These and the 80 more or so that will follow, were written as a birthday gift for a very good friend, Jackfan2. Knowing her love -obsession- for all things hurt and comfort, I went looking for those little moments in each of the episodes that have aired so far. Beware, season 6 is also a part of this series. Enjoy!
PILOT
The body in his arms trembles like a high-intensity power line, sizzling from within with nervous energy and grief that can barely be contained by skin. They both know it was too late, but Dean's more than aware that the rush to go back into that house and rescue Jess from the flames won't go away until long after the embers have gone cold.
The acrid smell of melting plastic and flesh is all they can smell and Dean pretends not to notice when the nervous energy turns into tears. And he holds on tighter.
WENDIGO
It takes five beers and half a pie to bring Dean down from the high of killing a Wendigo and finally allow Sam to tend to his broken ribs.
Sam's mind should be on the search for their father and on the hunt for the thing that killed Jess; instead, he's wondering what caused the seven inches long scar on Dean's back, right above his right kidney. Sam pulls the wraps tighter around his brother's chest and can't help but wonder who was there to keep Dean's body whole while he was away.
DEAD IN THE WATER
"Achoo-umph!" *sniff* "Zis is stowpid," Dean manages to say before another sneezing fit attacks.
"No," Sam says, looking at the plate in his hands. "It's tomato rice soup."
"But I'm nof – AchooUMPH!- sick," Dean counters with what was, mostly, not-a-pout.
"I know you ain't… this is not medicine," Sam said. "Now, eat your soup."
PHANTOM TRAVELER
"You okay?"
"Yeah… I'm fine. It was just a dream."
"So… those are not-tears in your face?"
"You're seeing things. Get a shrink."
"And that was you not-screaming Jess's name in your sleep?"
"Hearing too… this might be something serious."
"Yeah, yeah… first signs of madness in the already deranged."
"Exac—hey! What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm not-hugging you. Now, shuddup and go back to sleep, Sasquatch."
BLOODY MARY
"I let mom die."
"What?"
"That night, of the fire in our house… I saw a strange man walk right by my bedroom door, into your room. And I..."
"So that was why your eyes bled," Sam stated, remembering that he hadn't been the only one Bloody Mary's attack. "You were four, Dean. What could you have possibly done?"
"I could've warned mom… I could've warned dad. Instead, I just hid under my bed covers."
"And had you done any different, things might've just ended up the same… or worse. Some things are just not in our power to change… no matter how guilty we feel about them."
"Funny…"
"What?"
"The way you keep telling others the truths you're too stubborn to accept for yourself."
"I hate you."
"Yeah… I know you do. Bitch."
"Jerk."
SKIN
Dean is silent as he hands the bag of frozen carrots to Sam.
"Carrots? Really?"
"They're supposed to be good for your eyes," Dean offers with a smirk that has nothing to do with that imposter's version of Dean's smile.
Sam doesn't actually eat the carrots, but the swelling of the black eye that the Shapeshifter gave him doesn't stand a chance under the care and attention of the real Dean.
HOOKMAN
It's too soon, Dean knows that. But he can't help but feel a little bit of hope for his brother when he catches Sam, smiling shyly in response to the look that the reverend's daughter throws his way.
It won't go much further than a little flirting, but in the meantime, Dean's more than welcome to distract the father while Sam heals his wounds with the daughter.
BUGGS
"Wake up, Dean. We're here."
Dean squints into the fading light to catch the name above the office they're parked in front of. "'Mommy's Quarter'? What the hell, Sam?"
"Our room is in the back. I called ahead to book it."
"Bo—Sam… there's actually vases with actual flowers hanging from the windows. How can this be the cheapest motel that you could find? I don't think this even qualifies as a motel anymore. It's like... an Inn or something."
"Two words."
"Those better be: I suck."
"Steam. Showers."
Dean's annoyance dissolved into a grin. "Sometimes, Sammy… you're a true genius."
HOME
"Quit staring at me like that."
Sam's lost gaze focused on the brother he'd been staring at for the past hour. The fact that he'd been caught at it didn't even registered. "I had no idea."
"What? That it was creepy? It is," Dean voiced in annoyance.
"About the looks."
