The hard part was supposed to be catching the beast.
Corralling the creature and keeping it contained, was supposed to be the hard part.
Not getting eaten, was supposed to be the hard part.
Reciting the ritual, was meant to be the easy part.
That was why Sam was doing it, because even at sixteen, he was only permitted to do the easy parts.
He sat surrounded by herbs and holding a thick dusty book, reciting the complicated Latin transcript, as his dad and brother were several feet away, protecting him.
Normally, Sam preferred to memorize the ritual, and usually, John would demand that he did so, but this was an exception. This particular recitation was nearly seven pages long, incredibly complicated, and there hadn't been enough time to memorize it, before the hunt. Sam had only found it a few hours earlier, when he had arrived home from school and helped his family discover how to kill the monster of the week. He had found the Latin spell in an old book and had planned to re-write it on separate pieces of paper, but he had been worried about messing up the translation, and there hadn't been time.
John had really pushed the hunt. He had worried that the creature would take off, after their encounter with it - and unsuccessful attempts to kill it - the previous night, and then he would have to go searching for it once more; the list of casualties bound to elongate before they could track it down again.
The teen cringed at the screeching cry of fury the monster released, as it fought to get to Sam. It knew what he was doing. It knew that he was unbinding it from its supernatural power and with that power went its invincibility. It knew that the moment Sam completed what he was doing, it would be vulnerable to the weapons the hunters held. It knew, and it was trying to get to Sam.
His dad and brother were holding it at bay, taking shots at the huge beast, knowing that their firepower wouldn't mortally injure the creature, but rather hoping to keep it busy. The hard part was, they had to keep the supernatural monster nearby, in order for the ritual to be a success.
The other hard part - the much more problematic part - was that Sam was relatively certain his strength was being sapped, with every foreign word that rolled off his tongue. He hadn't realized it until the end of the first page, when he noticed how heavy the book in his hands had become, and how exhausted he was beginning to feel.
By the end of the third page, Sam's every muscle was quivering, his hands shaking so hard he was struggling to keep hold of the text. He focussed on the words, being sure his pronunciation was clear, regardless of how severely his body was trembling. Sam also did his best to hide the effects of the ritual from his big brother. He knew that the only reason Dean hadn't noticed that the youngest Winchester was in trouble, was because the older man was preoccupied with the task of keeping the monster away from Sam.
The fifth page had the teen fighting to stay on his feet, his legs violently shaking beneath him. It was taking everything he had to recite the Latin script. He could hear the waver in his voice, and he knew Dean must have heard it as well, because his older brother was sending him concerned looks on a much more frequent basis. He nearly got his head bit off more than once, because he was staring back at Sam, instead of focussing on the massive beast in front of him.
Typical.
That was the exact reason Sam had been working to hide his struggle, because he knew Dean, and he didn't want to divert his brother's attention. Sam didn't want Dean getting hurt because of him.
However, the moment he finished reading the sixth page, and flipped to the seventh, he crumpled to the ground. Sam's legs buckled beneath him, his energy being sucked from his being as he lost the ability to stand.
"Sam!"
He heard Dean shouting for him, but Sam could only focus on the words in front of him, on the book that was now laying open on the ground, because he no longer had the strength to hold onto it. Sam only had the energy to do one thing, and that was finish the ritual. That was all he could do.
He couldn't respond to his brother's shouts and demands.
He couldn't see his family fighting with the creature.
He couldn't even sit up straight.
He bent forward, his arms shaking, doing their best to prop him up over the book, so that he could continue to read.
He was almost finished.
Sam's head was no longer able to hold itself up as he dropped to the ground, mimicking a religious prayer pose, forehead almost touching the warn pages of the book.
He was scared, frightened of finishing the spell, unsure of what it would do to his body. He had never felt so weak, never felt himself being drained of all his strength and energy. It was terrifying.
But he had to finish it. His family was depending on him.
With only a couple lines left, the teenager drew in a deep breath, and fought to deliver the remainder of the ritual in something stronger than a whisper.
"Sammy."
The familiar voice brought Sam more comfort than he could ever describe. The calloused hand that skimmed through his hair, before landing on his back, erased every drop of fear that Sam had inside of him.
