"What say we grab some take out and check out what's on Netflix once we're back?" Dean kept his eyes on the road, only glancing over to his brother when he didn't get a response. The younger Winchester was sound asleep, his head rested on the window, breaths slow and steady. Dean couldn't help but smile. Finally Sam was getting some rest after the time he'd had. He'd told him to catch up on some Zs the moment they started the journey back home, but Sam was stubborn, insisting he was fine. He must have dropped off just after they stopped for gas.
"Here he is," Dean smirked as Sam woke, shifting around in his seat and looking out at the road, a little bleary eyed, "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty."
"I didn't sleep that long," Sam muttered, "I said I'm fine."
"I beg to differ, Samuel," Dean raised an eyebrow, "You went off to dreamland three hours back."
"Three hours?" Sam frowned, "Well, it felt like less."
"Need I remind you, you were shot? And not only that, you managed to kill three werewolves and drive to come find me in the process of bleeding out? The blood came out of the seat, thank god. But damn, is it really that embarrassing that you might need a nap after all that?" Dean gave his brother a concerned look.
"We've been through worse," Sam shrugged, running his hands through his hair.
"Well, whatever. Point is, you were damn awesome out there and you deserve a break. Wanna get some food and binge watch Gilmore Girls or whatever it is you watch?"
Sam rolled his eyes, "We don't have time, Dean. Bigger fish. There are more important things than finding out who Rory ends up with."
"So you do watch it. Knew it," Dean grinned, "Don't tell me you have the hots for her."
"Dean, I'm serious," Sam let out an exasperated sigh, "We have Amara, Lucifer, crap that's pretty urgent. We can't just…"
"You listen here, Sam Winchester. You are getting a break. You are going to rest and recover until I say it's okay for you to get back to work," Dean said firmly.
"But…"
"No buts. I'm your big brother, you do what I tell you. The second we get back, you're going to bed," Dean was enjoying his superiority a little too much.
Sam sighed in defeat, he didn't have the energy to argue. He was too proud to admit how truly exhausted he was. He could feel himself falling asleep even then. His stitches hurt, he felt nauseous, he was still a little lightheaded from the bloodloss. Sam wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week, but there were more important matters at hand. There was no time for resting.
The Winchesters arrived back at the bunker, and Sam went to get himself a coffee so he could start on some research.
"Don't even think about it," Dean steered his brother away from the coffee machine, instead getting him a glass of water and taking him to his room, "Get some rest, don't make me lock you in this damn room."
"Dean," Sam took the glass of water and put it on the bedside table.
"Jammies," Dean retrieved them from under his brother's pillows, "Netflix, I'll bring you somethin' to eat if you want. Anything else? Bedtime story, maybe? Help wiping your ass?"
"No! I'm fine. Dean, please. Reading in the library isn't exactly gonna pop my stitches," Sam tried his best to persuade him.
"Sleep first. You look like crap, beauty sleep is long overdue," Dean patted his brother's shoulder and went to leave the room, "Sweet dreams."
Sam rolled his eyes, "Jerk."
"Bitch!" Dean called down the corridor, a triumphant smile on his face.
Dean started making dinner for himself and Sam, for once completely from scratch. Often he didn't bother making anything besides heating up meals in the microwave, but he figured Sam should have something homemade and at least a little nutritious while he was on the mend. He couldn't shake the weight of how it had felt, looking at his brother and believing him to be dead. He hadn't known what to do with himself. He was going to help those people – although he really regretted giving any help to the man that tried to kill Sam – but then what? He hadn't planned what to do after that. Sam got lucky, damn lucky, and Dean was so grateful. Without his brother, would there be any hope in killing Amara?
Leaving the food to cook, Dean went to go check on Sam, only to find him almost falling asleep onto a lore book in the library. His head was bowed, close to dozing off, startling himself when his nose touched the page. Sam jolted, stretching on his wound and making him wince.
"What did I tell you?" Dean folded his arms, "Bed."
"Dean, c'mon," Sam gave him a dose of puppy dog eyes.
"Nope. You're falling asleep. Those anti-biotics knock you right out. Sleep it off, champ," Dean followed him back to his room, just to ensure he went, "You've earned it."
Once the meal was ready, a meal Dean was very proud of, he went to check on Sam to see if he was awake. Making lasagne had taken longer than expected after Dean burned the first batch, leaving him to start over. Unsurprisingly, he found Sam asleep, on top of the covers, in his clothes, a book in his hand and several others all over the bed.
"For crying out loud," Dean muttered, gathering the heavy lore books, "Well, at least it's research, not porn."
He put all the books away and boxed up the lasagne to reheat once Sam was awake, instead polishing off a large bag of potato chips to tide him over. He took a blanket from one of the other bedrooms and laid it over his brother carefully so he wouldn't wake.
"What am I, your nanny?" Dean said to himself, his voice softening, "Get some rest, Sammy."
Sam slept for almost a solid twelve hours and still felt exhausted. Just as he got up to make himself breakfast, as if on cue Dean strode into the room with a tray of food.
"Don't get used to it. Only because you're on down time," Dean smirked, putting the tray on his bedside table.
"Thanks," Sam rubbed his eyes, "Where are my meds?"
