Two-shot:

Starts out with a bit of humor, but descends into full blown angst pretty soon.

Warnings:

Sam being far sexier than he ought to be allowed, lots of vomiting, a Ruby flashback that might be PG will probably end up being PG-13, self-harm implied, tons of angst and maybe some manly tears. Also a pretty brutal, but undetailed, kill in the beginning.

Disclaimer:

I OWN NOTHING. Erik Kripke and all that, you know how it is.

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Dean had known that his brother had bulked up quite a bit over the last year spent as a soulless maniac screwing his way across the states, but this- this was just ridiculous. Sam was like... like, freaking Wolverine or something.

Dean was sprawled flat on his back in the mud, trying to decide if his knee was just wrenched, or possibly completely gone, but he managed to lurch himself sort of upright to squint through the freezing, driving rain to see how his brother was coming along. He spotted him just in time to watch as Sam surged up from where he'd fallen, jaw set hard and eyes glittering, to practically pick the shifter completely up and body slam it to the rain slicked ground. His hair, darkened almost black from the wet, hung dripping in his face as he dropped with the shifter and drove a knee into it's chest. Big hands gripped either side of its head and in one swift movement that sent muscles rippling all up through his arms and into his broad back he gave a twist, easily snapping its neck. Without missing a beat, Sam reached back, pulled his handgun from the back of his soaked jeans and fired a silver bullet point-blank into the still twitching shifter's heart.

He stayed there for a minute then, staring into the face he wondered if he should recognize, panting only slightly. Dean tried to clamber to his feet, but the movement made his vision go gray, so he just sat back down in the mud, still watching Sam. He could only see the bottom half of his face, as the rest was obscured by dark hair, and Sam's mouth was deathly pale, lips parted slightly as though he were saying something.

"Sam!" Ah... dammit. He hadn't meant to sound like that, worry and pain laced in his voice, but it snapped Sam out of his little "moment" pretty well. His head came up and as soon as the hair was flung back from his face and he got a good look at Dean the puppy eyes were back, just like that. He shoved up from the ground, almost tripping over the dead shifter's feet in his haste, and covered the distance between them, skidding to his knees beside Dean.

"Dean, y'alright?" His voice was quiet, obviously shaken, but with an underlying note of relief. Dean clenched his teeth against a slight wave of pain-induced nausea, looked up at Sam- and started laughing.

He didn't feel like laughing, what with a busted leg and a brother's mind going postal, but he just couldn't help it. Sam still had his pistol gripped in his hand and there was a cut on his jaw that was slowly oozing blood down the side of his neck, but all Dean could do was laugh. He knew that would just make Sam freak out, but it was just- well... his brother was a beast, plain and simple.

His jeans were soaked through, the dark denim clinging to his lean thighs, and his t-shirt had become like a second skin, sticking to his heaving chest and fitted to every muscle contour. The gun was hastily replaced, and corded arms reached out to keep Dean from face-planting, but the big hand spread across his chest only made Dean laugh harder. "Sorry," he finally managed to gasp out. "M'fine."

Sam didn't answer, just started feeling Dean over for injuries, taking special note of the cold hand gripping the knee. When Sam moved to face him, Dean let himself slump forward, his face coming to land against a sharp collarbone.

"'Hunter's Weekly,'" he giggled into Sam's freezing skin. "'Sam Winchester, sex symbol of the year.'"

"What?" Strong hands gripped his shoulders tight and levered him upright, and he found himself looking into Sam's concerned face as several pained gasps broke forth. Sam's eyes flickered back and forth between his own, blinking rain from his eyelashes where it tended to stick, making the lashes cling together in perfect, dark, star-points.

"- concussion," he was saying. "You've got a concussion, you idiot."

"I'm not an idiot," Dean pointed out, feeling his head grow heavy and start to dip down again.

"You look really pale." Sam was starting to stammer, and Dean found himself really wishing he could pull it together a little more. "Are you gonna be sick? We need to get out of the rain. Tell me if you're going to be sick."

Dean tucked his chin against his chest and tried to breathe. "I'm-" he gagged. "Not gonna be sick."

The hands on his arms jostled him a little then, which proved to be a mistake, and also proved him very wrong. He would have warned Sam, really, and was actually opening his mouth to do just that when apparently his stomach decided it didn't want to stay inside him anymore, thanks very much.

Sam jerked back violently, but still managed to keep Dean upright as he retched and pretty much projectile vomited all over the both of them. "Oh... god," he moaned, feeling both rain and vomit trickle down his neck. "I did not-" know that was gonna happen, he was going to say, but obviously his body had other ideas as he shuddered and threw up again, this time aiming a bit lower and decorating the front of Sam's jeans from waist to knees. God, that was just mean, but he was too busy breathing to apologize.