He heard his brother's knees hit the dirt on his right side, but didn't have the energy it would require to turn and look at the older man. Instead, Sam forced himself to read the last line in his head, while working up the strength to speak it, a hard shudder racing its way through his frame.
"Sam. Sammy. Stop. I'll finish it. Just stop."
Sam couldn't help but quirk a smile, even as the book was pulled away from him.
His big brother, always the protector.
Sam shut his eyes, and with one last breath, delivered the closing phrase of the ritual. The very moment the last Latin word rolled of Sam's tongue, he collapsed into his big brother. His head hit Dean's chest, as he sprawled unceremoniously across the older boy's lap, feeling strong arms accept him immediately and pull him close. Sam sighed, because even though he no longer possessed enough strength to open his eyes, he felt completely safe in his brother's hold.
He must have passed out or something, because the next thing he knew, he was being held in a different position and Dean was speaking to him. The words sounded like they were travelling through a dense fog.
"Sam. C'mon now, kiddo. Talk to me. You're scaring me. Please, Sammy."
Sam's body was entirely depleted, even his mind seemed fuzzy and detached; and while he wanted nothing more than to give in to the darkness he could feel pulling him under, he crawled back to full awareness. There was no way he could ignore Dean's desperate pleas or the terrified undertones, Sam could hear in the older hunter's voice.
"M'here." He slurred.
"Sammy?"
Dean's relief was palpable, and Sam forced himself to open his eyes, wanting to further ease his brother's fear.
"Ya. M'okay. De." He croaked, waiting for his vision to focus, getting a view full of vibrant green eyes, once it did.
"Yeah, you're terrific." Dean grumbled.
Sam hadn't realized his nose was bleeding, until a thumb slid across his upper lip, and he felt liquid trickle out his nostrils.
"What the hell were you thinking, huh?" Dean questioned, his words aggravated, but touch gentle as he swiped beneath Sam's nose once again. Dean's other hand was palming the back of Sam's head, angling it so that the teen was able to look at his brother's face, while resting against his chest.
"Didn't know. De. Swear I didn't know." The simple act of speaking was almost too much, but Sam needed his big brother to understand.
Dean's expression didn't change. His eyes were still bright with terror, and his face pinched in anger. Sam couldn't figure out whether his brother believed him or not.
The younger hunter mentally tried to register where his hands were. His legs he could feel draped across Dean's legs and onto the dirt. He felt grass brushing his right hand, twitching the appendage to discover that it was resting on the ground as well. Sam's left hand was warmer, and when he wiggled his fingers, he felt fabric. It took him a moment to realize that his left arm was resting between Dean's abdomen and Sam's own hip.
He forced his hand to move, dragging it up and across Dean's flannel shirt, until his clumsily searching fingers found their prize. Sam entangled his fingers in the amulet, feeling the small charm press into his palm as he fought to maintain the simple hold.
"Promise I didn't know, Dean. Promise I didn't." Sam vowed in a whisper, forcing his eyes to focus on his brother's as he implored the older man to believe him.
He wouldn't lie to Dean.
He wouldn't trick him like that.
He would never hurt his big brother that way.
He needed Dean to know that.
The elder Winchester pursed his lips, but nodded down at Sam.
"I know, Sammy. I know." He stated, rubbing the younger man's chest soothingly, as he spoke.
Sam sighed, relieved, allowing his eyelids to fall closed.
"D'we get it?" He questioned, compelling his eyes open, once again.
"Yeah. We got it. Dad's taking care of the carcass now." Dean reported in a grim tone, not being the least bit giddy, like he often was after a successful hunt.
Then again, Sam was willing to bet that his big brother didn't view this one as a success, regardless of the fact that the supernatural evil had been vanquished.
"What happened, Sammy?" Dean asked, not even bothering to hide his concern the way he normally would.
That was how Sam knew he had truly scared his big brother.
"Dunno. Just sucked my strength. S'like I don't hav'any energy." He struggled to explain.
Dean nodded curtly, his jaw clenching as he appeared to absorb the information.
"That's what Dad thought, he has heard of that happening sometimes."
That was anger.
Sam could feel it in how the body supporting him tensed, and see it on his brother's expression. He also knew it wasn't aimed at him.
