immediately regretted it. Dean steadied him until he got his bearings.
One more sip and Dean set the liquid aside. He eased Sam back down and removed some of the covers. He wanted Sam to cool off but not so quickly that he got a chill.
"I should be used to this," Dean chuckled. "Every childhood illness and hunting injury I went through with you? It doesn't make it any easier to see you in pain." Dean said sadly, "You're all I've got, Sammy. It's just me and you. I guess it's always been that way for the most part . . . Now, there really is nobody else left. What am I going to do?"
Trying to shake the melancholy feeling, Dean wet the washcloth again, rung it out and ran it over Sam. "You'll keep me on my toes. Always have. Pain in the ass little brother."
Hearing the fondness in Dean's voice, the corners of Sam's mouth turned up just a little. It was only Dean and him left. But, Dean was all he needed. They were going to be okay.
***
Sam ripped off his shirts and tore them into bandages. They were deep in the woods and Dean had been slashed by a wendigo. He took his belt off and used it as a tourniquet on Dean’s leg. Apologizing to Dean, Sam hoisted him into a fireman carry and hurried back to the car.
Dean’s injured leg was jolted each time Sam stepped. The one thing Sam had working in his favor was that Dean was unconscious. The one thing that Sam had working against him in the long run was that Dean was unconscious. Rotten Winchester luck.
The light was fading fast and Sam hoped he was headed in the right direction to get them to the Impala and back to the motel. He started to huff when Dean got heavy but kept up his pace. He felt like he could finally breathe freely again when he saw the distinctive outline of the Impala. Safety was in sight.
He laid Dean on the backseat. Some of the bandages had moved but he didn’t take the time to retie them. He checked the belt because that was the most important. The wendigo’s claws had nicked Dean’s femoral artery and Sam needed to get the bleeding stopped pronto.
Gunning the engine, Sam raced to the motel. He talked to Dean the whole way, more out of nervousness than anything else. Dean didn’t reply at all. When they arrived at the motel, he was still unresponsive.
The parking lot was half full with cars but no one was wandering outside their room. Sam was able to carry his bleeding bundle into their room without anyone spotting them and calling the cops. Given that Dean was still a wanted man, the law had to be avoided at all costs.
After Dean was lying on his bed, Sam ran to get the first aid kit. He cut Dean’s jeans off by slicing each leg to the waist. He quickly scrubbed his hands so he could investigate further to see what Dean needed.
The first thing he had to do was clean that cut on the femoral line and stitch it up. He could only leave the belt tight around Dean’s upper thigh for so long before he had to worry about causing damage.
Every so often, Sam asked Dean a question to see if he’d respond. Otherwise, the room was filled with Sam’s panicked chatter. He ran on about anything he could think of. Part of him expected Dean to wake up just to tell him to be quiet.
When the first set of stitches was complete and Sam was satisfied that they would hold, he loosened the belt. He moved on to the next area that required stitches but kept an eye on those first ones.
Dean was not going to be happy when he woke. The wendigo had almost rid him of his family jewels and Sam had demolished his favorite pair of jeans. Sam decided that he’d just be happy that Dean was able to rip him a new one when the time came.
“I’m going to roll you now,” Sam told Dean. “I’ll get the jeans untangled and throw them away. The arterial stitches are holding steady. Your shirt is going to have to go. I’ll cut it along the seams so you can fix it if you want to, but I’m not chancing any movement that could jeopardize those stitches.”
Once the Metallica shirt was reduced to no more than a rag, Sam was able to see the scrapes and bruising from where Dean had hit the ground. They were spots that were going to hurt but at least the claws had only done damage to his legs.
Sam filled a syringe with a strong antibiotic. Dean hated needles and would complain until he’d finished the course of these intravenous drugs but they were the strongest they had and Sam wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He wanted to give Dean something for the pain, but Dean had to wake up first so Sam could assess him for severe head injury.
