BLOOD BROTHERS

Dean spat blood into the sink, turning as he heard Sam's muffled groan. The kid had strategically placed himself with his back to Dean, doing his best to stitch himself up. They'd both taken a beating, new scars peppering Dean's skin to replace the ones that had been magically healed when he'd been pulled from hell. Sam still carried the old scars, and now a fresh batch to add to his collection. Dean would have done anything not to see those marks on his brother. "Hey, you need help with that?" Dean asked, watching as Sam's hand shook as he struggled with the last few stitches. Seeing the blood on Sam's arm, the pain written on his face was starting to unravel Dean from the inside.

Sam swallowed thickly, managing a shake of his head, no reply but a shaky sigh. He had to do this himself, couldn't risk Dean near him, touching the free flowing blood on his arm. As hard as Sam had tried to forget his first meeting with Castiel, he just couldn't. The angel had hesitated when Sam wanted to shake hands, had called him the boy with the demon blood. Castiel's words had shattered Sam's faith, bitten deep into his soul. Even the angels couldn't see the good in him, so how could Dean?

"Earth to Winchester, you in there Sammy?"

Sam snapped back from his thoughts at Dean's words, just in time to see him sink to one knee on the cheap motel carpet in front of him. There was a cloth in Dean's hand, a concerned smile on his face as he reached for Sam's arm. Sam drew back quickly, surprising Dean with the sudden jerk of his arm. "Yeah, I'm fine, Dean, I can do this myself."

Dean reached for Sam's arm again, this time holding on a bit tighter. "Let me just clean it up. Gotta make sure it doesn't get infected." Something about the way Sam drew back had Dean on alert, searching his brother's eyes for answers. They'd helped patch each other up dozens of times, why would now be any different?

Sam snatched his arm back, shoving back his chair to get out of Dean's reach. What if the angel was onto something? What if the blood inside him was cursed or toxic? Dean had come in contact with his blood before, but that was before he'd been pulled from hell, before Sam had had time to fall into a pit of self doubt. Losing Dean had sent him over the edge, to a desperate place, shadowed with guilt and pain. He'd drank himself into oblivion, had been hell bent on getting Dean back. He'd tried to make a deal for Dean and failed, settling for Lillith's head on a platter instead. At his lowest point, Sam had clung to Ruby for physical comfort, to feel something, anything that wasn't agony over the loss of his brother. Now that Dean was back, Sam wasn't about to take any chances, not ever. "I said, leave it!" Sam shot back, heading for the sink to clean the wound himself.

Dean wasn't about to let this go, not when he knew deep down that there was more to this than Sam being his usual stubborn self. "What the hell is going on, Sam? Look at me." Dean caught up to his brother at the sink, gripping Sam's good arm and turning him around. "You want to tell me why all of a sudden you're on this Lone Ranger kick?"

Sam hadn't had time to turn on the water yet when he felt Dean's grip on his arm, turning him around. As hard as he tried to look away, Dean's eyes followed him, forcing him to make eye contact. "I just don't…. I just don't think you should be near me," Sam murmured, feeling the familiar ache in his chest as he spoke. He'd carried that ache for months after Dean died and couldn't bear to feel it ever again.

Dean stepped back, releasing Sam's arm as he let his mind play over Sam's words. "Really? Any particular reason, or are we playing twenty questions here? And don't think for one minute you're leaving this room without answering me. I'm still your big brother, and I can still kick your ass."

Sam dropped his gaze to the floor, shifting nervously on his feet. Why couldn't Dean just leave this alone? If the roles had been reversed, Dean would have clammed up and Sam would just have had to deal with it. Instead, here Sam was, backed into a corner, knowing that Dean wouldn't be satisfied until he'd gotten an answer, a truthful answer. "I've got demon blood in me. I just don't think it's a good idea for you to come in contact with it."

Dean stood there, digesting every strained syllable that left his brother's mouth. Dean may have been in hell, but he knew first hand that Sam had been there too. He could still remember what it felt like when Sam had died in his arms, when he'd felt Sam;s precious life slip through his hands. Sam had only been dead for a short time when Dean had been given him back, and in those hours, he'd known grief like he'd never felt before. Sam hadn't been given a second chance with his brother, and now that he had, Sam was drowning in protectiveness.

Dean knew that whatever he said wouldn't be enough to convince Sam of what he knew to be true. They were brothers, and no demon or angel would keep them apart. Reaching behind Sam for his razor, Dean slid it across his palm before Sam could stop him. Grabbing Sam's hurt arm, Dean let a trickle of his blood mix with Sam's, refusing to let go as his brother struggled to get free. "We're brothers, and no one, and nothing is gonna change that. You listen to me, that whole demon blood thing, it doesn't matter. This is about you, and me, and no one else, you got that? We're Winchesters, through and through, blood brothers."

"I don't know, Dean, I don't know who I am anymore," Sam whispered hoarsely, shaking his head as he looked down at Dean's hand on his arm. There were so many times when Dean was gone that Sam had contemplated suicide, when just breathing without Dean had been difficult.

Dean turned Sam around to look in the mirror, both of their reflections staring back at them. When Sam had asked him about his time in hell, Dean had danced around the subject, finally opening up just enough to make Sam stop asking questions. How could he tell his little brother what he had done, the horrors he had seen and taken part in? It was Sam's time now to open up, to fill in the blanks of those months when he was alone. "You're Sam Winchester, the same Sam Winchester that drove me crazy as a kid, asked too many damn questions, fought with Dad, and earned a free ride to Stanford. You're not near as good looking as your older brother, but hey, some of us just got it, you know? Anyway, you got these freaky ass powers, but I gotta admit, once in awhile they come in handy. So, bottom line, you're my brother, and you're stuck with me, end of discussion."

Dean certainly did have a way with words, Sam managing a weak smile as Dean paraphrased his life. It wasn't exactly the way Sam would have put things, but Dean was Dean, and Sam wouldn't have had in any other way. "We should take care of your shoulder," Sam murmured, looking into Dean's eyes in the mirror.

"Right, and when we're done that, you're gonna tell me why you trust Ruby so much," Dean countered, slapping Sam on the shoulder before heading back into the bedroom alone.

Sam stood looking at himself in the mirror, wondering if Dean could possibly understand what Ruby had done for him. She'd saved his life, kept him fighting when he could hardly find the strength to stand upright. She had said things that Dean would have said if he'd been here. As hard as Sam knew this conversation was going to be, at the root of it all was the bond he shared with his brother. Reaching to turn on the tap, Sam hesitated, looking at the blood drying on his arm. Maybe he would wait until later to clean it off…