"He didn't know." Sam said, his voice still nothing more than a whisper, but enough to be heard. The truth was, Sam had no idea if his father had known or not, but he knew that Dean needed to believe that John hadn't been aware. Sam didn't think their dad would ever knowingly place either of his boys in danger, especially without warning them first.
"He should have." Dean bit out.
Sam sighed, not having the energy to bicker. He also knew that the bitterness spewing from his brother's tongue, had far more to do with the scare Sam had given him, and less to do with any actual issues he had with John.
"Alright. The corpse his toast. We need to get moving." John ordered, as he suddenly appeared behind Dean. "Can you walk, Sam?"
Sam opened his mouth to say that he would try. He knew that he couldn't, but he didn't want to disappoint.
Dean spoke before Sam could attempt to do so.
"No. He's still trembling. He can barely open his eyes." Dean reported, swiping his thumb over Sam's upper lip, as his clinical gaze swept over the teen's thin body.
"We'll carry him, then." John stated with a nod, slinging the weapons bag over his shoulder as he made to reach down.
"I've got him." Dean declared, hunching over Sam, blocking their dad's reach.
The eldest Winchester stalled for a moment, before giving a firm nod.
"Meet you boys at the car." He declared, moving out of Sam's limited line of sight, where the younger boy could hear a book being slammed shut, and knew that John was collecting the remainder of their supplies.
"Alright, buddy. I'm going to pick you up. Tell me if anything hurts, okay?"
Sam nodded, not having the energy to explain that he wasn't injured, just drained, completely and utterly drained.
He felt like a ragdoll as Dean gently jostled him about. He pushed Sam's shaggy head to rest against his collarbone, sliding one arm around the teenager's back and another beneath his knobby knees.
In one swift movement, Dean was standing with Sam in his arms.
Typically, Sam would fight against being handled like a baby, but he didn't have the strength to make even the slightest opposition. So, instead, he melted against his brother's chest as he was carried through the woods. His grip on the amulet unintentionally loosening, but his fingers remaining tangled in the black cord that was always hanging around his big brother's neck.
"Dean." He sighed, twitching his head up, so he could see more of Dean's face, and not just his neck and the right side of his jaw.
"Yeah, Sammy?" Dena responded immediately, looking down at the younger boy.
The teen simply twitched a smile, his fingers flexing briefly around the amulet before he allowed his head to lull back against Dean's collarbone, and closed his eyes. Sam felt his brother's arms tighten around him, and dropped off to sleep to the sound of Dean's heartbeat and the feel of absolute protection.
When the teen woke, he was in the Impala, stretched across the backseat with his head resting on a jean-clad thigh. The arm wrapped firmly around him, keeping him secured on the leather bench-seat, was Dean's; as was the hand resting on his forehead and the thumb sliding rhythmically over his temple.
Sam pried his eyes open, catching a glimpse of the worried face staring down at him, before his eyelids grew too heavy and dropped closed again.
"It's okay, Sammy. You just rest, kiddo. I've got you."
The gentle concession was all Sam needed to surrender himself back into the darkness.
The next thing Sam was aware enough to register, was that he was being carried again. The scent combination of hair gel, gun oil, and M&Ms told the younger man who it was that was holding him, and he didn't bother trying to open his eyes until he felt himself being placed down. The mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable, and Sam could recall it being the same one he had slept on for the past couple weeks. They must have returned to the small one-floor rental. Upon arriving at that conclusion, Sam abandoned his attempt to force his weighted eyelids out of the way.
His body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, even his fingers were too heavy to operate. Breathing was one of the few things Sam was capable of accomplishing, and even that was requiring energy he didn't feel like he had. With each expansion of his lungs, the teen was forcing his chest to rise, and it seemed as though there was a fifty-pound barbell seated on top of it. For that reason, Sam's inhalations were short and shallow.
Something Dean was bound to notice.
He heard deep voices echoing through the small room, but paid them no mind, instead he allowed his thoughts to wander as he felt his limbs being manipulated to rest more comfortably on the bed. Each of his boots were removed, as were his socks. It wasn't until the button of his jeans was undone, that Sam grunted in disapproval, cracking his eyes open.
