Fic: "Lean On Me"
Title: Lean On Me
Rating: K+
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Word count: ~6200
Summary: The brothers take care of each other after a werewolf hunt. Hurt!Caring!Sam and Hurt!Caring!Dean.
Beta'd by my good friend amberdreams.
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Sam lay sprawled on his back on the dusty floor of an old abandoned house just outside Marysville, Kansas. Trying to catch his breath, he squinted over at the now dead werewolf he’d just pushed off his body. The silver knife that he’d used to stab the creature’s heart with was still sticking out of its chest. Its mouth was agape, the eyes blank and unseeing in the still face.
“Dean?” Sam called out. He looked away from the dead werewolf and clenched his eyes shut for a moment as he listened for an answer from his brother.
When one never came, Sam tried to push himself up from the floor - only to lie back down with a pained grunt. The werewolf must have caused some damage when it knocked him off his feet. It felt like his back had taken the brunt of the fall where he’d hit the hard floorboards, and it was still pretty sore. However, the worst pain came from his right leg. He remembered having twisted it before hitting the floor, and the throbbing pain in his knee told him he’d hurt it badly. Especially as the pain increased tenfold at the slightest motion.
“Dean?” Sam called again, this time a little louder.
They had parted ways right after entering the house; Sam taking the stairs while Dean stayed at ground level. The first floor had consisted of a long hallway with a row of doors on each side of it. A maze of cobwebs hung between the walls in sticky garlands of grey, and Sam had cursed as some of it clung to his hair. Specks of dust were dancing in the meagre slivers of fading daylight coming through the dirty windows. They twirled around him with every step he took on the creaky floorboards, and he’d had to cover his nose with the sleeve of his jacket to prevent himself from sneezing. Sam had just entered an old bedroom with tattered wallpaper so flowery that the 60s would have been proud, when he’d heard a loud crash from downstairs. Fearing that Dean might be in trouble, Sam had hurried out of the room and down the hallway - only to be knocked down by the werewolf before he could reach the stairs.
Chest tightening with worry by the lack of answer from Dean, Sam dug his nails into the floorboards and tried to push himself into a sitting position. He sucked in a breath when his back ached in protest but, despite the pain, Sam managed to sit up. His knee throbbed even worse as he’d jolted it in the process, so he had to take a moment to compose himself.
“Dean!” Sam shouted at the top of his lungs - then cursed as he was greeted by nothing but his own panting breath.
Where the hell was Dean?
As Sam came to terms with the fact that he would have to go find his big brother, and not the other way around, he looked for something to hold onto to lift himself up. His eyes settled on the banister of the stairway. Unfortunately, even with his arm stretched out as far as it could go, the rails were still out of reach. Sam bit his bottom lip for a second as he contemplated his next move. He reached over and pulled his knife out of the werewolf’s chest, wiped the blood off it and tucked it away. Then, with his injured leg stretched out in front of him and kept as still as possible, Sam used his hands and his left leg to scoot himself on his ass towards the railing.
The pain wasn’t too bad, but Sam knew the real challenge would be to get upright and tackle the stairs. Dean’s worrying silence left him no choice though. He wrapped his hands around the aged wooden banister, and tugged a few times to test its sturdiness. When confident that it wouldn’t break if he put weight on it, Sam took a few deep breaths to brace himself for the pain he knew was about to come, and then used the strength of his arms and upper body to pull himself to his feet.
“Guh!” Sam cried out as he felt a sharp pain shoot through his knee with the sudden shift to vertical.
His back protested a little by the action as well - though not nearly as profoundly as his knee. Sam let his forehead drop down onto the hands still gripping the banister, and sucked in small gulps of air while he waited for the worst of the pain to fade. Once he felt like it was safe to move again, he began the difficult task of getting down the stairs.
It proved to be a nightmare.
Since Sam was only able to put weight on one leg, he used the banister for support as he hopped from step to step - one agonizing move at a time. He had to take several breaks as he moved down the stairs but, despite the fact that he was hurting, he remained determined.
He needed to find his big brother.
Dean needed him.
It was the only logical explanation. Since his brother hadn’t come to find him - let alone answered when Sam called for him - something had clearly happened to Dean.
Maybe the werewolf had attacked Dean before it got to him?
Sam shook his head. Even though the werewolf was fast, it surely couldn’t have confronted Dean downstairs, and then attacked Sam in the few seconds it had taken him to leave the bedroom.
Shit. Maybe there were more of them.
As the thought hit him, Sam’s mouth suddenly went dry. He was in no shape to take on anything right now. And if there were several werewolves in the house, his brother could be in some serious trouble without Sam to back him up. Dean could be hurt badly in this moment, be unconscious or… worse.
Sam pushed the dark thoughts away. Speculating wouldn’t help either of them. He clenched his jaw hard, and kept going. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was covered in sweat and panting heavily. Beads of perspiration trickled down his face, tickling his skin. Sam wiped his face in his jacket sleeve. Looking warily from side to side for any signs of danger, he pulled out his knife in case a werewolf decided to sneak up on him. He let go of the banister and instead used the walls for support as he moved from the hallway towards the back of the house, dragging his injured leg along.
“Dean?” Sam called, careful to keep his voice low as he limped into the first room with an open door.
It looked to have been a kitchen, though it was so wrecked it was hard to believe it had ever been functional. What was left of the old counters was eaten away by termites and mold. Aside from the counters, the sparse interior consisted of a fridge with a broken door and a single stool in a corner of the room - which Sam was convinced would break the second anyone put weight on it. A three-legged table was upturned on a floor so dusty and covered in dirt that Sam easily spotted the booted footprints Dean had left behind earlier. He followed the footprints into the living room.
Leaning heavily against the door frame, Sam blinked sweat out of his eyes and cast a look around the dim room in hopes of finding his brother. It didn’t take him very long to spot two sprawled figures in the far end of the room and, when he did, Sam’s heart lurched with dread. As he had feared, one of the figures appeared to be a second werewolf. Sam realized they’d been careless to think they were only chasing one of the creatures - especially since werewolves usually lived and hunted in packs. Luckily, no one else seemed to be lurking in the shadows. And this one appeared to be dead, if the hole in its skull was anything to go by. The other figure on the floor was Dean. His big brother was lying on his side, with his head halfway leaning against the wall. Some broken pieces of wood stuck out from under his unmoving body. It looked like Dean had been thrown against the wall - had probably smashed into a table in the process - and had then stayed unmoving where he landed.
“Dean!” Sam gasped, panic threatening to consume him for a moment. In the dim light, he couldn’t see if Dean was breathing.
Not caring one bit about his injured knee in his hurry to get to Dean, Sam hissed as he put weight on his leg and began limping his way towards his big brother. It was painful, to say the least, but adrenaline, combined with the need to get to Dean, kept Sam moving, and he reached Dean’s side faster than he should have.
Sam dropped his knife and all but collapsed next to Dean, trembling hands hovering over Dean’s still form as he checked his brother over. The relief when he registered the steady rise and fall of Dean’s chest was overwhelming.
Thank God! He’s just unconscious. He’s not dead.
