Look After Me
Sam groaned as he got into the car. He still placed his hand on his wound.
"You okay, little brother?" Dean eyed him as he gont into the car. Sam gritted his teeth/
"I just got shot, what do you think?"
Dean smiled at that repsonse.
"I'll look at it as soon as we get back into the motel," Dean promised him. Sam slumped down in his seat and nodded. They finally arrived at the room. Sam took off his shirt and removed his hands off the wound. Dean studied it carefully.
"Yikes," he said faltly. "That one looks like it hurts like hell."
"Understatement of the day," Sam muttered. He grabbed his flask and chugged it a bit, than Dean grabbed it and poured some of it on the wound. Sam grounded his teeth and groaned in pain.
"Sorry," Dean apologized quickly. He took out a pair of tweasers and some needle and thread. Slowly he fished for the bullit. Sam grimaced and moaned while chugging more of the whisky.
"Sorry Sammy," Dean said again, softly too, as he got the bullit out. "Damn, that's a big one!" He declared with a sense of pride. As if Sam got a war wound and not shot by a woman. "You wanna keep it?"
Sam stared at him, honestly confused.
"Now why would I want to keep that?"
Dean shrugged.
"Souvenir?"
Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"No thanks."
"This is gonna sting some," Dean warned him. He took the needle and thread but paused before jamming the needle into his brother's skin. Sam bit his lip so hard that it bled. Dean apologized again. He couldn't help it. He hated causing his little brother pain, even if it was to help him.
Sam nodded.
"I know, I know," he sighed. He didn't mean to sound ungrateful, it just hurt like hell.
"Sorry," he said himself, feeling guilty for being snapish. Dean sighed as he wove the thread in and out of the skin slowly.
"You're gonna have to learn how to do this yourself," he said gently, keeping his eye on his work. "I'm not gonna be around next year to patch you up and look after you like this."
Sam closed his eyes, and not because of the pain. He sighed bitterly.
"Yeah, I know!" He replied rather sharply. His voice was filled with hurt and anger Dean slowly nodded.
"You're gonna have to do more than just be more careful, Sammy," he continued rather uneasily.
"Yeah, I KNOW Dean!" Sam all but shouted, causing Dean to jump. "Sorry," he sighed. "Can we not talk about that right now?" He than pleaded.
Dean paused before nodding.
"All right," he said. "Sorry I brought it up." Sam said nothing in response, but Dean couldn't let it go. It was too important to him. "It's just that-" His voice trailed off.
"What?" Sam hated to ask, but he knew that he had to.
'It's just that I'm..." Dean cleared his throat. "I'm worried about you. About what's gonna happen to you. I've always been around to make sure you're okay, you know? I mean, I know you can survive losing me, I'm not worried about that..."
"You should be," Sam muttered, not feeling the physical pain anymore. Dean ignored him.
"But you're gonna have to look out for yourself better. You can't keep getting shot like this. I'm not gonna be here to take care of you, to get you out of these messes. You're gonna have to do that yourself when I'm gone."
"You're just NOW thinking of all this?" Sam spat. "You didn't think of this when you made the deal with the demon?"
"You were dead when I made the deal, so no," Dean spat back. 'I was kind of trying to save your ass than!"
Sam narrowed his eyes.
'You should have left me for dead!" He argued bitterly. He flinched as Dean pulled tightly on the thread and finished with the wound. He didn't bother to apologize.
"Don't say that,." Dean than growled rather dangerously. Sam flinched again, but this time at Dean's tone.
"Why not" He shot back though, not through with Dean yet. "It's true," he added rather smartly. "You've said that you don't deserve to be here because you were dying? Hell I was DEAD, Dean!" He stared at his brother. "What about your whole view on 'What's dead should stay dead' thing? Where did that go when you sold your soul?"
"Shut up, Sam!"
"No! YOU brought this up so let's talk about it!"
Dean slowly put some cloth on the wound and taped it rather harshly. He grabbed his own flask of whisky and chugged it.
"Sorry I said anything at all," he muttered.
"Yeah, well you did. Why'd you do it, Dean?" Sam's voice changed to a softer level.
"Do what?"
"Made the deal with the demon and sold your soul."
'I told you, I couldn't live without you."
"No, no, no, there's more to it than that. Don't bullshit with me," Sam growled. His voice was a little darker now. "Do you really feel so worthless that you think you'd belong in hell rather than be alive here?"
Dean stared at him rather sharply.
"You got shot, how'd this end up being about me?" He demanded.
"You brought it up," Sam reminded him gently. Dean sighed.
"Yeah, yeah, don't remind me." He looked out the window and stared into the darkness.
"Please, Dean," Sam begged. "Talk to me. You don't have to go through this alone." He held the cloth that was covering the wound and pressed on it to keep the physical pain that was trying to sneak up from him from getting worse. For the longest time no one said anything. Finally Dean sighed.
"I...I can't open up about my feelings like this, Sammy. I'm not you." He was blinking back tears. Sam looked down rather ashamed. He knew how closed off his brother was but he desperatly wanted to understand what Dean was feeling. What he was thinking, and going through. Sam closed his eyes and took deep breaths.
"Okay," he said slowly. "I'm sorry I snapped there for a minute. It's just that I'm worried about you." Dean turned and smiled at his little brother gently.