Dean paused long enough to lean closer to his little brother and give him a knowing look.
"You're filthy, dude. The boxers will stay on, I promise. Just let me do this. I'll be quick."
Sam figured that taking a nap in the dirt probably made a mess of his clothing, but he rolled his head across the pillow, trying to glance around the room before agreeing to allow his big brother to change him like a child.
"Dad's not in here, Sammy. It's just us."
Of course, Dean would know exactly what, or rather, who, Sam had been searching for. The teen relented, rolling his heavy head back toward Dean and giving him a nod of consent.
The older man smiled reassuringly down at his incapacitated little brother, gently patting Sam's chest, before continuing his task. Sam's eyes fell closed once the steady green gaze moved away, but he was still aware. His jeans were promptly removed and traded for a soft pair of sweats. Sam didn't own any that were that soft, so he knew that he was being put in a pair of Dean's. They were long enough to cover Sam's feet and too loose around the waste, but the teen had a feeling he wouldn't be walking around any time soon, so he had no problem trading function for comfort.
"I'm going to sit you up, buddy. Okay?" Dean asked, sliding one of his long arms between Sam's back and the mattress, in preparation, but not moving the younger boy until Sam nodded his response.
"On three."
The younger man appreciated the warning, so that he could brace himself; and though he tried, he was entirely incapable of helping the process along. He was deadweight as he was leveraged up and guided to rest against the taller body seated next to his knees, on the mattress.
Sam shifted his head, nestling it into the crook of Dean's neck as he slumped against the older boy. He heard his brother chuckle and felt a hand slide through his hair and squeeze the back of his neck. The two of them sat that way for a moment, Dean providing physical comfort, and Sam greedily absorbing every drop. The teen had nearly fallen back to sleep again, when his brother began to maneuver him out of his long-sleeve button-up. Dean left on Sam's t-shirt and slid him into a sweater. One that Sam knew also belonged to his big brother. Dean's clothes were bigger and warmer, and always made Sam feel safe. He was pretty sure it was a more a mental thing, than physical, but nonetheless, whenever Sam was hurting or sick, he tended to prefer his big brother's clothing.
When he was eased back down, he was propped up with pillows, that were stacked against the headboard. The moment he was settled, the weight that had been pushing down the mattress near Sam's knees, disappeared.
The teen felt panic rising in his chest at the sudden absence. He forced his eyes open, squinting at the light and rolling his head to the left, staring at the empty bedroom.
It was the master-bedroom, which was the one Dean and him and been sharing since they arrived in the small town. The room had a bed and a couch, where Dean had been sleeping. He had expressed disinterest in sleeping with his 'octopus of a little brother' and they made a deal to take turns switching between the bed and the couch. However, Dean had yet to give Sam a night on the sofa. When Sam had pointed that fact out a few days back, the older man had joked that it was because Sam would likely just roll off the smaller surface, and he didn't want to be kept up all night by the sound of the teenager tumbling onto the wood flooring. Sam had scoffed at the remark and let the matter drop, but he knew that Dean's reasons for insisting to take the couch, were much more simple and far less selfish.
The couch had a blanket and pillow strewn across it, but no Dean.
Sam opened his mouth, inhaling the oxygen he would require to call out for his big brother, when he heard the trickle of a running tap.
There was a small bathroom attached to the master-bedroom, and Sam rolled his head back across the pillow, to the right side of the room where it was located. By the time he had completed such a simplistic task, the noise had stopped and Dean was approaching him with a cup in one hand and a facecloth in the other.
Sam released a breath he hadn't known he had been holding, at the sight of his big brother. He was incredibly weak and entirely vulnerable, and Dean was his safety, even more than usual. He didn't want him far away, especially not out of sight. Sam didn't want Dean to be anywhere he couldn't get to him, which in his current state, was just a few steps away.
"How you doing, Sammy?" The approaching hunter questioned softly, as though he completely understood just how fragile the younger man was feeling.
Sam twitched a smile, which was about as much of an answer as he could give, without straining himself.
"Here, drink some of this, for me."