Sam exhaled shakily and blinked back relieved tears. His heart was still pounding rapidly against his ribcage from the fear he’d felt of not knowing whether his brother was dead or alive. The next thing that caught his attention was a purplish bruise and bleeding cut right above Dean’s eyebrow. Blood was trickling freely from the cut, down Dean’s temple, past his ear, and all the way down his neck. Sam winced in sympathy.
Dean still gripped his gun in his right hand, and Sam guessed Dean had either shot the werewolf while flying backwards into the wall, or had managed to plug it just before losing consciousness. Sam pried Dean’s lax fingers off the gun and tucked it safely away. Knowing Dean, he’d start firing the moment he regained consciousness, and Sam preferred not to end up full of holes.
“Dean…” Sam called, fisted Dean’s shirt and gently shook him. “Dean, come on man. Wake up.”
To his dismay, Dean didn’t as much as twitch. Sam reached round into Dean’s back pocket, pulled out the bandana he knew his brother always kept there, and pressed it against the cut on Dean’s forehead to halt the bleeding. That got a reaction; Dean moaning and trying to pull away, eyelids flutteringly slightly.
“That’s it, dude. Come on.” Sam encouraged, using his other hand to gently tap Dean’s cheek in hopes of waking him up completely.
Sam silently cheered as green eyes slowly blinked open. He noted with a grimace that Dean’s pupils were dilated and uneven though, and he wasn’t surprised when Dean clenched his eyes shut again with a groan.
“Ugh…” Dean moaned, weakly pushing at Sam’s hand, trying to twist away from the bandana Sam was still pressing against his forehead.
“It’s okay, Dean.” Sam assured his brother. “I’m just trying to stop the bleeding. The werewolf gave you a nice bump on your head - and a concussion, it seems.”
“S’mmy?” Dean slurred and opened his eyes once more.
He blinked a couple of times, probably in an attempt to clear his vision, and frowned deeply.
“Ow.” Dean said, and reached a hand up towards his forehead.
“Don’t touch that.” Sam said, swatting Dean’s hand away. “I’ve got it.”
Sam’s worry mounted. Just how badly had Dean hurt his head if he was happy to stay put and tolerated Sam’s ministrations without complaint? The fact that he didn’t ask or notice that Sam was hurt as well was the biggest indicator of the seriousness of Dean’s condition. Weirdly, this thought calmed Sam a little. It was kind of liberating for Sam to be able to take care of his big brother without being mother-henned by said brother at the same time. However, the real fun would be to get Dean - and himself - to the car and drive back to the bunker, since neither of them was really in any condition to drive right now.
“Come on.” Sam said. He spread his palm out on Dean’s back to support him, and grasped his brother’s jacket to gently hoist him up to sit.
His big brother grunted and swayed a little while Sam continued to hold on to him, and Sam frowned as he took in the pallor of Dean’s face.
“Where’re we going?” Dean asked with a confusion that only increased Sam’s concerns.
“Home.” Sam answered, although he was starting to wonder if they should take a detour to the nearest hospital instead.
Deciding to take the chance with the two-hour drive back to the bunker, Sam stood up, using Dean’s shoulder for support. He sucked in a sharp breath as the pain in his knee reintroduced itself. Sam took a moment to breathe through it while weighing his options on how to get them both to the car. He then looked down at Dean to see his brother blinking groggily back up at him. At least Dean hadn’t slumped back down and was still vaguely upright. Sam took that as a win.
“Can you walk?” Sam asked, leaning heavily against the wall - lightheaded from the pain.
“Yeah.” Dean answered, even though he didn’t move at all until Sam grabbed a hold of his arm and helped him to his feet.
Sam was so thankful Dean had been able to park the Impala right outside the house. It was hard enough, limping his way to the front door while trying to steer Dean in the right direction at the same time. At one point, Dean looked over at Sam in what appeared to be a moment of clarity.
“You okay?” He asked with a somewhat suspicious look on his face.
“Yeah. Just hurt my knee a little. It’s no big deal.” Sam lied, before guiding Dean down the porch steps to the passenger side of the car.
Sam was pretty relieved but admittedly also a bit concerned that Dean was dazed enough to accept his word for it - especially when Sam was limping so badly. He shut the door behind his brother and made his laborious way to the driver side. The sun was setting in the horizon, bathing the surroundings in a palette of orange and red. Sam thought of the first-aid kit they kept under the front seat, knowing he would have to cover the cut on Dean’s forehead before they left since it was still bleeding a lot. He also knew that when Dean was able to think straight again, he would not be happy if he spotted any blood stains on the upholstery of his Baby.
Which was probably an understatement.
Dean’s eyes were already drooping when Sam turned on the ceiling light inside the car to examine the wound on his brother’s forehead.
“Sorry.” Sam apologized when Dean groaned and clenched his eyes shut at Sam’s touch.
The bright light must have been too overwhelming for his brother’s sensitive eyes - which was just one of the side effects of dealing with a concussion. Dean’s words weren’t making much sense either. As Sam scooted closer to him, Dean was mumbling something about pink rabbits in tutus. If he hadn’t knocked his injured knee against the dashboard at the same time, Sam would have probably found Dean’s ramblings hilarious.
When his knee stopped feeling like it was being worked over by a jackhammer, Sam gently gripped Dean’s stubbled chin. He tilted his brother’s head forward a bit to inspect the cut above his eyebrow. Although the bruise looked painful, luckily the cut didn’t appear to be deep enough to require stitches. He patched up Dean as quickly as his shaky fingers allowed. By then, a constant pain had settled in his injured knee from the awkward position he’d been sitting in. As he moved back behind the wheel, Sam seriously wondered how he would manage to bring them both home safely.
“It’s only a two-hour drive…” Sam mumbled to himself before starting the engine.
_ SPN _
The car ride back to Lebanon took a lot longer than it should have done, and was even more agonizing than Sam had anticipated. Only being able to drive with one good leg proved to be quite a trial - especially when the pain in his knee only increased. The Impala jerked and her engine protested noisily with every unsmooth gearshift Sam made. She also drifted dangerously over the center line from time to time when the pain became too overwhelming for Sam, and he tried to breathe through the pain without crashing the car at the same time. Sam sent silent apologies to both Dean and the Impala for the bumpy ride as he did his best to focus on the darkening road ahead of them.
With the way Sam was driving his Baby, it was probably a good thing that Dean slept through most of the trip. With the wound on his forehead sealed by a butterfly bandage and a couple of Advil in his system, Dean had gone out like a light not even five minutes into the drive. Sam knew that when someone was nursing a concussion, it was best to let the person rest so the brain could heal - unless, of course, the head trauma was severe and showed signs of a hematoma. Since Sam was a bit concerned at the confused state his brother had been in when he’d regained consciousness, he shook Dean awake every once in a while. Fortunately, aside from some grumpiness at Sam for disturbing his sleep, Dean seemed to be doing okay.
It was a different matter for Sam. The pain in his knee had intensified during the ride, having been locked in the same position too long. His knee hurt when he moved it and hurt when he didn’t. It felt like a vice was gradually tightening around it, slowly crushing it with each passing mile. And, although he would never mention this for Dean, Sam actually did know what that felt like. Lucifer had come up with a lot of creative ways to torture him in the Cage. Sam shuddered and locked the horrifying memories down tight.