Sam's fingers were pressing into his arms hard enough to leave bruises, and only then did Dean realize his brother was starting to panic. "Don't you be sick too," he choked out raggedly.

"I'm not," Sam whispered, his voice shaking. "I just, I- I need you to tell me-" He was almost hyperventilating now, his hands trembling. "Tell me that's not blood. Please."

Oh god, he was begging now.

Dean swallowed hard, bile burning his throat, and forced his eyes open. He shut them again quickly. Uh, yeah. That was definitely nothing but puke. Everywhere. If Sam thought it was blood no wonder the guy was freaked.

"No blood," he muttered, reaching up to latch onto Sam's arm.

"You checked?" Sam was catching his breath, but his eyes were still pinched shut, face drawn.

"I checked," Dean answered, digging his blunt fingernails into the soft skin on the inside of Sam's wrist and leaving small, crescent shaped marks.

Sam gasped then and relaxed a little. "Okay," he said, more to himself than Dean. "Okay, let's go then."

"But-"

"No," Sam cut him off. "The body can wait. You've got a concussion and a messed up leg. We're going straight back to Bobby's." Even though just saying the man's name brought back that crushing guilt.

"What - 'bout you?" Dean asked as Sam struggled to pull them both to their feet.

"What about me?" He answered automatically, taking on almost all of Dean's weight as his leg gave out under him.

The flash of pain made Dean gag again, and through the gasping he managed to get out, "You're... cold."

Sam almost could have laughed as he half-dragged Dean through the freezing rain and mud, but Dean was wrecked, and the movement out of the corner of his eye was making him uneasy.

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Once Dean was settled in the passenger seat, his vision finally stopped going all spotty and he could breathe easier. His knee still hurt like a bitch, and the throwing up had given him a killer headache, but at least he felt a little more aware now. He kept his mouth shut and his head still, but watched Sam as he rounded the front of the Impala and settled himself on the blanket he had spread over the bench seat. Dean would have to thank him for that later.

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And halfway back to Bobby's he found himself even more thankful. Sam was driving carefully, really, but he was also jumpy and in a hurry, and just wasn't quick enough to slow down going over the bump in the road dividing gravel and asphalt. The lurch made the back of Dean's head erupt into throbbing, and before he even knew it was going to happen he was curling over and vomiting again. At this point it was nothing more than slimy spit and stomach acid, but still.

He had just thrown up, in his car, all over his lap. He was sure Sam would forgive him the involuntary tears of pain that managed to escape from under his eyelashes, because his miserable state far out-weighed his pride this time. He sniffed and shivered, feeling his injured leg start to tremble, and only then realized that Sam had pulled off the road and was reaching over to gently wrap one of his huge hands around the back of Dean's neck.

Dean hunched over more and clenched his teeth tightly. He was not going to cry. He just wasn't.

Sam just dropped another blanket on top of him and used a corner of it to briskly wipe the rain, vomit, and now tears off his pale face, his long, cold fingers burying themselves slightly in the short, soft hairs on the back of Dean's head.

"It's okay," he murmured, the low tones of his voice mingling with the growl of the engine, and if the circumstances had been any different Dean would have been pissed about Sam taking over his role. "You'll be fine," Sam continued softly, retreating to his side of the car and turning them back onto the road. "I'll get you back to Bobby's and then we can get you fixed up."

Dean accidentally let out a tiny sound that might have been a whimper, and Sam was quick to respond. "And cleaned up," he promised, knowing his brother's pride must be taking quite a beating. "It's gonna be okay."

Dean nodded, even though he knew Sam couldn't see. It would be okay.

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So this is going to just be a little two-shot. I started it with just the intention of getting Sam really cold and making Dean have to get him warm again, but it kind of morphed into me taking it out of both the boys ;) What can I say, I'm a sucker for whumpage!

Up next: Robo-Sam never seemed to get cold. He was all business, all the time; no time for things like being cold or an arm out of socket. Sometimes it was almost as though normal things like the weather and pain hardly seemed to affect him. Sammy, however, was definitely affected by being out in the freezing rain with only one layer of clothes to protect him from the elements. It was as if his body was betraying him, operating on a level of Robo-Sam inspired carelessness.

... and so shall we segue into the switch from Sam taking care of Dean to Dean taking care of Sam. If nothing else at least the guys seem pretty good at taking turns ;)