Dean always knew just how to word things to get Sam to do them. The teen had no desire for water, especially the metallic tangy shit that came from the taps, that and the effort called for just to swallow, all seemed like too much. But when Dean held the glass up to Sam's lips, the younger man obediently opened his mouth and took a few sips. He drank enough to pacify his older brother, before closing his lips and angling his head away.
Dean huffed, but relented, discarding the cup on the bedside table, before taking the cloth and rubbing it above Sam's upper lip.
The boy propped up on the bed, belatedly realized that his brother was probably cleaning up the blood from the nose bleed he could barely recall occurring. The cloth slid over Sam's lips and around his mouth and chin, prior to traveling up to his cheek and then on to his forehead. Sam wondered how exactly he had managed to get blood all the way up there, his expression must have indicated his confusion.
"Dirt." Dean explained with a simple word.
Sam nodded. The wooded area had been muddy and Sam had been kneeling and laying in it.
"You hurt anywhere?" The older man inquired, voice gruff but still seeping with concern.
Sam tiredly shook his head.
"No." He rasped after a moment, knowing Dean would need to hear the answer before there was any chance of him believing it.
Dean's clinical gaze swept over Sam's body, as he checked for himself. Sam rolled his eyes, his brother had practically changed him, if there had been any other injury, Dean would have seen it.
Dean must have arrived at a similar conclusion, because he didn't ask again. He simply finished wiping the teen's face, flipped the cloth around, and started in on Sam's hands.
The youngest Winchester enjoyed the feel of the warm, damp fabric sliding over his skin.
"Sounds like you're having trouble breathing." Dean observed aloud, glancing between Sam's face and the appendage he was holding.
"Chest feels heavy. Evvrythin' feels heavy." Sam tried to explain, twitching his fingers.
Dean's jaw clenched, as he nodded.
"You tell me if it gets worse, or difficult to breath. If anything changes, Sam, you make sure to tell me. Got it?"
Sam nodded, never one to disregard his big brother's concern, even on occasions when it seemed overbearing.
"Good." Dean declared, retuning his attention to the washcloth he was running over the muddied hand in his grasp.
Sam closed his eyes, sighing softly as his brother turned his hand over and began cleaning the dirt encrusted on Sam's palm and under his fingernails. The treatment was gentle and soothing, so much so that the teen found himself drifting off to sleep, yet again.
Once the came back around, the first thing he was aware of was the raised voices travelling into the room. When he opened his eyes, there still wasn't any light sneaking in behind the blinds over the window. He could tell he hadn't been resting for long, he would have thought he merely blinked, if it wasn't for the fact that he was no longer propped up, but was lying flat on the bed; the blankets had also been pulled over him and Dean was no where to be seen. Sam tried to push down the panic he could feel rising in his weighted chest, at the absence of his older brother. The teen was still weak, and his muscles were trembling as though they had been put through an immense strain. Turning his head toward the open bedroom door – in search of Dean - required more energy than anything so simple ever should.
Sam couldn't see what was going on beyond the walls of the bedroom, and he wasn't able to climb from the bed to find out. All he was capable of doing, in that moment, was listening. Sam kept his head turned in the direction of the hallway, where light was seeping in through the partially open door. He closed his eyes, so he could hone in on the voices drifting in from somewhere else in the small house.
It was an argument, the tones told him as much. One of the voices was hushed, he could tell that it was Dean's. There was venom in his tone, and Sam knew that he was only keeping his voice down as to not disturb his kid brother. The other voice was deeper and more gruff sounding, but louder, it boomed through the space. Sam frowned. Dean and Dad were fighting, which they seldom did. Sam and John went at it all the time, but his older brother and his father rarely fought. They disagreed on occasion, but they almost never raised their voices to one another.
Sam couldn't hear enough to know precisely what was being said, but he heard his name spoken several times. He could hear his dad being defensive, it was a John Winchester tone that Sam was incredibly familiar with. He was only able to make out the older hunter's side of the argument, Dean's voice was too hushed to understand. What Sam pieced together from the fractions of conversation, was that Dean was furious with their father, about the hunt or, more specifically, the ritual. He was pissed that John hadn't known about the effects of the spell and that he rushed the hunt, without taking the time to be sure it was safe. The eldest Winchester was enraged that Dean was questioning him and accusing him of placing his youngest son at risk. Sam's heart ached at the sound of Dean's voice and the conflict between the two people he loved most in the world.