A fine layer of cold sweat had broken out on his forehead - his hands trembled in his white-knuckled grip of the wheel as he tried to focus on the road and block out the pain. His back was also causing him trouble. A burning feeling had spread from his lower back almost all the way up to his shoulder blades. The leather seat underneath him squeaked loudly as he kept squirming uneasily. Like with his knee, it was impossible for Sam to find a comfortable position that could ease the aching, and soon he could add a creeping nausea to his list of ailments.
Sam rolled down his window and let the fresh air wash over him in hopes of keeping the nausea at bay. The wind played with his curly locks, gently caressed his skin. It had rained recently, was still drizzling slightly, and the wet road in front of him shimmered in the headlights. The smell of soil and damp leaves tickled Sam’s nostrils and reminded him of deer hunting in the woods with Bobby when he and Dean had been kids. Bobby had tried to teach them everything he’d known about hunting, but Sam never could bring himself to kill the defenseless animals. Even his tough big brother hadn’t been able to pull the trigger on them. Sam peered over at Dean for a moment. Dean was slumped against the window - the glass fogging with every puff of air that left his half-open mouth. Sam smiled wryly.
You’re just a big softie, aren’t you, Dean?
The memories calmed him a bit, and distracted him from the queasiness… for a while. About six miles outside of Lebanon, Sam was swallowing repeatedly. He knew he was losing the battle with his queasy stomach - and fast. When the first gagging noise left his mouth, Sam instantly pulled the Impala over. He fumbled with the door handle for a second, and then scrambled to get out as bile rose in his throat.
Sam all but fell out of the car as his limbs refused to cooperate, and landed on his hands and knees. White-hot pain exploded in his injured knee as it connected with the hard road - making his ears ring and his vision blacken even as he vomited bitter bile. When Sam became aware of his surroundings again, strong hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him away from the stinking puddle he’d been lying in.
“Sam! Sammy, talk to me!” Dean’s voice demanded. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?”
Dean had turned him over on his back so that Sam’s head was now resting in his brother’s lap. However, the action had once again jarred Sam’s injured knee, and it was so painful that he was gulping in air like a landed fish.
“Sam? Come on, man. Breathe, buddy.” Dean said, and Sam felt a warm hand rub back and forth on his chest.
“D-Dean.” Sam stuttered and grasped the soft fabric of Dean’s shirt with trembling fingers.
“Where are you hurt?” Dean asked.
“M-my knee. Twisted it.” Sam gritted between clenched teeth.
“Right or left?”
“Right.”
Dean leaned forward, his face sparsely illuminated from the beams of the Impala’s headlights. Sam assumed he was taking a closer look at his knee, but Dean was silent for a moment too long - enough that Sam feared he’d lost his brother to the concussion again. However, as he squinted up, he was reassured to see Dean was merely contemplating what to do.
“How far are we from the bunker?” Dean asked.
“About five minutes out.” Sam answered, loosened his grip of Dean’s shirt with a sigh and let his arm drop back down to the ground.
Now that he’d had a couple of minutes to take a breather and keep his knee still, the pain had eased up a bit. It also made him aware of other things - like the foul smell of vomit that penetrated the air and still left a bitter taste on his tongue. Or the wet road underneath him, dampening his clothes. Sam’s jeans stuck uncomfortably to his skin and made him shiver in the chilly air. He started pushing himself upright, feeling Dean’s hand on his back helping him out.
“Alright. Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do.” Dean said, tone weary but firm. “First, we’re gonna get you back inside the car. Then we’re gonna get you laid up in the bunker so I can take a look at that knee in a decent light… Or do we need to swing by the hospital?”
Sam shook his head. “Bunker’s good.”
“Good.” Dean said before wrapping his arms underneath Sam’s armpits and crossing them over his chest. “On three.”
Sam braced himself while Dean counted the digits out loud. When Dean reached ‘three’, Sam grunted as he was pulled to his feet - or to his foot rather, as he refrained from putting any weight on his injured leg. Dean pulled Sam’s arm over his shoulders and held on to his waist as he led Sam to the back seat of the car.
“Dean, you shouldn’t be driving.” Sam panted when he realized where his brother was taking him.
“I shouldn’t be driving?” Dean exclaimed with an incredulous look. “Dude, you can barely walk! You shouldn’t have been driving my Baby at all.”
“But your head…” Sam began before Dean cut him off.
“I’m fine.” He claimed, although Sam knew it was bullshit.
With a concussion that bad, Dean must have had a pretty nasty headache, but what other option did they have? Sam bit back any further arguments as Dean opened up the door and helped him lay down across the back seat. Sam hissed as he tried to get settled for the last part of the trip. Even though he hated the thought of Dean driving with a concussion, Sam was relieved not to have to sit behind the wheel again - even if it was only a short drive.
“You doing okay back there?” Dean asked from the front seat, and adjusted the rear view mirror until Sam saw his eyes settle on him.
“Peachy.” Sam mumbled tiredly while giving Dean a thumbs-up.
His big brother shot him a rather doubtful look but nodded his head anyway. A few seconds later, Dean steered the Impala back on the road.
_ SPN _
It took Dean less than five minutes to reach the bunker. By the time Dean had helped Sam out of the car, all the way inside the bunker and into his room, Sam was utterly drained. Whatever adrenaline he’d been running on was long gone, and had left him winded and sweating more profusely than after one of his morning runs.
“Okay, here we go, here we go.” Dean grunted as he released Sam’s arm from his shoulders and gently eased him down to sit on the edge of his bed.
“Thanks.” Sam sighed with gratitude, trembling hand hovering protectively over his hurt knee.
He was more than ready to lie down on his bed and, hopefully, pass out within the next couple of minutes. Dean was crouched down in front of him, in the middle of untying Sam’s shoes although Sam could have done it himself. He winced as his eyes settled on the still way too pale color of his brother’s face, which made Dean’s freckles stand out in contrast. Dean’s expression was pinched as he worked on Sam’s shoelaces, and he had dark circles underneath his eyes. He basically looked just as drained as Sam felt.
“Dean.” Sam said in a soft tone.
“What?” Dean looked up with a scrutinizing look, possibly searching Sam for any signs of discomfort.
“You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.” Sam said, nodding down at his shoes. “I just need to lie down, that’s all. You should get some rest.”
“Nah-ah, not until I’ve taken a look at that knobbly knee of yours.” Dean gruffly dismissed Sam’s concern and got back to pulling off Sam’s shoes - taking far greater care with the right one than the left.
“I’m serious, Dean. You look terrible.”
“Don’t be stupid, Sam.” Dean huffed. “I’ve seen spirits with more color in their cheeks than you’ve got right now.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” Sam shot back. He barely resisted the urge to cross his arms in front of his chest when Dean just shrugged his shoulders.
He was so frustratingly stubborn sometimes. Well, admittedly, they both were.
Sam sighed in defeat, knowing he wouldn’t be able to convince Dean to catch some Z’s before he’d made sure Sam was okay. It made him feel warm inside to have a big brother who cared so much about him but, sometimes, it was frustrating that Dean always put Sam’s wellbeing over his own. Even so, it was pointless to argue further. Especially when they were both hurt and needed rest.