“You’re going to feel a little sting,” he told his unconscious brother before injecting him with the medication. “All done.” Sam threw the needle away and fetched a washcloth and bowl of soapy water. He sat down on the edge of the bed after putting towels around Dean. “Now it’s time to wash the rest of you off.”
He worked in sections. Once he’d cleaned the dirt and grime away, he toweled that part off and moved on to the next one. Every time he finished one area, he checked the crucial stitches. They weren’t the only stitches Dean had on his legs, but they were the most critical..
Satisfied that Dean was as clean as he was before the hunt, he took care of his supplies. The last thing he did before turning out the light was to cover Dean up and put ice where the belt had been. It wouldn’t do much for the pain but it would help swelling.
The next chore was to get Sam himself cleaned up. It took twice as long as it should have because he kept checking on Dean, but Sam got washed and Dean was still out, so it was a success. Sam fired up his trusty laptop and did some research on blood loss and loss of consciousness. He already had a library in his brain that covered those topics, but he wanted to be sure that he wasn’t missing anything.
Dean’s groan made Sam jump. It was loud in the silence of the room. Sam snapped his computer shut and went to Dean.
“Open your eyes for me,” Sam told him. “I know you’re hurting. After you answer some questions, I can give you a painkiller. First you have to open those eyes of yours.”
Dean laid still for a minute. Then, he groaned again. Sam held Dean’s face in his hands. “Look at me, Dean. You need to open your eyes now.”
His lashes fluttered and then stopped.
“Almost,” Sam encouraged him. “You have to open them long enough to look at me.”
The next time they fluttered, they opened a slit, and then a little more.
“Good,” Sam smiled. He checked Dean’s pupils and asked, “What were we hunting?”
“Wen . . . Wen.”
“Wendigo. Right. What year is it?”
“2007,” Dean replied.
“That’s enough. I’ll get the narcotics.” Sam loaded another syringe. “You’re going to feel a poke.” He withdrew the needle and was met with Dean’s glare. “They’re strong and work quick. Next time you can pick out your own pain meds if you stay conscious. That’s the deal.”
Dean closed his eyes, but he was just resting. Sam could tell my his breathing that he hadn’t fallen asleep.
“He got you in the legs,” Sam explained the extent of Dean’s injuries. “The worst part was when he got your artery, but I think that it’s stitched up fine. You have stitches on both legs, mostly your thighs. Your back is beat up from your fall, but you probably won’t even notice that over the sutures on the cut where he almost took your manhood.”
Dean’s eyes popped open.
“You’re still intact, don’t worry.” Sam should have known that a comment like that would get Dean’s full attention.
Satisfied that Sam was telling the truth because no guy alive would joke about something like that, Dean fell back to sleep.
He dreamed of when he was little, before the fire. He’d been sick with a cold, and Mary had sat and colored with him between the fluids of all sorts that she tried to get him to drink. She let him lean into her, curled up under a blanket, while she read him his favorite book Even though he was sick, Dean had still felt pampered.
Mary made his favorite foods when he started feeling better. John had grumbled over the supper table and Mary had given him what for. Unbeknownst to Dean, Mary was pregnant with Sam and not feeling so well herself. She could take care of a sick child but her patience drew the line at a complaining husband.
“Hey, Jude,” Mary sang softly to him while he was trying to fall asleep. He had her lullaby memorized and still heard it in his head whenever he was hurt or upset. He treasured the connection that he still had with her.
But, she was dead and Dad was gone. The only reason he was still alive was Sammy.
“Wake up, Dean,” Sam was in his face. “You need to drink something, stay hydrated. I’ll pick up some energy bars across the street when it opens in the morning. We’ll keep your diet simple but you still need your fluids. I’m not sure how much blood you lost, but it’s more than I’m comfortable with.”
After taking a drink, Dean realized that the cool water was better than any 80’s rock song. He wanted to finish the glass, but Sam took it away. He told Dean he could only have a little at a time.
Dean scowled. He was the big brother. Sam was supposed to be following his orders, not the other way around.