If this was how Dean felt every time Sam and Dad fought, the teen understood why his older brother hated it so much.
He wanted it to stop, but he couldn't get up and go play referee.
Sam sucked in as much air as he could, thankful that the door was partially open, because he didn't think he'd be able to shout loud enough to travel through the wood and down the hall to the kitchen, where he was pretty sure his family was located.
The one thing Sam did have going for him, was Dean's sixth sense.
Sam smirked to himself, ignoring how heavy his chest felt as he sucked in enough oxygen to inject power into his voice.
"Dean."
He was going for a shout, and all he got was a whisper.
Sam huffed in frustration, clearing his throat and inhaling deeply, as he picked his head a few inches up off the pillow
"Dean!" He called out again, letting his heavy noggin fall back.
Sam wasn't sure that he released enough volume. He had only managed to be a fraction louder than he had been the first time. He wanted it to be enough, because the slight exertion had him feeling more exhausted, something he hadn't known was possible. Thankfully, less than a few seconds after he spoke, the sound of arguing came to an immediate stop, and Sam could hear a set of feet rapidly approaching the bedroom.
Sam was relieved to see Dean, but he felt guilty for being the reason behind all the worry lining his big brother's face.
"Sam?" The twenty-year-old called as he rushed to the bed in the far corner of the room.
"Dean." Sam sighed.
"Right here, dude. You alright?" He questioned, his vibrant green gaze sweeping over the room and the teen laid out on the mattress.
It wasn't until that moment that Sam realized he didn't have any specific reason for summoning his brother, besides him wanting to stop the fight…that, and he didn't feel safe without Dean nearby, especially not when he was a complete invalid.
Neither response was one Sam desired to admit to, but he knew one would be sure to keep his big brother nearby without causing any misplaced guilt. Dean was always too hard on himself, and if he knew that his argument with John was the cause of Sam's distress, he would feel unnecessarily guilty. If Sam were to confess his vulnerability and the neediness that backpacked onto it, his ego might take a hit, but Dean wouldn't. It was also the only way the younger man could put an end to the fight between his father and brother, in his current disabled state.
"I'm fine. I just- I couldn't see you."
"I was just in the kitchen, kiddo. I didn't go far." Dean explained, sitting on the mattress next to Sam, one leg up and the other still on the floor.
Sam nodded, because he knew as much.
"I know, but maybe- maybe…" The teen faded off, both because he had to gather more oxygen, and because he was trying to find a way to ask Dean to stay nearby, without coming across as completely pathetic.
"What is it, Sammy?" Dean's voice was nothing but gentle, as he reached forward and slid Sam's bangs out of his eyes.
Sam's desire for dignity crumbled and he dragged his hand across the mattress, until it bumped in to his brother's knee. He gripped on to the older boy's pantleg, which required an immense amount of exertion.
"Maybe you could stay. Please?"
Sam cringed at how childlike he sounded, but he didn't care enough to retract his request. For both Dean's sake and his own, he wanted his big brother to remain with him, and away from John.
The young hunter's expression softened, his green eyes oozing love as he looked down at Sam, his larger hand moving back and forth soothingly across the teen's chest.
"Sure thing, Sammy."
A grateful smile pulled at Sam's lips, as he struggled to keep his eyelids from falling closed.
It was Dean's turn to smile, it looked to be one of amusement.
"You need anything before you pass out on me again?" Dean asked, clearly able to see how exhausted his little brother was.
Sam thought for a moment, suddenly realizing his back was aching in discomfort.
"Help me turn over?" He requested, embarrassed enough to inwardly wince at the question, but not enough to keep him from asking.
"Of course. Right or left?"
"Left." Sam responded, because that was where his big brother would be.
Dean nodded, swiftly reaching around the teen's slim frame and rolling him onto his side.
"Better?" He asked, once he re-situated the pillows, and had Sam settled.
Sam nodded, still gripping Dean's jeans as he yawned.
"Get some sleep, dude." Dean instructed.
Sam wanted to do just that, his body was begging for it, but he didn't want Dean fighting with their father anymore. He didn't want his big brother getting angry or upset, especially not while Sam wasn't able to do anything about it.