Sam began to shrug out of his jacket. It was still a little damp and had an unmistakably whiff of vomit stuck to it that made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. His back apparently didn’t agree with his actions though. A jolting pain, like being stunned with a taser gun, shot through his back for a second, and Sam couldn’t stop the pained gasp that left his mouth.
“Your knee?” Dean was back on his feet, looking at Sam with a concerned expression.
“My back.” Sam admitted. His jacket was only halfway off but he’d halted all motions to stop the pain from flaring up once more.
“You hurt your back too?” Dean asked, looking at him like a parent who’d discovered a hidden report card. “Where else are you hurt?”
“That’s it.” Sam said, quickly adding “I swear!” when Dean sent him a sharp look.
Mumbling a few choice words under his breath, Dean moved behind Sam and eased his arms out of the jacket sleeves, one at a time. Jacket discarded, Sam felt his brother’s calloused fingers on his back as Dean lifted up his shirts to check the damage.
“Whoa… Did you have an argument with a semi?” His brother asked.
Sam huffed. “Not unless the werewolf was driving one.”
“Well, I’d like to take off its head for this alone.” Dean grumpily revealed.
Sam felt his brother’s warm fingers trace his back with a care most people didn’t believe he possessed. He grimaced as Dean prodded here and there, trying not to squirm too much.
Ow!
He hissed as Dean poked a particularly tender spot on his back. When Sam began to twist away, one of his brother’s hands landed on his shoulder and stopped him from moving.
“Sit still.” Dean ordered.
Sam huffed in annoyance. “Then stop poking me.”
“Oh, you big baby. I’m barely touching you.” Dean said, but removed his fingers anyway and Sam felt his shirts fall back down. “You’ll look like a Smurf for a few days but at least it’s just bruised. No stitches and nothing broken.”
“Good.” Sam said with relief. That meant he could crash sooner. His eyes had started to burn with fatigue, and he really just wanted to lie down and sleep…
Sam felt a hand shake his shoulder and he blinked his eyes open with confusion to see Dean crouched down before him.
When had Dean moved back in front of him?
Sam rubbed his tired eyes. He hadn’t even noticed he’d shut them.
“No sleeping yet, Sammy.” Dean said soft but firm. “The jeans gotta go so I can take a look at that knee.”
Sam nodded his head and fumbled with his belt buckle. He’d barely unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans before Dean batted his hands away and took over, tugging at Sam’s pants. Sam quickly grabbed a hold of his boxers as he felt them slipping, and sat his ass more firmly on the edge of the bed. He shot his brother an indignant look.
Dean chuckled. “Relax princess, there’s nothing there I haven’t seen already. I used to change your diapers, remember?”
“That was a long time ago.” Sam said, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment.
He suddenly cried out as the damp denim got stuck halfway down his thigh. It felt like Dean was trying to pull off his leg rather than his pants.
“Shit.” Dean cursed. All traces of humor had left his face and was now replaced with a worried frown. “Your knee’s so swollen I can’t get them off.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Sam mumbled, covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he started feeling nauseous.
“No, you’re not. Breathe through it. Put your head between your legs.” Dean encouraged.
Dean disappeared out of sight for a few seconds and reappeared with a pair of scissors. By then, Sam had managed to get his queasiness under control - despite the fact that his knee continued to throb painfully. Dean grabbed a hold of Sam’s shoulders, twisted his upper body a bit and pushed him down until Sam felt the softness of his pillow underneath his head. He then sucked in a breath as his legs were lifted onto the mattress as well.
Something cold and sharp rested against his ankle for a moment and began sliding up his leg. Sam peered down his body to see Dean cutting up his right pant leg with the scissors. He bit his lower lip and looked away when Dean reached his knee, bracing himself for the pain. His big brother seemed to know what he was doing though. Dean put down the pair of scissors, grabbed the edges of the cut-up pants with his hands, and swiftly ripped the jeans open over Sam’s knee.
“Jesus, Sam.” Dean exclaimed, the concern in his voice so evident that Sam cast a look down to see what the fuss was about.
His eyes widened when he caught sight of his injured knee. It suddenly became clear to him why it’d felt like it was slowly being crushed. As grotesquely swollen as his knee was, it was hard to believe that it had ever fit inside Sam’s jeans. It was also all shades of purple and blue. With the way it looked, it was possible that Sam hadn’t merely twisted it but also torn something inside the joint.
“Dude, I’m surprised you didn’t crash the car with that elephant leg.” Dean said with barely masked concern. “I’m gonna get you some ice for that. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Har har.” Sam said with sarcasm. There was no way in hell he would be able to go anywhere without his brother’s help.
While he waited for Dean to return, Sam stared up at the ceiling fan that was slowly spinning above his bed. He often found himself staring at it when he was deeply lost in thought. It was a soothing, hypnotic motion - although the thrum of the blades and the play of light and shadow sometimes reminded him of being locked up in Bobby’s panic room. Detoxing from demon blood was not the happiest of memories, so Sam tried to focus instead on the way the gentle cooling breeze soothed his injured knee.
God, he was tired.
Dean walked back into the room with an ice bag wrapped in a towel, a roll of gauze, and a couple of extra pillows in his hands. He was looking pretty exhausted too. Sam couldn’t help but feel guilty - after all, he was the reason why his brother wasn’t in his bed right now, dreaming about pie and strippers. Or maybe rabbits in tutus. But what else could he do? There was no way Dean would leave before he was done taking care of Sam.
“Alright, here we go.” Dean got rid of the sad remains of Sam’s jeans and carefully began wrapping gauze around the injured appendage.
Sam winced and gripped fistfuls of the bed covers. His knee was so sensitive that even the slightest touch to it was painful. Dean apologized although he couldn’t have handled Sam with greater care than he already did. Sam would have told him as much if he didn’t have to focus so hard on breathing and not screaming. Dean finally tied a knot on the gauze and propped Sam’s leg up on a couple of pillows to keep it elevated. Sam jumped a little when Dean applied the towel-wrapped ice bag to his knee - then groaned as the touch jolted the injury.
“Easy, Sammy.” Dean soothed. “Let the ice do its work.”
A couple of unlabeled painkillers and a half bottle of water in his system later, the pain had finally subsided enough for Sam to fully relax into his pillow. His body felt light and floating. In the back of his mind, Sam was wondering what Dean had given him.
Whatever it was, it felt goooood.
“If the swelling hasn’t reduced come morning, I’m taking you to a doctor.” Dean said. His voice seemed to come from far away.
Something soft was draped over him, and Sam blinked his eyes open to see Dean tucking a blanket around him. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a smile.
Dean was the best big brother anyone could wish for.
“Alright, Lebowski. Sleep it off.” Dean grinned.
Had he said those words out loud?
He probably had, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to care. He knew he tended to be loopy when he was drugged on painkillers, and usually said some weird things that Dean loved to tease him with afterwards. But it was true. Despite the ups and downs they’d had during the years, Sam knew he was lucky to have a big brother as awesome as Dean.
A brother who cared for him when he was sick or injured.
A brother who made him feel safe and protected.
A brother who loved him more than life and had proven that more than once.
As Sam floated away on his fluffy drugged up cloud, he only hoped that Dean knew how hard he tried to be the same for him. After all, the only thing they’d ever really had was each other.