"I know. And I won't say I'm fine, because I'm not, but try not to worry so much about me. I'm not worth that trouble."
Sam gave a sad smile.
"Sorry, can't help it. Part of my nature."
Dean nodded, expecting that response.
"How's the wound?" He was desperatly trying to change the subject. Sam touched the shoulder gently.
"Tender, but fine," he answered honestly. Sam nodded.
"Good, well I'm beat. We should turn in for the ngiht."
It was Sam's turn to nod. Finally, a few minutes later, they were getting in bed Dean watched his brother nesle into the pillows, making sure he wasn't pressing the shoulder against the matress. Dean sighed. He knew he couldn't keep his feelings bottled up forever, but thankfully he didn't have to open up that night.
He fell asleep listening to his brother's gentle snores. A few hours later, though, he woke to strange noises. He growned and flicked on the light. He saw Sam tossing and turing while mumbling incoherently.
"Sammy?" He walked over and felt his little brother's forehead. Deamn it there was a fever. They didn't stop the infection from happening.
"Sam?"
"Dean-no," Sam moaned painfully.
"Sam!"
"No please...not Dean....please!" Sam was pratically sobbing now. "Dean, I'm sorry!"
"Sammy, wake up!"
"I'm so sorry Dea-"
"Wake up Sam! You're dreaming!" He shook his brother again and am's eyes shot open.
"Wha?" He blinked, sweat covering him, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.
"You were dreaming, Sam," he told him. "You have a fever. I think the wound got infected."
"Oh...." Sam's voice trailed off, still trying to grasp his surroundings again.
"I'll go get the bath started," Dean told him.
"Bath?" Sam asked dumbly.
"Baths and showers help get the fever down sometimes," Dean told him. "And we can't let it get any higher."
"Oh." Sam was still flustered and feeling hot and sticky. He was still rattled by the feverish nightmare he had of the hellhounds ripping his brother to shreds. Dean got up and turned on the bath, making sure that the water was luke warm. Sam closed his eyes, listening to the water running and feeling weaker by the minute. He coud hardly move, he felt so heavy. And so hot. Damn, maybe they should have gone to the hospital. No, they ask too many questions there. He felt his brother moving around him, taking off his shirt and shorts."
"What are you doing?" He managed to slurr.
"You can't take a bath while dressed, can you?" Dean asked logically, trying to remain calm. Dean than picked Sam up and carried him forward while gently lowering him into the tub.
Sam closed his eyes, letting the water get rid of the heat. Dean wouldn't leave the room, clearly more than a little worried about his baby brother.
"Sammy, maybe we should go to the hospital-"
"No," Sam managed to grunt weakly. "They ask too many questions. To dangerous."
"Yeah, but if your fever doesn't go down..."
"No."
Dean sighed.
"We'll talk about that in the morning," he decided. Finally the bath was done. Dean made sure to dress Sam quickly and get him under the sheats.
"You can't go alseep yet," he warned his brother. "You have to drink lots of liquids."
Sam groaned at that.
"I just want to sleep," he mumbled.
"I know, and you will. Look, you either do this my way or you're going to the hospital."
Sam grunted his response, but basically agreed to be cooperative.
Dean took some of the orange juice from the fridge and poured it in a glass. He helped raise Sam's head.
"There you go," he said gently as Sam managed to hold the glass while drinking it. Dean forced him to drink the whole cup. Than a glass of water. Only than did he allow Sam too drift off into sleep.
He sighed, and watched Sam like a hawk. He wasn't about to lose him again. He knew if it was taken care of properly an infection could be easy to stop from spreading and to control it. After an hour he couldn't stand it. He woke Sam up and forced him to drink more liquids. Than he made Sam take another bath four hours after that.
Finally after a long night of him waking Sam up every couple of hours to drink a few glasses of water and juice it was morning. But Sam was too exhausted to wake anytime soon. That was fine with Dean. He went out briefly to get more fluids and some broth and crackers.
At noon he helped Sam drink the broth and eat the crackers while drinking some apple juice. He knew that Sam was really weak when he wouldn't even protest about Dean treating him like a baby. At one point he did say something though.
"Dean?' He asked in the middle of sipping some broth.
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For trying to get you to talk about your feelings. For getting mad at you."
Dean lowered his eyes.
"Don't think about that now, you're sick."
"I'm still sorry."
"Yeah, so am I," Dean sighed. He shook his head. "I wish I could open up, I really do Sammy. It's really not you. I just....can't. At least not yet."
"I understand. Well, I don't, but I can respect it at least." Sam bit into a saltine weakly. Dean nodded. He thought about writing Sam a letter, but hell he wasn't even good at that.
"When I'm able to talk about this," Dean told his brother. "You'll be the first to know about it, I promise."
Sam nodded slowly.
The fever took three days to dissapear. And when it left, the infection left too. Thankfully it was only a small one. Sam was still weak, though, and took longer to get ready than usual. Finally they both left the motel, eager to leave that place and to move on with their lives, while Sam was especially eager to save Dean.
He didn't care what was going to happen. He wasn't going to forget that night. He was going to bring it up again, later, but even more so he wasn't going to lose Dean. This event reinforced him how much he needed his big brother around, and he was going to save Dean.
No matter what.