"I'm not going anywhere, Sam." Dean declared.
Sam would never cease to be amazed at how well his big brother could read him.
"Promise?" He whispered, fading quickly.
"I promise. I'm not leaving you, Sammy." Dean vowed.
Sam released a content sigh, allowing his eyelids to fall closed, and twitching a smile at the feel of fingers combing through his hair.
The next time Sam woke, it was not as peacefully as all the occasions previous. He was disturbed from his deep, dreamless sleep by the taste of blood in his mouth. Sam scowled at the tangy metallic flavor, and coughed softly as some of it ran down his throat. He coughed again, but more blood invaded his mouth the moment he opened it.
Nosebleed.
Sam tired to sit up, the operative word being 'tried'. He managed to push himself up a little on his elbow, but quickly collapsed back onto the mattress again, gagging as blood proceeded to drip down his esophagus. Sam began to panic.
He needed Dean.
The teen pried his eyes open. The room was dark but he could spot his brother's tall body stretched out on the couch. The good news was, that he had pushed the couch right next to the bed, the bad news was, he was still out of Sam's very limited reach.
"Dean." Sam called out, in between a gag and a cough.
It wasn't much more than a whisper, but it was enough.
Dean was already lying on his right side, turned toward Sam. The younger boy waited for his big brother's eyes to land on him, before making his request.
"Help."
It was the most unnecessary word Sam had ever spoken in his entire life.
The moment the green gaze found him, Dean was already jumping up from the couch and stumbling the couple feet to the bed.
"Sam. It's alright, kiddo. I'm right here. I gotcha." Dean assured, kneeling on the mattress next to his struggling brother, and pulling the slender body up into a vertical position.
Sam's shaking hands came to rest on his brother's forearms, his world spinning from the abrupt displacement. He tried to grip onto the older boy's flannel shirt, his fingers merely jerking in uncoordinated movements, as the strength to control them alluded the injured teen. All of Sam's energy was being expended on the act of gagging up the blood trickling down his throat.
"Dammit." Dean cursed. He moved, grabbing something off the bedside table. Sam realized what it was the moment the facecloth pinched his nose.
He tired to breath through his mouth, which was a difficult task to do while choking on blood.
Dean continued to pinch Sam's nose with one hand, while the other shook off his little brother's unsteady grip and reached for the water.
"Here. Rinse and spit." He said, holding the cup up to Sam's mouth and momentarily releasing his nose.
Sam followed instruction, spitting the bloodied water back in to the glass being held in front of him.
"Better?"
The teen nodded, panting softly as his fumbling fingers reached forward and latched onto his brother's shirt once again.
They stayed like that for some time. Sam slumped back against the headboard, using all his strength to maintain a grip on his Dean's clothing. The man sitting across from him, continued to hold the washcloth to Sam's nose, frowning every few minutes when he would remove it and then reapply it.
"I hate your fucking blood." He growled.
Sam had heard the statement several times before, it didn't surprise him. It had something to do with his blood being thinner and taking longer to clot than his father's and brother's.
Dean's unoccupied hand moved up to cup Sam's jaw, his thumb running along the teen's bottom lip. Sam knew from the scowl on his brother's face, that he was swiping away more blood. Th teen leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and resting his head in Dean's calloused hand, sighing as the energy drained out of him as rapidly as the blood still pouring from his nose.
"I don't like this, Sam." Dean declared, through clenched teeth.
"I'm 'kay." He rasped, cracking his eyes open, hoping that would make his statement more believable.
Dean shook his head, but didn't further discuss the matter.
Sam wanted to erase the lines of concern patterning his older brother's face. Dean was too young to look so old and weary, but he didn't have the energy to do that, not now. All he could do was let Dean take care of him and do his best to get better as quickly as possible. Because the sooner he was better, the sooner Dean would be alright again.
"Finally."
The muttered word, roused Sam from his dazed state of mind.
"Done?" He mumbled.
Dean nodded.
Sam sat compliantly as his brother wiped the remaining blood from his face, for the second time that night, and removed the bloody pillow from the bed, putting another in its place. Once everything was set, Sam was carefully situated to lay on his left side.