_____________________________________________________
THE END
Rating: K+
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Word count: ~6200
Summary: The brothers take care of each other after a werewolf hunt. Hurt!Caring!Sam and Hurt!Caring!Dean.
Beta'd by my good friend amberdreams.
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Sam lay sprawled on his back on the dusty floor of an old abandoned house just outside Marysville, Kansas. Trying to catch his breath, he squinted over at the now dead werewolf he’d just pushed off his body. The silver knife that he’d used to stab the creature’s heart with was still sticking out of its chest. Its mouth was agape, the eyes blank and unseeing in the still face.
“Dean?” Sam called out. He looked away from the dead werewolf and clenched his eyes shut for a moment as he listened for an answer from his brother.
When one never came, Sam tried to push himself up from the floor - only to lie back down with a pained grunt. The werewolf must have caused some damage when it knocked him off his feet. It felt like his back had taken the brunt of the fall where he’d hit the hard floorboards, and it was still pretty sore. However, the worst pain came from his right leg. He remembered having twisted it before hitting the floor, and the throbbing pain in his knee told him he’d hurt it badly. Especially as the pain increased tenfold at the slightest motion.
“Dean?” Sam called again, this time a little louder.
They had parted ways right after entering the house; Sam taking the stairs while Dean stayed at ground level. The first floor had consisted of a long hallway with a row of doors on each side of it. A maze of cobwebs hung between the walls in sticky garlands of grey, and Sam had cursed as some of it clung to his hair. Specks of dust were dancing in the meagre slivers of fading daylight coming through the dirty windows. They twirled around him with every step he took on the creaky floorboards, and he’d had to cover his nose with the sleeve of his jacket to prevent himself from sneezing. Sam had just entered an old bedroom with tattered wallpaper so flowery that the 60s would have been proud, when he’d heard a loud crash from downstairs. Fearing that Dean might be in trouble, Sam had hurried out of the room and down the hallway - only to be knocked down by the werewolf before he could reach the stairs.
Chest tightening with worry by the lack of answer from Dean, Sam dug his nails into the floorboards and tried to push himself into a sitting position. He sucked in a breath when his back ached in protest but, despite the pain, Sam managed to sit up. His knee throbbed even worse as he’d jolted it in the process, so he had to take a moment to compose himself.
“Dean!” Sam shouted at the top of his lungs - then cursed as he was greeted by nothing but his own panting breath.
Where the hell was Dean?
As Sam came to terms with the fact that he would have to go find his big brother, and not the other way around, he looked for something to hold onto to lift himself up. His eyes settled on the banister of the stairway. Unfortunately, even with his arm stretched out as far as it could go, the rails were still out of reach. Sam bit his bottom lip for a second as he contemplated his next move. He reached over and pulled his knife out of the werewolf’s chest, wiped the blood off it and tucked it away. Then, with his injured leg stretched out in front of him and kept as still as possible, Sam used his hands and his left leg to scoot himself on his ass towards the railing.
The pain wasn’t too bad, but Sam knew the real challenge would be to get upright and tackle the stairs. Dean’s worrying silence left him no choice though. He wrapped his hands around the aged wooden banister, and tugged a few times to test its sturdiness. When confident that it wouldn’t break if he put weight on it, Sam took a few deep breaths to brace himself for the pain he knew was about to come, and then used the strength of his arms and upper body to pull himself to his feet.
“Guh!” Sam cried out as he felt a sharp pain shoot through his knee with the sudden shift to vertical.
His back protested a little by the action as well - though not nearly as profoundly as his knee. Sam let his forehead drop down onto the hands still gripping the banister, and sucked in small gulps of air while he waited for the worst of the pain to fade. Once he felt like it was safe to move again, he began the difficult task of getting down the stairs.
It proved to be a nightmare.
Since Sam was only able to put weight on one leg, he used the banister for support as he hopped from step to step - one agonizing move at a time. He had to take several breaks as he moved down the stairs but, despite the fact that he was hurting, he remained determined.
He needed to find his big brother.
Dean needed him.
It was the only logical explanation. Since his brother hadn’t come to find him - let alone answered when Sam called for him - something had clearly happened to Dean.
Maybe the werewolf had attacked Dean before it got to him?
Sam shook his head. Even though the werewolf was fast, it surely couldn’t have confronted Dean downstairs, and then attacked Sam in the few seconds it had taken him to leave the bedroom.
Shit. Maybe there were more of them.
As the thought hit him, Sam’s mouth suddenly went dry. He was in no shape to take on anything right now. And if there were several werewolves in the house, his brother could be in some serious trouble without Sam to back him up. Dean could be hurt badly in this moment, be unconscious or… worse.
Sam pushed the dark thoughts away. Speculating wouldn’t help either of them. He clenched his jaw hard, and kept going. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was covered in sweat and panting heavily. Beads of perspiration trickled down his face, tickling his skin. Sam wiped his face in his jacket sleeve. Looking warily from side to side for any signs of danger, he pulled out his knife in case a werewolf decided to sneak up on him. He let go of the banister and instead used the walls for support as he moved from the hallway towards the back of the house, dragging his injured leg along.
“Dean?” Sam called, careful to keep his voice low as he limped into the first room with an open door.
It looked to have been a kitchen, though it was so wrecked it was hard to believe it had ever been functional. What was left of the old counters was eaten away by termites and mold. Aside from the counters, the sparse interior consisted of a fridge with a broken door and a single stool in a corner of the room - which Sam was convinced would break the second anyone put weight on it. A three-legged table was upturned on a floor so dusty and covered in dirt that Sam easily spotted the booted footprints Dean had left behind earlier. He followed the footprints into the living room.
Leaning heavily against the door frame, Sam blinked sweat out of his eyes and cast a look around the dim room in hopes of finding his brother. It didn’t take him very long to spot two sprawled figures in the far end of the room and, when he did, Sam’s heart lurched with dread. As he had feared, one of the figures appeared to be a second werewolf. Sam realized they’d been careless to think they were only chasing one of the creatures - especially since werewolves usually lived and hunted in packs. Luckily, no one else seemed to be lurking in the shadows. And this one appeared to be dead, if the hole in its skull was anything to go by. The other figure on the floor was Dean. His big brother was lying on his side, with his head halfway leaning against the wall. Some broken pieces of wood stuck out from under his unmoving body. It looked like Dean had been thrown against the wall - had probably smashed into a table in the process - and had then stayed unmoving where he landed.
“Dean!” Sam gasped, panic threatening to consume him for a moment. In the dim light, he couldn’t see if Dean was breathing.
Not caring one bit about his injured knee in his hurry to get to Dean, Sam hissed as he put weight on his leg and began limping his way towards his big brother. It was painful, to say the least, but adrenaline, combined with the need to get to Dean, kept Sam moving, and he reached Dean’s side faster than he should have.
Sam dropped his knife and all but collapsed next to Dean, trembling hands hovering over Dean’s still form as he checked his brother over. The relief when he registered the steady rise and fall of Dean’s chest was overwhelming.
Thank God! He’s just unconscious. He’s not dead.