“Give me that stubborn look of yours all you want,” Sam told him. “It doesn’t hurt me any. I’m still not letting you drink yourself into puking and losing what you have gotten down.”
“Sing to me,” Dean said slowly.
“I can’t sing, Dean. You know that. Want me to turn on the radio?”
“No.” Dean felt as if he was going to cry. “Miss Mom.”
Sam’s heart broke a little for him. He ran his fingers through Dean’s hair as he spoke. “I do, too. She must have sang to you when you were sick, right? It’s great that you can remember that. I’m thankful for the short time you had with her. She must have taught you how folks should be cared for because I know you didn’t get your bedside manner from Dad.”
That earned Sam a smile.
“When I got sick at college, Jess took good care of me. It wasn’t the same, though. It bothered me because it wasn’t you. Must be like how you miss Mom more when you’re hurt. Everyone has that someone who can make it all better.”
“It’s just me and you.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “That’s okay, though. In certain ways, I think it’s always just been the two of us.”
Dean didn’t get to voice his agreement before sleep dragged him under.
“I wish I could remember Mom,” Sam spoke softly as he continued stroke Dean’s hair. “When I try to picture Mom, I see you. It’s not a bad thing. I just don’t have a hole in my heart where she used to be.”
Sam stopped his hand movements and sighed. He was tired. It had been a long day and the light of the next one was already coming in the curtains.
They were a team, just as they’d always been at school and on hunts. They had all they needed to handle whatever life decided to throw at them--each other.
Author/Artist: my_sam_dean
Pairing: Sam, Dean
Fandom: Supernatural
Theme: 26 - headache
Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural.
Dean looked over at his brother, not liking his pale color. Sam didn't respond to his questions exactly, but he'd make noises to indicate his discomfort. Whenever Sammy wouldn't talk, it was bad.
They'd had what they thought was a run of the mill poltergeist, and they'd been wrong. It was a sneaky sucker and had confused both boys once they were in the home. Dean was scolding himself for not being more prepared before Sam was even attacked. Once they crossed from what they expected into surprise, he'd felt responsible for the lack of information.
He was used to speeding down the road in the Impala. He and Sam were good hunters, and they were careful, but they still got injured. It was just part of the job. But, most of the time, Sam was quite verbal and giving Dean feedback. Sam asked just as many questions when Dean was hurt and they knew what information was needed to access their situation and get appropriate treatment. Sam's silence was unnerving.
In the parking lot, he tried not to squeal to a stop. He didn't want to attract attention but he was in a hurry to get Sam inside and check him over. When the car jolted to a halt, Sam didn't even complain. He jerked in his seat but didn't respond otherwise.
"Come on," Dean tried to coax Sam out of the car and into their motel. "We're real close. You can rest when we get inside." Sam didn't even open his eyes. Dean bent his knees and then hooked his arm under Sam's and around his back. "Up on three. One, two, three! Ugh! Help me out here a little, man!"
Sam barely lifted himself from the passenger seat. It was a small movement, but it was showed that he could obey orders and offered a good sign about Sam's mental condition. He started to fall forward when his feet tangled together. His world was spinning and he had no chance of keeping up.
"On your feet!"
The muddled man tried to comply. It was ingrained in him that Dean knew best.
"Almost there. Through the door, Sammy. Just a little further."
Balancing Sam and operating the lock proved difficult but not impossible. Dean used some choice four letter words before the door swung open. He shuffled inside, trying to get the both of them through the threshold.
Sam's boots scuffed along the carpet slowly until Dean set him on the bed furthest from the door.
"Where's?" Sam mumbled.
"The monster? I got him and then saved your ass. Up on the bed, big guy." Dean swung Sam's legs up on the bed and got his boots off. "Stay with me, Sam."
He methodically removed Sam's clothes until he was stripped to his boxers. He ran his hands over Sam's skin, looking for cuts and broken bones. He had abrasions from where he'd hit but nothing that needed stitching. Bruises were already starting to form and Dean knew they would hurt like hell.