Dean stooped down to appear in the teen's line of sight.
"Are you cold?"
Sam had to think about the question. He felt weighed down and depleted, he wasn't certain of anything else.
"Not sure." He rasped.
"You're shaking." Dean announced, his voice gruff as he tugged the blankets up over Sam's trembling form.
"It's my muscles. Won't stop quiverin'. Feels like I climbed a mount'n…with the 'pala on my back." Sam slurred, inwardly cursing as his eyelids began drooping closed once again.
Dean snorted, the comment doing what the teen hoped it would, and providing some levity to the present situation.
"Just go back to sleep. That godamn ritual took everything out of you. You need lots of rest."
Sam felt the mattress shift, and as Dean's shirt was nearly tugged from the teen's right hand, he worried that his brother was moving away. Sam's eyes flew back open, and he forced his weak grasp to strengthen, attempting to prevent Dean from leaving.
"Sammy?" Dean questioned, ducking back into his little brother's view.
The hunter must have noticed the fingers tightening their grip of his flannel sleeve.
"Stay?" Sam pleaded softly, not caring that he sounded like an emotional four-year-old.
Dean smiled kindly, the way he always did, back when Sam was a little kid.
"I told you, I'm not going anywhere. I'm just right over here, on the couch." He explained, nodding to the sofa behind him.
Sam knew that, and it wasn't what he meant.
He didn't know how to word what he wanted, and he didn't have the energy to determine the best way to ask for what he needed.
He just wanted his big brother within reaching distance.
Not being able to move and having to work just to speak, had Sam feeling impossibly useless and severely vulnerable.
His degree of helplessness frightened him.
It made him feel broken.
And Dean was the only person who would be able to make him feel safe.
His big brother was the only one who could make Sam whole again.
And while the teen knew that his brother would not abandon him, this was one situation where knowing just wasn't enough.
He needed to hear his brother breathing next to him.
He needed to smell the familiar scent of home.
He needed to feel Dean by his side.
Sam, of course, did not presently possess the strength or the eloquence to put all of that into words. So, he had to go the simpler route, and trust his brother's ability to read him.
"Stay?" Sam repeated, sounding even more desperate than the first time, and tugging weakly at Dean's shirt.
The older man gave him a curious look, that made Sam almost positive that Dean thought he was too tired to comprehend the situation, but then understanding filtered into his brother's expression.
"Stay?" Sam requested again, tugging once more. His energy was fading fast, his vision blurring as he struggled to fend off the all-consuming exhaustion.
"Sure, Sammy. I'll stay." Dean announced in a gruff whisper, his voice cracking just a little as he reached back, snatching his pillow and blanket off the couch, before climbing fully onto the mattress next to Sam.
The teen watched as his brother slid down next to him, his eyes filling with moisture as love for Dean overwhelmed his soul.
"Hey, now. None of that. You're okay, Sammy. I'm right here. I'm going to take care of you." Dean professed, knuckling away the two tears that had escaped Sam's eyes and were trailing down his cheeks.
Sam's fingers twitched around the sleeve they still had balled up in their feeble, yet, unrelenting grip. Dean moved his arm closer in response, allowing Sam to sluggishly tug it nearer to his weakened body, until the older man's arm was tucked up against the teen's chest.
"Thanks." Sam whispered. Sending his brother one more grateful look, before losing the fight to keep his eyelids from falling.
"I'm not leaving you, Sammy. Not ever."
The faint big brother promise was all Sam needed to be able to surrender to sleep.
It was all he needed to quiet the terror and helplessness inside of him.
It was all he needed to feel safe and secure.
It was all he needed to be whole again.
It was all he needed to be okay.
It was all he needed to survive.
It was all he had ever needed.
And all he would ever need.
For the rest of his life.
Note: There will be a 2nd chapter to this fic, I am in the midst of writing it now. I would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far! It would motivate me to finish off the second half! :) If you have questions about this fic or any of my other ones, feel free to private message me on here or on my tumblr (link is in my profile). If you ask questions in the comments I don't often remember to answer them, just because I usually lose track of them before I get the chance. Thank you so much for reading! I am off to get a few hours of sleep before work. - Sam