Sam exhaled shakily and blinked back relieved tears. His heart was still pounding rapidly against his ribcage from the fear he’d felt of not knowing whether his brother was dead or alive. The next thing that caught his attention was a purplish bruise and bleeding cut right above Dean’s eyebrow. Blood was trickling freely from the cut, down Dean’s temple, past his ear, and all the way down his neck. Sam winced in sympathy.
Dean still gripped his gun in his right hand, and Sam guessed Dean had either shot the werewolf while flying backwards into the wall, or had managed to plug it just before losing consciousness. Sam pried Dean’s lax fingers off the gun and tucked it safely away. Knowing Dean, he’d start firing the moment he regained consciousness, and Sam preferred not to end up full of holes.
“Dean…” Sam called, fisted Dean’s shirt and gently shook him. “Dean, come on man. Wake up.”
To his dismay, Dean didn’t as much as twitch. Sam reached round into Dean’s back pocket, pulled out the bandana he knew his brother always kept there, and pressed it against the cut on Dean’s forehead to halt the bleeding. That got a reaction; Dean moaning and trying to pull away, eyelids flutteringly slightly.
“That’s it, dude. Come on.” Sam encouraged, using his other hand to gently tap Dean’s cheek in hopes of waking him up completely.
Sam silently cheered as green eyes slowly blinked open. He noted with a grimace that Dean’s pupils were dilated and uneven though, and he wasn’t surprised when Dean clenched his eyes shut again with a groan.
“Ugh…” Dean moaned, weakly pushing at Sam’s hand, trying to twist away from the bandana Sam was still pressing against his forehead.
“It’s okay, Dean.” Sam assured his brother. “I’m just trying to stop the bleeding. The werewolf gave you a nice bump on your head - and a concussion, it seems.”
“S’mmy?” Dean slurred and opened his eyes once more.
He blinked a couple of times, probably in an attempt to clear his vision, and frowned deeply.
“Ow.” Dean said, and reached a hand up towards his forehead.
“Don’t touch that.” Sam said, swatting Dean’s hand away. “I’ve got it.”
Sam’s worry mounted. Just how badly had Dean hurt his head if he was happy to stay put and tolerated Sam’s ministrations without complaint? The fact that he didn’t ask or notice that Sam was hurt as well was the biggest indicator of the seriousness of Dean’s condition. Weirdly, this thought calmed Sam a little. It was kind of liberating for Sam to be able to take care of his big brother without being mother-henned by said brother at the same time. However, the real fun would be to get Dean - and himself - to the car and drive back to the bunker, since neither of them was really in any condition to drive right now.
“Come on.” Sam said. He spread his palm out on Dean’s back to support him, and grasped his brother’s jacket to gently hoist him up to sit.
His big brother grunted and swayed a little while Sam continued to hold on to him, and Sam frowned as he took in the pallor of Dean’s face.
“Where’re we going?” Dean asked with a confusion that only increased Sam’s concerns.
“Home.” Sam answered, although he was starting to wonder if they should take a detour to the nearest hospital instead.
Deciding to take the chance with the two-hour drive back to the bunker, Sam stood up, using Dean’s shoulder for support. He sucked in a sharp breath as the pain in his knee reintroduced itself. Sam took a moment to breathe through it while weighing his options on how to get them both to the car. He then looked down at Dean to see his brother blinking groggily back up at him. At least Dean hadn’t slumped back down and was still vaguely upright. Sam took that as a win.
“Can you walk?” Sam asked, leaning heavily against the wall - lightheaded from the pain.
“Yeah.” Dean answered, even though he didn’t move at all until Sam grabbed a hold of his arm and helped him to his feet.
Sam was so thankful Dean had been able to park the Impala right outside the house. It was hard enough, limping his way to the front door while trying to steer Dean in the right direction at the same time. At one point, Dean looked over at Sam in what appeared to be a moment of clarity.
“You okay?” He asked with a somewhat suspicious look on his face.
“Yeah. Just hurt my knee a little. It’s no big deal.” Sam lied, before guiding Dean down the porch steps to the passenger side of the car.
Sam was pretty relieved but admittedly also a bit concerned that Dean was dazed enough to accept his word for it - especially when Sam was limping so badly. He shut the door behind his brother and made his laborious way to the driver side. The sun was setting in the horizon, bathing the surroundings in a palette of orange and red. Sam thought of the first-aid kit they kept under the front seat, knowing he would have to cover the cut on Dean’s forehead before they left since it was still bleeding a lot. He also knew that when Dean was able to think straight again, he would not be happy if he spotted any blood stains on the upholstery of his Baby.
Which was probably an understatement.
Dean’s eyes were already drooping when Sam turned on the ceiling light inside the car to examine the wound on his brother’s forehead.
“Sorry.” Sam apologized when Dean groaned and clenched his eyes shut at Sam’s touch.
The bright light must have been too overwhelming for his brother’s sensitive eyes - which was just one of the side effects of dealing with a concussion. Dean’s words weren’t making much sense either. As Sam scooted closer to him, Dean was mumbling something about pink rabbits in tutus. If he hadn’t knocked his injured knee against the dashboard at the same time, Sam would have probably found Dean’s ramblings hilarious.
When his knee stopped feeling like it was being worked over by a jackhammer, Sam gently gripped Dean’s stubbled chin. He tilted his brother’s head forward a bit to inspect the cut above his eyebrow. Although the bruise looked painful, luckily the cut didn’t appear to be deep enough to require stitches. He patched up Dean as quickly as his shaky fingers allowed. By then, a constant pain had settled in his injured knee from the awkward position he’d been sitting in. As he moved back behind the wheel, Sam seriously wondered how he would manage to bring them both home safely.
“It’s only a two-hour drive…” Sam mumbled to himself before starting the engine.
_ SPN _
The car ride back to Lebanon took a lot longer than it should have done, and was even more agonizing than Sam had anticipated. Only being able to drive with one good leg proved to be quite a trial - especially when the pain in his knee only increased. The Impala jerked and her engine protested noisily with every unsmooth gearshift Sam made. She also drifted dangerously over the center line from time to time when the pain became too overwhelming for Sam, and he tried to breathe through the pain without crashing the car at the same time. Sam sent silent apologies to both Dean and the Impala for the bumpy ride as he did his best to focus on the darkening road ahead of them.
With the way Sam was driving his Baby, it was probably a good thing that Dean slept through most of the trip. With the wound on his forehead sealed by a butterfly bandage and a couple of Advil in his system, Dean had gone out like a light not even five minutes into the drive. Sam knew that when someone was nursing a concussion, it was best to let the person rest so the brain could heal - unless, of course, the head trauma was severe and showed signs of a hematoma. Since Sam was a bit concerned at the confused state his brother had been in when he’d regained consciousness, he shook Dean awake every once in a while. Fortunately, aside from some grumpiness at Sam for disturbing his sleep, Dean seemed to be doing okay.
It was a different matter for Sam. The pain in his knee had intensified during the ride, having been locked in the same position too long. His knee hurt when he moved it and hurt when he didn’t. It felt like a vice was gradually tightening around it, slowly crushing it with each passing mile. And, although he would never mention this for Dean, Sam actually did know what that felt like. Lucifer had come up with a lot of creative ways to torture him in the Cage. Sam shuddered and locked the horrifying memories down tight.