"You really cracked that big head of yours," Dean commented as he felt the goose egg forming on Sam's skull. "Luckily, I dropped you a time or two as a baby so I know you can handle it."
"Dean," Sam feebly tried to bat Dean's hands away from his head. Dean had no problem avoiding the half-hearted blows.
"Almost done." He laid Sam's head back on the pillow. "Just that one huge knot. Looks like you'll be fine. You've knocked yourself goofy, but otherwise okay."
Sam drifted off when Dean went to get ice.
***
In Sam's mind, he traveled back in time to when he had the flu shortly after he'd moved in with Jessica. He was a tough guy and could take a lot but when he was attacked with the high fever and chills, he was at the virus's mercy.
Jessica had tried to 'mother' him in the beginning when Sam was grumpy and refused her help. When he thought back to whenever he'd been sick before, Dean had taken care of him. He remembered worrying about John when he as gone, but he never cried for him as he did for Dean.
Once he was too miserable to do much more than breathe, he happily accepted Jessica's offer of Tylenol. He didn't fight when Jessica helped him out of his drenched t-shirt and jogging pants. He shivered when the air hit his sweaty skin.
Jessica watched him toss and turn. She ran a washcloth over his skin when he was too warm, and covered him with a sheet when he shivered. While he was in and out of consciousness, Jessica never left his side.
She took very good care of him. He couldn't fault anything she did. But, she wasn't Dean. She didn't have his certain TLC that Sam was used to and responded to best.
When she took sick after catching the bug from him, Sam felt awful but knew how to care for her since he’d been the only one around to tend to Dean when he was sick. He hated the feverish look on her face and the dull glaze of her eyes when she wasn’t making any sense. He really appreciated her more after that ordeal.
***
"Oww," Sam rolled over, away from the small rays of light coming through the bathroom door that was ajar. The light hurt his eyes and switching sides made him feel disoriented.
"Sam?" Dean shot out of bed. He brushed Sam's hair back from his face and noticed how damp it was. "Shit. You're soaked."
Sam moaned and moved away from Dean's touch, his eyes still squeezed shut to block out the light.
"Be right back." He returned with a washcloth and wiped the sweat from Sam's face and neck. Sam fought him at first, then relaxed when he realized what Dean was doing.
"Hurts."
"I bet. Think you can swallow some Tylenol for me?"
There was a brief pause before Sam answered, "Yeah."
Dean propped Sam up so he could place the pills on Sam's tongue and give him some water. "Swallow." He moved the glass away and asked, "Need more?"
Sam nodded and immediately regretted it. Dean steadied him until he got his bearings.
One more sip and Dean set the liquid aside. He eased Sam back down and removed some of the covers. He wanted Sam to cool off but not so quickly that he got a chill.
"I should be used to this," Dean chuckled. "Every childhood illness and hunting injury I went through with you? It doesn't make it any easier to see you in pain." Dean said sadly, "You're all I've got, Sammy. It's just me and you. I guess it's always been that way for the most part . . . Now, there really is nobody else left. What am I going to do?"
Trying to shake the melancholy feeling, Dean wet the washcloth again, rung it out and ran it over Sam. "You'll keep me on my toes. Always have. Pain in the ass little brother."
Hearing the fondness in Dean's voice, the corners of Sam's mouth turned up just a little. It was only Dean and him left. But, Dean was all he needed. They were going to be okay.
***
Sam ripped off his shirts and tore them into bandages. They were deep in the woods and Dean had been slashed by a wendigo. He took his belt off and used it as a tourniquet on Dean’s leg. Apologizing to Dean, Sam hoisted him into a fireman carry and hurried back to the car.
Dean’s injured leg was jolted each time Sam stepped. The one thing Sam had working in his favor was that Dean was unconscious. The one thing that Sam had working against him in the long run was that Dean was unconscious. Rotten Winchester luck.
