For The Cause (3/3)
part three
Dean watched quietly as Sam slowly, and by the looks of things incredibly painfully, hopped his way across the motel room. The elder boy wished that he could have convinced the young hunter to take the doctor up on the offer of a wheelchair, but had to conceded that it probably wouldn’t have been particularly practical - most hotel rooms weren’t exactly set up with manoeuvrability in mind, and this one was no exception.
Sam had been fighting the crutches since the car, shifting his grip every few seconds to try a find a more comfortably position for them, and more than once he’d wobbled in a way that promised an immediate fall. Much to Dean’s displeasure, he’d - quite literally - shrugged off all offers of help, determined to make it all the way to his bed by himself.
Taking in the sheen of sweat on his face, Dean once more reached out to grab the younger man’s elbow and insist that he stop being so stubborn and just let Dean carry him to his bed, goddamn it. A hand on his elbow stopped him, and Dean glanced up in surprise to find his father shaking his head minutely, eyes locking together for a few moments before both of them turned to check on Sam. He’d managed another two steps.
“Let him do this for himself.” John muttered quietly, slinging his duffel bag down on the couch with a resounding thud. Dean wondered, absently, how many weapons were tangled in among his father’s clothes for it to make such a heavy sound.
Reluctantly, Dean admitted defeat with a nod and crossed to dump his duffel on the bed closest to the motel room door. He winced a little when he realised that the same force of habit that had caused him to pick that bed in the first place would also mean a longer journey for Sam, but the damage was done - if he suddenly changed his mind now, there’d be no way for either of them to save face.
Instead, he forced himself to unzip the duffel and start rooting through it for some sweatpants and a shirt to sleep in - it might still be early, but he was running on next to no sleep and he had every intention of hitting the hay just as soon as Sam had his meds in him and his eyes closed. Everything else could wait until tomorrow.
A slight clatter had him spinning around, reacting just quickly enough to stretch out an arm and grab Sam around the waist as his crutches caught on a bump in the carpet and - incapable of correcting the mistake - his body toppled sideways.
“Whoah,” He breathed, helping the kid steady himself. He was barely a step away from the bed, and all it took was a glance at his pale face and heaving chest for Dean to decide that crutches were out of the question. It took a lot less effort than he’d like to use the arm around the kid’s waist to pick him up and spin him, gently lowering him onto the edge of the motel bed. “Easy there, tiger.”
The fact that Sam didn’t complain said a lot about how far he’d pushed himself.
Dean didn’t mention the faint tremor in the teenager’s limbs or the rapid heartbeat he’d felt briefly when his shoulder had pressed against his brother’s chest; instead, he got to work on ridding the younger man of the one boot that Sam had stubbornly insisted on lacing up properly and the hoodie that they’d forced him to wear.
Sam let himself be gently poked and prodded until he was ready for bed, and Dean glanced up in surprise when his father’s hands suddenly appeared and carefully pulled back the covers, timing it just perfectly with his eldest son to get the young boy under the covers without jolting his leg. A bottle of water and the latest dose of Sam’s pain pills and antibiotics had miraculously appeared on the nightstand, and Dean quietly coerced the young man into taking them.
Sam was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.
**
When Sam woke up, he was warm and comfortable, his leg throbbing uncomfortably in a reminder of the hunt gone wrong. He’d attempted to twist on his side during the night, the same way he’d always slept, but the weight of the plaster cast on his leg made the position more than a little uncomfortable. Scowling, Sam rolled onto his back, biting back a yelp when the sudden movement shot waves of pain through the injured limb.
He was really missing his morphine pump, that was for sure.
Strangely, though, there was something almost soothing about cool, unfamiliar sheets and uncomfortably soft motel pillows. Sam kept his eyes stubbornly closed, doing his best to cling to the last vestiges of peaceful sleep, but he was fighting a losing battle. Fidgeting was waking him up further, but there was no way to find a comfortable position without abandoning sleep altogether. He sighed again.
Seconds later, a second bolt of pain slammed through his leg when a weight dipped the bed on the side closest to the door and Sam twisted sharply to see what the hell was going on.
Dean, for his part, didn’t say a word. Instead, he gently bullied Sam back into his usual position on his side and muttered a sharp order for him to stay put whilst he fussed with something. It took Sam longer than it should have to register that Dean was propping his own foot up on a pillow, and he wondered absently whether he’d been the only one injured on the hunt.
Comprehension didn’t dawn on him until he felt his brother reach down and gently move his injured foot so that it was resting on his own, the perfect height for Sam to rest comfortably in the position he’d slept in since he was a child.
Sam didn’t think he’d ever felt more grateful for his big brother.
“Th’nks,” He acknowledged blearily, eyes already shut again. He felt his brother shrug.
“Don’t get used to it, bitch.”
**
Morning brought an uncomfortable feeling in his bladder and a sharp agony in his leg that told him he was probably overdue for his meds. Or at least, he hoped he was.
Twisting his body a little, Sam could just about make out the red numbers on the alarm clock proudly declaring that it was just after ten AM, leaving Sam four hours past the point where his pain relief had run out. Twisting even further revealed that he wasn’t the only one still sleeping.
