"I know we're against doctors visits," Dean began, eyeing his brother who was holding a bag of ice to his cheek. "But I think you seriously need to see a dentist."

Sam groaned and pressed the bag to his face even harder. The cold did little to help the pain and he was about to give in to an actual dentist visit. With a little encouragement in the form of Dean eating carrots, chips, and everything crunchy, Sam agreed. It was time to make an appointment.

"I'm in my twenties," Sam grumbled between sips of water. "And now I need my wisdom teeth out? We can't catch a break."

Dean watched him from the kitchen of their motel room. He was on the phone, scheduling an appointment for Sam's wisdom tooth removal. He found it all to be pretty funny with Sam acting like a child about it. He personally never had his teeth out, he was one of the lucky few whose wisdom teeth fit in his mouth perfectly alongside the others.

Not Sam. Poor little baby Sammy's teething again and incredibly cranky.

Dean held back a snarky comment and spoke into his phone. "Alright, Friday morning at eight. Thank you." He turned his attention back to Sam. "Surgery on Friday, sunshine. Remember that tasty mouthwash the dentist gave you."

Sam glared at the green bottle on the table. He already had a taste of that antibacterial poison. "I may be getting my teeth out but you have to take care of me," he reminded Dean. "You're my bitch—DAMN IT!"

He learned not to talk so much when he had new teeth breaking through his gums.

Dean eagerly woke Sam up the morning of the surgery. He was excited to see his bitchy brother all drugged up in a few hours. Sam just groaned and rolled out of bed with a hand on his cheek. Dean picked up a pillow and blanket and called to Sam that he would be in the car.

Sam didn't bother changing out of his pajamas, having been told to dress comfortably. He gagged at the disgusting taste of the mouthwash on his tongue before he finished up and met Dean at the car.

The drive was silent and, honestly, Sam was nervous. There had to be a demon or some kind of monster at the oral surgeon's office. There had to, they don't ever have it easy. When they arrived they checked in and Sam's nerves got worse and worse until he heard his name called.

"Sam Wesson," a nurse said. He got one last reassuring look from Dean before following the woman through the door, a hall, and into The Room. The giant chair in the middle was unnerving but the tray of sharp, metal instruments… he was terrified. If a ghost was here he was fucked.

"Go ahead and sit down," a different woman said. He nodded, voice lost, and sat in the menacing chair. The arm restraints did nothing to quell his fear.

He was given the IV and waited anxiously for something to happen. Anything. He was getting worried the drugs weren't working now. He didn't feel anything! No weird head space, no numbness, no—

Dean's face slowly came into view of the hazy world. The elder brother smiled and said something Sam couldn't register.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Time to go."

Sam groaned and began to feel the cotton in his cheeks. When did he get here? He was in the surgery-chair-room just a second ago and now… he's on a bed? Is that the nurse from before?

The woman told Dean to bring the car around the back and she would walk Sam out. Sam didn't understand why he needed help or for the car to even be closer—they got a parking space in the front—then he started to get it. The nurse helped him stand, which he barely remembered, and began to guide him through the same white halls as before.

He was drowsy and felt like he was asleep on his feet. Every step was like he was just learning to walk. Suddenly he was being guided into the backseat of the Impala and someone—Dean?—was guiding his head to the pillow as he laid down. The blanket found its way over his shoulders.

The next thing he remembered was getting back out of the car and being led, again, but this time into the motel and his bed. Dean slipped Sam's shoes off and got the blankets up and over Sam's limp body.

"D'n," he mumbled, eyes cracked open. "I th-k th' n… n's wassa vamper."

"I have no idea what you're trying to say," Dean laughed. "Vamper? You mean vampire?"

Sam snuggled his pillows. "Come'ere," he asked. "Snuggle time."

Dean did a double-take at his very drugged brother. "You're not four anymore! Men do not snuggle!"

"Brush my hair," Sam groaned. "I'm a c'pple, be nice."

"You're not crippled, Sammy."

Sam whined and managed to open his eyes enough to give The Puppy Dog Look and finally win over everything his stoned mind wanted. Dean prayed Sam wouldn't remember this and sat close to his brother, gently working his fingers through his long hair.

"D'n… Lull'bye."

"Absolutely not."

Poor little Sammy. His cheeks looked like he had meatballs stashed in there and he was already drooling. Dean figured he wouldn't even remember his recovery time after the surgery… which was, like, half-an-hour. Thirty or so minutes of just Sam laying on that weird bed and nodding in and out while that nurse lady came to check in.

Dean looked over his brother one last time before determining he'd be asleep for a while and it was safe to leave him alone to fill his prescription and get him food he could eat.

When Sam woke up he was fairly confused. It was like he never even left the motel room that day. His only proof that it all wasn't some weird, hazy dream was the cotton he felt between his teeth.

Dean looked up from the TV and approached Sam to tousle his hair. "Think you're up to eating anything yet?"

Sam shook his head.

"At least drink something." Dean got a water bottle from the floor and handed it to Sam as well as a bottle of white pills. "And take two of these."

Sam gave a forced smile and took the pain relievers and water. His mouth didn't hurt at all, oddly enough. Dean assured him it was the pain medicine from before but Sam was amazed he wasn't dying right now.

After his drink he made a disgusted face and Dean took the hint to find the replacement gauze. Sam said he could do it himself but Dean wouldn't have it. Dean grabbed two thin squares of gauze and folded them up. Sam spit his old gauze out, now formed to look like chewed gum tinted red and pink. He could feel the stitches in his mouth. He'd have to try to ignore touching those.

The gauze was replaced and he was resting in bed again. Dean hovered over him, asking this and that, smothering Sam.

By nighttime Sam was struggling to sleep for the first time all day. Despite the pills and the gauze to bite, he felt a deeper ache in his gum.

"Dean," he groaned, voice muffled by how far his face was pressed into the pillow. "Dean, hurts."

"You can't have any more pills for another five hours," Dean said. Sam groaned again and Dean searched out the heating pad he had bought with the groceries. He made his brother sit up and placed the warming pad over the pillow.

Sam put his head back down and felt the warmth of the pad under his cheek. If he pressed it just right it made the pain stop. He mumbled contently and eventually fell asleep. Dean kept his eye on him for a while after that. He had to make sure he took good care of his baby brother.

Poor, cranky, teething Sammy.

A/N: Based on a true story.