The light was fading fast and Sam hoped he was headed in the right direction to get them to the Impala and back to the motel. He started to huff when Dean got heavy but kept up his pace. He felt like he could finally breathe freely again when he saw the distinctive outline of the Impala. Safety was in sight.
He laid Dean on the backseat. Some of the bandages had moved but he didn’t take the time to retie them. He checked the belt because that was the most important. The wendigo’s claws had nicked Dean’s femoral artery and Sam needed to get the bleeding stopped pronto.
Gunning the engine, Sam raced to the motel. He talked to Dean the whole way, more out of nervousness than anything else. Dean didn’t reply at all. When they arrived at the motel, he was still unresponsive.
The parking lot was half full with cars but no one was wandering outside their room. Sam was able to carry his bleeding bundle into their room without anyone spotting them and calling the cops. Given that Dean was still a wanted man, the law had to be avoided at all costs.
After Dean was lying on his bed, Sam ran to get the first aid kit. He cut Dean’s jeans off by slicing each leg to the waist. He quickly scrubbed his hands so he could investigate further to see what Dean needed.
The first thing he had to do was clean that cut on the femoral line and stitch it up. He could only leave the belt tight around Dean’s upper thigh for so long before he had to worry about causing damage.
Every so often, Sam asked Dean a question to see if he’d respond. Otherwise, the room was filled with Sam’s panicked chatter. He ran on about anything he could think of. Part of him expected Dean to wake up just to tell him to be quiet.
When the first set of stitches was complete and Sam was satisfied that they would hold, he loosened the belt. He moved on to the next area that required stitches but kept an eye on those first ones.
Dean was not going to be happy when he woke. The wendigo had almost rid him of his family jewels and Sam had demolished his favorite pair of jeans. Sam decided that he’d just be happy that Dean was able to rip him a new one when the time came.
“I’m going to roll you now,” Sam told Dean. “I’ll get the jeans untangled and throw them away. The arterial stitches are holding steady. Your shirt is going to have to go. I’ll cut it along the seams so you can fix it if you want to, but I’m not chancing any movement that could jeopardize those stitches.”
Once the Metallica shirt was reduced to no more than a rag, Sam was able to see the scrapes and bruising from where Dean had hit the ground. They were spots that were going to hurt but at least the claws had only done damage to his legs.
Sam filled a syringe with a strong antibiotic. Dean hated needles and would complain until he’d finished the course of these intravenous drugs but they were the strongest they had and Sam wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He wanted to give Dean something for the pain, but Dean had to wake up first so Sam could assess him for severe head injury.
“You’re going to feel a little sting,” he told his unconscious brother before injecting him with the medication. “All done.” Sam threw the needle away and fetched a washcloth and bowl of soapy water. He sat down on the edge of the bed after putting towels around Dean. “Now it’s time to wash the rest of you off.”
He worked in sections. Once he’d cleaned the dirt and grime away, he toweled that part off and moved on to the next one. Every time he finished one area, he checked the crucial stitches. They weren’t the only stitches Dean had on his legs, but they were the most critical..
Satisfied that Dean was as clean as he was before the hunt, he took care of his supplies. The last thing he did before turning out the light was to cover Dean up and put ice where the belt had been. It wouldn’t do much for the pain but it would help swelling.
The next chore was to get Sam himself cleaned up. It took twice as long as it should have because he kept checking on Dean, but Sam got washed and Dean was still out, so it was a success. Sam fired up his trusty laptop and did some research on blood loss and loss of consciousness. He already had a library in his brain that covered those topics, but he wanted to be sure that he wasn’t missing anything.
Dean’s groan made Sam jump. It was loud in the silence of the room. Sam snapped his computer shut and went to Dean.
“Open your eyes for me,” Sam told him. “I know you’re hurting. After you answer some questions, I can give you a painkiller. First you have to open those eyes of yours.”
Dean laid still for a minute. Then, he groaned again. Sam held Dean’s face in his hands. “Look at me, Dean. You need to open your eyes now.”
His lashes fluttered and then stopped.
“Almost,” Sam encouraged him. “You have to open them long enough to look at me.”