A fine layer of cold sweat had broken out on his forehead - his hands trembled in his white-knuckled grip of the wheel as he tried to focus on the road and block out the pain. His back was also causing him trouble. A burning feeling had spread from his lower back almost all the way up to his shoulder blades. The leather seat underneath him squeaked loudly as he kept squirming uneasily. Like with his knee, it was impossible for Sam to find a comfortable position that could ease the aching, and soon he could add a creeping nausea to his list of ailments.
Sam rolled down his window and let the fresh air wash over him in hopes of keeping the nausea at bay. The wind played with his curly locks, gently caressed his skin. It had rained recently, was still drizzling slightly, and the wet road in front of him shimmered in the headlights. The smell of soil and damp leaves tickled Sam’s nostrils and reminded him of deer hunting in the woods with Bobby when he and Dean had been kids. Bobby had tried to teach them everything he’d known about hunting, but Sam never could bring himself to kill the defenseless animals. Even his tough big brother hadn’t been able to pull the trigger on them. Sam peered over at Dean for a moment. Dean was slumped against the window - the glass fogging with every puff of air that left his half-open mouth. Sam smiled wryly.
You’re just a big softie, aren’t you, Dean?
The memories calmed him a bit, and distracted him from the queasiness… for a while. About six miles outside of Lebanon, Sam was swallowing repeatedly. He knew he was losing the battle with his queasy stomach - and fast. When the first gagging noise left his mouth, Sam instantly pulled the Impala over. He fumbled with the door handle for a second, and then scrambled to get out as bile rose in his throat.
Sam all but fell out of the car as his limbs refused to cooperate, and landed on his hands and knees. White-hot pain exploded in his injured knee as it connected with the hard road - making his ears ring and his vision blacken even as he vomited bitter bile. When Sam became aware of his surroundings again, strong hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him away from the stinking puddle he’d been lying in.
“Sam! Sammy, talk to me!” Dean’s voice demanded. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?”
Dean had turned him over on his back so that Sam’s head was now resting in his brother’s lap. However, the action had once again jarred Sam’s injured knee, and it was so painful that he was gulping in air like a landed fish.
“Sam? Come on, man. Breathe, buddy.” Dean said, and Sam felt a warm hand rub back and forth on his chest.
“D-Dean.” Sam stuttered and grasped the soft fabric of Dean’s shirt with trembling fingers.
“Where are you hurt?” Dean asked.
“M-my knee. Twisted it.” Sam gritted between clenched teeth.
“Right or left?”
“Right.”
Dean leaned forward, his face sparsely illuminated from the beams of the Impala’s headlights. Sam assumed he was taking a closer look at his knee, but Dean was silent for a moment too long - enough that Sam feared he’d lost his brother to the concussion again. However, as he squinted up, he was reassured to see Dean was merely contemplating what to do.
“How far are we from the bunker?” Dean asked.
“About five minutes out.” Sam answered, loosened his grip of Dean’s shirt with a sigh and let his arm drop back down to the ground.
Now that he’d had a couple of minutes to take a breather and keep his knee still, the pain had eased up a bit. It also made him aware of other things - like the foul smell of vomit that penetrated the air and still left a bitter taste on his tongue. Or the wet road underneath him, dampening his clothes. Sam’s jeans stuck uncomfortably to his skin and made him shiver in the chilly air. He started pushing himself upright, feeling Dean’s hand on his back helping him out.
“Alright. Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do.” Dean said, tone weary but firm. “First, we’re gonna get you back inside the car. Then we’re gonna get you laid up in the bunker so I can take a look at that knee in a decent light… Or do we need to swing by the hospital?”
Sam shook his head. “Bunker’s good.”
“Good.” Dean said before wrapping his arms underneath Sam’s armpits and crossing them over his chest. “On three.”
Sam braced himself while Dean counted the digits out loud. When Dean reached ‘three’, Sam grunted as he was pulled to his feet - or to his foot rather, as he refrained from putting any weight on his injured leg. Dean pulled Sam’s arm over his shoulders and held on to his waist as he led Sam to the back seat of the car.
“Dean, you shouldn’t be driving.” Sam panted when he realized where his brother was taking him.
“I shouldn’t be driving?” Dean exclaimed with an incredulous look. “Dude, you can barely walk! You shouldn’t have been driving my Baby at all.”
“But your head…” Sam began before Dean cut him off.
“I’m fine.” He claimed, although Sam knew it was bullshit.
With a concussion that bad, Dean must have had a pretty nasty headache, but what other option did they have? Sam bit back any further arguments as Dean opened up the door and helped him lay down across the back seat. Sam hissed as he tried to get settled for the last part of the trip. Even though he hated the thought of Dean driving with a concussion, Sam was relieved not to have to sit behind the wheel again - even if it was only a short drive.
“You doing okay back there?” Dean asked from the front seat, and adjusted the rear view mirror until Sam saw his eyes settle on him.
“Peachy.” Sam mumbled tiredly while giving Dean a thumbs-up.
His big brother shot him a rather doubtful look but nodded his head anyway. A few seconds later, Dean steered the Impala back on the road.
_ SPN _
It took Dean less than five minutes to reach the bunker. By the time Dean had helped Sam out of the car, all the way inside the bunker and into his room, Sam was utterly drained. Whatever adrenaline he’d been running on was long gone, and had left him winded and sweating more profusely than after one of his morning runs.
“Okay, here we go, here we go.” Dean grunted as he released Sam’s arm from his shoulders and gently eased him down to sit on the edge of his bed.
“Thanks.” Sam sighed with gratitude, trembling hand hovering protectively over his hurt knee.
He was more than ready to lie down on his bed and, hopefully, pass out within the next couple of minutes. Dean was crouched down in front of him, in the middle of untying Sam’s shoes although Sam could have done it himself. He winced as his eyes settled on the still way too pale color of his brother’s face, which made Dean’s freckles stand out in contrast. Dean’s expression was pinched as he worked on Sam’s shoelaces, and he had dark circles underneath his eyes. He basically looked just as drained as Sam felt.
“Dean.” Sam said in a soft tone.
“What?” Dean looked up with a scrutinizing look, possibly searching Sam for any signs of discomfort.
“You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.” Sam said, nodding down at his shoes. “I just need to lie down, that’s all. You should get some rest.”
“Nah-ah, not until I’ve taken a look at that knobbly knee of yours.” Dean gruffly dismissed Sam’s concern and got back to pulling off Sam’s shoes - taking far greater care with the right one than the left.
“I’m serious, Dean. You look terrible.”
“Don’t be stupid, Sam.” Dean huffed. “I’ve seen spirits with more color in their cheeks than you’ve got right now.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” Sam shot back. He barely resisted the urge to cross his arms in front of his chest when Dean just shrugged his shoulders.
He was so frustratingly stubborn sometimes. Well, admittedly, they both were.
Sam sighed in defeat, knowing he wouldn’t be able to convince Dean to catch some Z’s before he’d made sure Sam was okay. It made him feel warm inside to have a big brother who cared so much about him but, sometimes, it was frustrating that Dean always put Sam’s wellbeing over his own. Even so, it was pointless to argue further. Especially when they were both hurt and needed rest.