"Exactly where you left 'em," Dean chuckled, "Today is a research free day, Sam. Take it easy."
"We don't have time to be…"
"I'm sure a day wouldn't hurt. What happened to you, Sammy? You used to love sick days. Milk 'em for all they're worth," the older Winchester chuckled.
"I was what, seven? When my worst nightmare was a monster under the bed?" Sam smirked.
"Yeah, well. Still a monster, just too big to fit under even your bed," Dean forcefully sat Sam down, "I'll do enough research today for the both of us."
"I can't sit around all day," Sam groaned.
"Sure you can. Put some Netflix on, for gods sake, make the most of some time off. Not gonna let you off this often."
Sam picked up his breakfast tray, "Fine."
"Don't forget your jammies," Dean grinned at his little brother, "You were too sleepy to put 'em on last night, it seems."
"Of course," the younger Winchester rolled his eyes, waiting until Dean left him alone before beginning on breakfast. He took a shower, feeling a little gross after travelling a long way, and sleeping in his clothes. It made his wound sting a little, but he felt much better for doing it. Refreshed and feeling a little more awake, Sam changed into his pyjamas to humour Dean before going back to bed. He picked up the Game of Thrones book he'd been reading from the bedside table, he wasn't sure how long ago it had been since he'd last put it down. He just hadn't had time, he had more important things to be reading and doing. Considering Dean had him on lockdown, and would probably end up locking him in his room if he went to research again, he decided it was a better time than any to get some reading time in.
Dean brought his reheated, homemade lasagne in for his brother and found him dozing off, his antibiotics making him drowsy.
"Hey, sleepyhead," Dean chuckled, putting the tray down and shaking his shoulder gently. Sam startled awake, arms flailing a little before gaining his bearings. Dean caught his arms and lowered them carefully, "Woah there. Best not pop those stitches, huh?"
"Sorry," Sam mumbled, yawning and looking at the plate of food, "That mine?"
"Yeah, figured you'd need some refuellin'," Dean patted his shoulder.
"You made it?"
"Tha's right. Homemade by yours truly," Dean grinned, "So apologies if it sucks."
"Looks great," Sam smirked as his brother handed him the tray, "You gonna watch me eat or?"
"Well yeah. Gotta make sure it passes the fussy eater test," Dean shrugged. Rolling his eyes, Sam tried a forkful of his meal, raising his eyebrows slightly.
"Wow," the younger Winchester said with his mouthful, "Not half bad."
"Not half bad? Don't sugar coat it, Sammy," Dean chuckled, "I'd say it was damn awesome."
Sam couldn't help but smile, "How's research?"
"Slow. As usual. But managing. Don't you worry yourself, I got it covered," Dean patted his shoulder, gesturing toward the book on Sam's pillow, "Any good?"
"Yeah, actually. Kinda makes a nice change," Sam nodded, "Seems kinda redundant though, y'know?"
"Care to elaborate?"
"Reading fiction. It's great, it is, but, y'know…there's a bigger picture. The world could be on the brink of being destroyed, and I'm sitting here reading?" Sam shrugged, "I don't know, just seems kinda pointless."
"Well, alright, Mr Downer," Dean raised an eyebrow, "Eat up, and…carry on reading. Or not."
Sam leaned back on the bedframe and finished his meal, leaving the half-full plate on the bedside table. He didn't have much of an appetite. He picked up his book, but after reading a couple pages he put it back down again. He didn't see the point.
Dean checked back in on Sam later to find him just sat there, lost in his own thoughts and clearly fighting sleep.
"What's up with you?" Dean came into the room, sitting on the bed. Sam shrugged.
"Was just thinking how fucked up everything is, y'know?" he muttered, "Remember that time our biggest worry was just finding one demon?"
"The good ol' days," Dean smirked, "Damn, things were much simpler back then."
"Back before I screwed everything up," Sam mumbled to himself, but of course Dean heard him.
"Hey. It's in the past. You thought you were doing the right thing. S'alright," the older Winchester patted his shoulder, "Still a hero to me, Sammy."
Sam shrugged, "You would say that."
"Alright, enough with the grumps. I'll get us some beers, order in a pizza."
"What? Why?"
"Why not? We're taking the night off, both of us. Find something on Netflix, for god's sake. It's painful seeing you this damn miserable," Dean raised an eyebrow, "Go on. Find something good."
The brothers ended up watching some dumb movie they'd watched back when they were kids, on the couch in Sam's room. To Sam's dismay, Dean insisted he took his blankets with him.
"You're sick, you need blankets," Dean deducted, "C'mon now."
"I'm also not five years old," Sam narrowed his eyes, "I'm sure I'll survive without some blankets."
"Nope. I fear the cold will take you," Dean said sarcastically, throwing the blankets over his brother on the couch, "There. Much better."
They watched the movie, Sam not really concentrating but acting at least a little interested to keep Dean quiet. Slowly, however, he began to fall asleep. Even after a day of doing nothing, Sam was tuckered. He accidentally ended up with his head rested on Dean's shoulder, hair falling over his face as his breaths turned slow and even. Dean looked at him with a confused expression, but upon realising he was asleep just smiled. He didn't dare move him, not wishing to disturb him, so instead he put his arm around his little brother, patting his back gently.
"I gotcha, little brother."