Both his father and brother were still sound asleep, Dean’s face tucked into the back of the youngest Winchester’s neck and his father’s head tipped back over the arm of the couch, occasionally letting out a bitten-off snore. Ordinarily, Sam would have let them sleep, but the need to use the bathroom was becoming increasingly more urgent, and the pain in his leg was making his stomach roll nauseatingly.
Reluctantly, Sam nudged his elbow back into his brother’s side, aiming for the soft flesh over ribs where the blow would be just enough to wake him without causing any pain. He’d had a hell of a lot of practice in that area.
Dean jerked awake instantly, body going from loose and relaxed to tense and prepared for anything within seconds, and Sam knew the exact moment that his brother’s eyes fell on the alarm clock by the long stream of obscenities that followed.
“Holy crap, Sammy,” He admonished loudly, sliding out of the bed and fumbling for something on the nightstand. From the clatter that followed, Sam figured it was probably his meds. “You should have said something.”
Sam fought off the urge to roll onto his back and look at his brother as they spoke, knowing first hand that any movement right now was just going to exasperate the sensations in his leg.
“Just woke up.” He offered, wincing a little at the tremor in his own voice. The pain in his leg spiked and he closed his eyes for a long moment, doing his best to will the pain away; by the time his eyes opened, Dean was crouched in front of him with a handful of pills and a glass of water, straw peeking innocuously out of the top.
“Can you sit up?”
Sam shook his head. “I think that would be a very bad idea right now. I can take them lying down, its fine.”
“If you’re sure,” Dean sighed, releasing the medication to him with a sceptical frown. Sam forced the paper-dry medication into his mouth and reached for the glass, not at all surprised when his brother kept a tight grip on it and just let Sam hold the straw. To be honest, it was probably a good plan - even Sam wasn’t sure that he could’ve held onto it without spilling water everywhere. He waited until Sam drank his fill before carefully setting it on the floor, shoulders slumping with apparent relief as he reached over and gently squeezed the younger man’s shoulder. “Dude, I suck. I’m so sorry, I should’ve set an alarm on my phone-“
“Not your fault,” The young hunter defended stubbornly. “You were exhausted. I’m glad you got a decent night’s rest for a change.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a pain in the ass? Do you need the bathroom? Want help?”
“Kinda do,” Sam admitted. “But I’m not going anywhere for as long as these painkillers take to kick in. Thank god for the wonders of modern medicine.”
Dean tipped his head in acknowledgement.
“I’ve thought the same thing many a time,” John’s voice intoned from behind Sam’s back. The teenager jumped, relieved when the paint that shot through his leg at the movement wasn’t quite as intense as before. It was a few seconds before he could gather the courage to tip himself onto his back, and his stomach churned sickeningly as the plaster on his leg fell off the pillow and onto the mattress, where it bounced once. Dean scowled, reaching forward to pick it up but Sam waved him off.
“It’s cool,” He grinned. “The meds are starting to kick in now, anyways. I’m pretty sure I can make the bathroom now, at least.”
Dean frowned petulantly, ignoring their father’s amused grin. “I’m not fussing.”
“You’re totally fussing! You always fuss. You’re like a… soccer mom or something.”
“Dude, seriously?” The older man groused. “I wake up with a dead leg from being an awesome brother and keeping your leg steady all night, and you go and take the piss out of me after ten minutes of consciousness? Totally not cool.”
Sam shrugged, grinning cheekily. “Life’s a bitch. You gonna help me or what?”
Dean was at his side in seconds, already started to gently herd Sam to his feet and the knowing glance that the youngest Winchester sent his father was enough to have John Winchester laughing long and loud. Dean swore lightly under his breath, but he was grinning widely despite his pink cheeks. “Little bitch. Here, take your crutches.”
He shoved the offending items in his brother’s direction, and it wasn’t until Sam grabbed a hold of them that he noticed the difference. Where they had previously dug into the bruises decorating his injured arm, they were now padded with what looked like gauze and bandages; it was easily ten times more comfortable than it had been before, and Sam’s look of surprise was enough to send John into a second fit of laughter.
Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean ducked his head.
“It looked painful!” He defended. “And I didn’t want to have to carry your sorry ass around anymore, that’s all!”
Sam shook his head, smiling fondly. “You’re never going to complain about having to carry my sorry ass around, you big jerk.”
“Bitch.” Dean fired back without any hesitation. “Now are you going to go the bathroom, or are we going to stand around exchanging pleasantries like a group of girls?”
Sam ducked his head to hide his grin as he made his way across the room. It was easier to balance than it had been the day before, his body slightly more responsive to his brain’s commands, but the pace was still slow and the movement left his muscles burning.
When he felt his brother’s hand press against his back just over halfway there, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he focused on the sound of his father’s laughter and the warm, reassuring presence just behind his shoulder that was his big brother.
His muscles were weak and his arms were shaking, but Sam wasn’t worried. If he fell, Dean would catch him before he hit the floor, and he’d do it with a sarcastic remark and a gentle squeeze of the younger man’s shoulder.
That was just how things worked.
<-- part two
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