Sam began to shrug out of his jacket. It was still a little damp and had an unmistakably whiff of vomit stuck to it that made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. His back apparently didn’t agree with his actions though. A jolting pain, like being stunned with a taser gun, shot through his back for a second, and Sam couldn’t stop the pained gasp that left his mouth.
“Your knee?” Dean was back on his feet, looking at Sam with a concerned expression.
“My back.” Sam admitted. His jacket was only halfway off but he’d halted all motions to stop the pain from flaring up once more.
“You hurt your back too?” Dean asked, looking at him like a parent who’d discovered a hidden report card. “Where else are you hurt?”
“That’s it.” Sam said, quickly adding “I swear!” when Dean sent him a sharp look.
Mumbling a few choice words under his breath, Dean moved behind Sam and eased his arms out of the jacket sleeves, one at a time. Jacket discarded, Sam felt his brother’s calloused fingers on his back as Dean lifted up his shirts to check the damage.
“Whoa… Did you have an argument with a semi?” His brother asked.
Sam huffed. “Not unless the werewolf was driving one.”
“Well, I’d like to take off its head for this alone.” Dean grumpily revealed.
Sam felt his brother’s warm fingers trace his back with a care most people didn’t believe he possessed. He grimaced as Dean prodded here and there, trying not to squirm too much.
Ow!
He hissed as Dean poked a particularly tender spot on his back. When Sam began to twist away, one of his brother’s hands landed on his shoulder and stopped him from moving.
“Sit still.” Dean ordered.
Sam huffed in annoyance. “Then stop poking me.”
“Oh, you big baby. I’m barely touching you.” Dean said, but removed his fingers anyway and Sam felt his shirts fall back down. “You’ll look like a Smurf for a few days but at least it’s just bruised. No stitches and nothing broken.”
“Good.” Sam said with relief. That meant he could crash sooner. His eyes had started to burn with fatigue, and he really just wanted to lie down and sleep…
Sam felt a hand shake his shoulder and he blinked his eyes open with confusion to see Dean crouched down before him.
When had Dean moved back in front of him?
Sam rubbed his tired eyes. He hadn’t even noticed he’d shut them.
“No sleeping yet, Sammy.” Dean said soft but firm. “The jeans gotta go so I can take a look at that knee.”
Sam nodded his head and fumbled with his belt buckle. He’d barely unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans before Dean batted his hands away and took over, tugging at Sam’s pants. Sam quickly grabbed a hold of his boxers as he felt them slipping, and sat his ass more firmly on the edge of the bed. He shot his brother an indignant look.
Dean chuckled. “Relax princess, there’s nothing there I haven’t seen already. I used to change your diapers, remember?”
“That was a long time ago.” Sam said, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment.
He suddenly cried out as the damp denim got stuck halfway down his thigh. It felt like Dean was trying to pull off his leg rather than his pants.
“Shit.” Dean cursed. All traces of humor had left his face and was now replaced with a worried frown. “Your knee’s so swollen I can’t get them off.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Sam mumbled, covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he started feeling nauseous.
“No, you’re not. Breathe through it. Put your head between your legs.” Dean encouraged.
Dean disappeared out of sight for a few seconds and reappeared with a pair of scissors. By then, Sam had managed to get his queasiness under control - despite the fact that his knee continued to throb painfully. Dean grabbed a hold of Sam’s shoulders, twisted his upper body a bit and pushed him down until Sam felt the softness of his pillow underneath his head. He then sucked in a breath as his legs were lifted onto the mattress as well.
Something cold and sharp rested against his ankle for a moment and began sliding up his leg. Sam peered down his body to see Dean cutting up his right pant leg with the scissors. He bit his lower lip and looked away when Dean reached his knee, bracing himself for the pain. His big brother seemed to know what he was doing though. Dean put down the pair of scissors, grabbed the edges of the cut-up pants with his hands, and swiftly ripped the jeans open over Sam’s knee.
“Jesus, Sam.” Dean exclaimed, the concern in his voice so evident that Sam cast a look down to see what the fuss was about.
His eyes widened when he caught sight of his injured knee. It suddenly became clear to him why it’d felt like it was slowly being crushed. As grotesquely swollen as his knee was, it was hard to believe that it had ever fit inside Sam’s jeans. It was also all shades of purple and blue. With the way it looked, it was possible that Sam hadn’t merely twisted it but also torn something inside the joint.
“Dude, I’m surprised you didn’t crash the car with that elephant leg.” Dean said with barely masked concern. “I’m gonna get you some ice for that. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Har har.” Sam said with sarcasm. There was no way in hell he would be able to go anywhere without his brother’s help.
While he waited for Dean to return, Sam stared up at the ceiling fan that was slowly spinning above his bed. He often found himself staring at it when he was deeply lost in thought. It was a soothing, hypnotic motion - although the thrum of the blades and the play of light and shadow sometimes reminded him of being locked up in Bobby’s panic room. Detoxing from demon blood was not the happiest of memories, so Sam tried to focus instead on the way the gentle cooling breeze soothed his injured knee.
God, he was tired.
Dean walked back into the room with an ice bag wrapped in a towel, a roll of gauze, and a couple of extra pillows in his hands. He was looking pretty exhausted too. Sam couldn’t help but feel guilty - after all, he was the reason why his brother wasn’t in his bed right now, dreaming about pie and strippers. Or maybe rabbits in tutus. But what else could he do? There was no way Dean would leave before he was done taking care of Sam.
“Alright, here we go.” Dean got rid of the sad remains of Sam’s jeans and carefully began wrapping gauze around the injured appendage.
Sam winced and gripped fistfuls of the bed covers. His knee was so sensitive that even the slightest touch to it was painful. Dean apologized although he couldn’t have handled Sam with greater care than he already did. Sam would have told him as much if he didn’t have to focus so hard on breathing and not screaming. Dean finally tied a knot on the gauze and propped Sam’s leg up on a couple of pillows to keep it elevated. Sam jumped a little when Dean applied the towel-wrapped ice bag to his knee - then groaned as the touch jolted the injury.
“Easy, Sammy.” Dean soothed. “Let the ice do its work.”
A couple of unlabeled painkillers and a half bottle of water in his system later, the pain had finally subsided enough for Sam to fully relax into his pillow. His body felt light and floating. In the back of his mind, Sam was wondering what Dean had given him.
Whatever it was, it felt goooood.
“If the swelling hasn’t reduced come morning, I’m taking you to a doctor.” Dean said. His voice seemed to come from far away.
Something soft was draped over him, and Sam blinked his eyes open to see Dean tucking a blanket around him. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a smile.
Dean was the best big brother anyone could wish for.
“Alright, Lebowski. Sleep it off.” Dean grinned.
Had he said those words out loud?
He probably had, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to care. He knew he tended to be loopy when he was drugged on painkillers, and usually said some weird things that Dean loved to tease him with afterwards. But it was true. Despite the ups and downs they’d had during the years, Sam knew he was lucky to have a big brother as awesome as Dean.
A brother who cared for him when he was sick or injured.
A brother who made him feel safe and protected.
A brother who loved him more than life and had proven that more than once.
As Sam floated away on his fluffy drugged up cloud, he only hoped that Dean knew how hard he tried to be the same for him. After all, the only thing they’d ever really had was each other.
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THE END