The next time they fluttered, they opened a slit, and then a little more.
“Good,” Sam smiled. He checked Dean’s pupils and asked, “What were we hunting?”
“Wen . . . Wen.”
“Wendigo. Right. What year is it?”
“2007,” Dean replied.
“That’s enough. I’ll get the narcotics.” Sam loaded another syringe. “You’re going to feel a poke.” He withdrew the needle and was met with Dean’s glare. “They’re strong and work quick. Next time you can pick out your own pain meds if you stay conscious. That’s the deal.”
Dean closed his eyes, but he was just resting. Sam could tell my his breathing that he hadn’t fallen asleep.
“He got you in the legs,” Sam explained the extent of Dean’s injuries. “The worst part was when he got your artery, but I think that it’s stitched up fine. You have stitches on both legs, mostly your thighs. Your back is beat up from your fall, but you probably won’t even notice that over the sutures on the cut where he almost took your manhood.”
Dean’s eyes popped open.
“You’re still intact, don’t worry.” Sam should have known that a comment like that would get Dean’s full attention.
Satisfied that Sam was telling the truth because no guy alive would joke about something like that, Dean fell back to sleep.
He dreamed of when he was little, before the fire. He’d been sick with a cold, and Mary had sat and colored with him between the fluids of all sorts that she tried to get him to drink. She let him lean into her, curled up under a blanket, while she read him his favorite book Even though he was sick, Dean had still felt pampered.
Mary made his favorite foods when he started feeling better. John had grumbled over the supper table and Mary had given him what for. Unbeknownst to Dean, Mary was pregnant with Sam and not feeling so well herself. She could take care of a sick child but her patience drew the line at a complaining husband.
“Hey, Jude,” Mary sang softly to him while he was trying to fall asleep. He had her lullaby memorized and still heard it in his head whenever he was hurt or upset. He treasured the connection that he still had with her.
But, she was dead and Dad was gone. The only reason he was still alive was Sammy.
“Wake up, Dean,” Sam was in his face. “You need to drink something, stay hydrated. I’ll pick up some energy bars across the street when it opens in the morning. We’ll keep your diet simple but you still need your fluids. I’m not sure how much blood you lost, but it’s more than I’m comfortable with.”
After taking a drink, Dean realized that the cool water was better than any 80’s rock song. He wanted to finish the glass, but Sam took it away. He told Dean he could only have a little at a time.
Dean scowled. He was the big brother. Sam was supposed to be following his orders, not the other way around.
“Give me that stubborn look of yours all you want,” Sam told him. “It doesn’t hurt me any. I’m still not letting you drink yourself into puking and losing what you have gotten down.”
“Sing to me,” Dean said slowly.
“I can’t sing, Dean. You know that. Want me to turn on the radio?”
“No.” Dean felt as if he was going to cry. “Miss Mom.”
Sam’s heart broke a little for him. He ran his fingers through Dean’s hair as he spoke. “I do, too. She must have sang to you when you were sick, right? It’s great that you can remember that. I’m thankful for the short time you had with her. She must have taught you how folks should be cared for because I know you didn’t get your bedside manner from Dad.”
That earned Sam a smile.
“When I got sick at college, Jess took good care of me. It wasn’t the same, though. It bothered me because it wasn’t you. Must be like how you miss Mom more when you’re hurt. Everyone has that someone who can make it all better.”
“It’s just me and you.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “That’s okay, though. In certain ways, I think it’s always just been the two of us.”
Dean didn’t get to voice his agreement before sleep dragged him under.
“I wish I could remember Mom,” Sam spoke softly as he continued stroke Dean’s hair. “When I try to picture Mom, I see you. It’s not a bad thing. I just don’t have a hole in my heart where she used to be.”
Sam stopped his hand movements and sighed. He was tired. It had been a long day and the light of the next one was already coming in the curtains.
They were a team, just as they’d always been at school and on hunts. They had all they needed to handle whatever life decided to throw at them--each other.