Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Supernatural or any related characters or elements. It all belongs to Mr. Eric Kripke!
"Dean, I don't think I can—"
"C'mon, Sammy!" Dean urged his thirteen-year-old little brother. "We're wastin' daylight here!"
Sam looked at the wound, a nasty gash that ran diagonally across his older brother's chest. "I've never stitched anyone up before," He muttered nervously. "What if I screw up?"
Dean rolled his eyes. Under any other circumstances, he would've sewn it up himself, but considering his right arm was in a makeshift sling at the moment, Sam was going to have to grow a pair and get it over with. "Just remember what Dad taught you," He reminded him. "I'll talk you through it, okay?"
The younger Winchester slowly nodded his head, still unconvinced. "I'll try," He agreed, steeling himself for the grotesque process ahead of him.
"Alright, you have to wash it out with alcohol first," Dean told him. "You know where Dad keeps it?"
Sam nodded and obediently ran to the bathroom cupboard to fetch the first aid kit. He quickly checked to make sure everything he needed was there. Dad didn't always let them know when he had to "borrow" equipment for a hunt, but luckily, they had all the necessities handy. He brought the collection of supplies back to his brother's bedside and began to dampen a washcloth with the alcohol, but Dean stopped him and took the bottle from his hands.
"Don't bother cuttin' any corners. You just gotta pour it right on there," He told him. He bit down on his lower lip, bracing himself for the pain and splashed the strong liquid onto the wound. It stung like hell, but he managed to endure it silently, trying to keep a straight face for his little brother. Once the initial burn started to fade away, he met Sam's worried gaze. "See? Piece of cake!" He insisted, trying to calm his brother's nerves.
Sam wasn't entirely reassured, but he tried not to dwell on the preliminaries. Now came the hard part. He reached for the needle, thread, and sutures with a shaking hand, trying to recall the procedure he'd practiced alongside Dad with an untrimmed pork loin. Although he remembered the steps, he couldn't help but wish that his father was here, but he was still caught up in tracking down the werewolf that had attacked (and nearly bitten) his eldest son. Knowing John Winchester, he wouldn't be back for a full day, at the very least. And that was if they were lucky!
Once he had somewhat managed to compose himself, Sam held the needle to the edge of Dean's ripped skin. He took one more deep breath and pushed the needle through with gradual force. He tried not to catch sight of Dean's face, but he noticed his brother wince slightly, his fingernails digging into his palms of his hands. Instinctively, Sam began to panic. "Am I doing something wrong?!" He exclaimed, silently berating himself for causing his brother pain.
Dean gave his brother a tight-lipped smile. "You're doin' just fine, kiddo," He assured him. "Really, I promise."
Sam let out a gust of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding and slowly continued sewing the mutilated skin back together. Soon enough, he began to feel a little more at ease with the task. Dean was less tense and relaxing by now, so Sam subconsciously fell into a steady rhythm of threading and pulling, threading and pulling, checking on Dean, and threading and pulling some more. In no time at all, he reached the end of the laceration, just above Dean's abdominals. The sutures had ended up being a little bit crooked, but nevertheless, Sam had managed to get the job done.
Dean examined the stitches carefully and grinned at his 'not-so-little' little brother. "You did a good job, Sammy," He told him. "I'm not even bleeding to death!"
Sam exchanged a timid smile of his own, his excess nervous energy still swirling around inside him. "I'm stronger than I look, you know," He insisted, trying to cover up any sign of his previous reluctance, but as he repeated the words in over in his head, his cheeks began to burn a bright red. He sounded like an idiot, not to mention the falsities that laid behind that statement.
Dean took no notice and smiled warmly at his brother in return. "I know that, Sam. Never doubted ya for a moment," He said reassuringly.
Sam, relieved that his help was appreciated, climbed up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged beside Dean. "Don't you dare do that ever again," He warned him.
"Do what, Sammy?" Dean asked, being met with his younger brother's famous bitchface.
"It's Sam!" The thirteen-year-old insisted with a glare. "And don't try to take on these things singlehandedly anymore. That werewolf could've killed you!"
"But it didn't—"
"That's not the point!" Sam exclaimed. "The point is… if it had been worse than this, I might not have been able to take care of you. And that terrifies me, Dean! What if I had to watch you die tonight?!"
Dean watched, shocked, as his brother went on the verge of tears. However, as soon as he began to notice, he quickly wiped at his eyes with his bloodstained sleeve. He was silent for a moment before he continued on his rant. "You shouldn't trust me so much, Dean. I'm not like you or Dad," He murmured in a small, broken voice. "I'm not a spectacular hunter, and if worst came to worst, I wouldn't have been able to save you. We both know that's true!"
Dean couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Sam could do things that no other thirteen-year-old would even dream of, and he was doubting himself?! The kid was ten times smarter than he was and just as skilled with weapons. He was brilliant. "Sam, listen to me," Dean spoke firmly. "You're a damn good hunter. Dad and I've just had us a bit more practice, that's all," He rationalized. "And I'd trust you taking care of me any day! Hell, with your IQ, you could be a freakin' doctor!"
As his words coaxed a small hint of a smile out of Sam, he leaned over to give him a pat on the back. "Things are gonna be just fine, you'll see," He assured him. "You're my brother, and we're gonna get through this together."
Finally, Sam began to realize the truth in Dean's words. The injuries, the trauma… this life in general. It was all worth it to have his brother always at his side. Ignoring the complete and utter sappiness of it all, he leaned his forehead against Dean's shoulder, letting a couple stray tears soak into the fabric of his t-shirt.
At that moment, Dean couldn't bring himself to care about their 'no chick-flick moments' rule. Right now, his brother needed him, and he wasn't going to deny him the comfort. He slung his good arm around Sam's shoulders and pulled him closer, letting him cry it out. "It's alright, Sammy. It's okay."
As the minutes dragged on silently, Dean realized that he would never forget this moment, as long as he lived. It was the moment that little Sammy, the baby of the family, became the man, Samuel Winchester. Dean had never been prouder of his baby brother. But it was then that he realized Sam wasn't much of a baby anymore…
He was a hunter.
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All reviewers get a virtual cookie and a Dean Winchester hug!