"What looks? T'hell you talking about?
"The only image I had of mom was from photos. She was always smiling in the photos, so, I didn't see the resemblance. But now… I can see from where you get that look in your eyes. She had it too."
"What look?"
"Sadness."
ASYLUM
When Dean had said that he just wanted to sleep he hadn't been kidding.
Sam watched silently as his brother flopped boneless onto the bed closest to the door without as much as pulling the covers aside or taking off his shoes. He was out even before his head had hit the flat pillow.
Sam sunk his teeth into his lower lip, biting down the words that he was dying to say, the apology stuck in his throat since he'd been free from Dr. Ellicott's influence. Instead, he moved quietly across the room, unlacing Dean's boots and pulling them off his feet, one at a time. The heavy leather jacket was next, Dean's body rolling pliable under Sam's gentle touch.
The fact that there was barely a stir on Dean's part as Sam worked to get him as comfortable as possible, only served to renew Sam's sense of guilt over what had happened, over what he'd done and said to his brother.
He pondered the benefit of taking Dean's shirt off, glued to his chest with tiny spots of blood as it was. The puncture wounds would need cleaning, eventually. But that was sure to wake Dean up, and sleep was the one thing that Sam didn't wanted to rob his brother of that night. He'd already taken enough.
Hearing Dean's content sigh as the extra weight of boots and coat was lifted from his body, Sam knew his choice was the right one. He pulled the cover from his bed and set in over Dean's curled body.
"I'm sorry," Sam found himself whispering, even if there was no one there but his conscience to hear it.
SCARECROW
"Stop squirming or I'll end up poking this needle in your eye!"
"It's a shallow cut anyway… stitches are overkill."
"It was still bleeding hours after it happened. It needs stitches."
"You're a mother hen, that's what it is."
"And you're a headless chick who walks into traps. Deal with it."
"Hey! How the hell was I supposed to guess that the damn professor was in on it?"
"Small town, Dean. He's probably second degree cousin with just about everyone in that place. Now, stop moving your head around."
"I had it all under control."
"I saved your ass."
"All part of the plan, Sam, all part of t—hey! did you just called me a chick?"
FAITH
Some things you just don't plan for. Some things don't even enter your mind when you're in your twenties.
At fifteen, Sam already could easily deal with bullet wounds, stab wounds, hanging guts, gashes so deep you could see bone and infected bites that stank so bad they made your eyes water.
Sam's eyes watered for entirely different reasons now, as he watched Dean struggle to pull his belt tighter, exhausted already beyond measure after pulling up his jeans and struggling with their metal button. The two shirts and Sam's hoodie, that had just that morning stopped fitting him and could only be worn by Dean, had been the easy part, put on while Dean was still in bed.
It'd been a downhill struggle after that.
"I got this, don't worry," Sam jumped in before Dean could even figure out how the hell was he going to bend over to pick up his shoes and put them on, never mind tying the laces. Moving his head too fast these days sent him straight to the floor, all lights out.
Sam's hands were steady as he picked up one boot and slipped it onto Dean's socked foot. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears as Sam remembered the countless times Dean had done the same thing for him. Now, in many ways, it tasted of goodbye to return the favor.
ROUTE 666
"Wake up."
"Humm... wha... is it my turn to drive already?"
"Nope... we're just stopping for food."
Dean looked around, the bright neon light of an orange owl flashing against the night sky. "Food?"
"Yup. Figured you'd like to grab a bite and we were driving by this place anyway..."
The smile that spread over Dean's face was akin to a cat's seeing the bird's cage wide open. "Seriously? A bite? At Hooters?"
The smile that Sam offered in return could rival with his brother's. "Yeah... I hear they have really hot wings."
NIGHTMARE
When Dean had told him that he had something that Max Miller had never had, Sam had figured he'd meant just the big brother part. This... this hadn't really crossed his mind.
"Seriously, Dean? Somehow, I don't think that the color of the guy's skin had anything to do with him setting off to kill his whole family. Or with the mess that was inside his head."
"Not taking any chances here, Sammy," Dean announced as he took off his shirt and scanned the beach for scarcely clad women. "That guy was too pasty to be happy... we're dealing with this matter one tan at a time. Now, pucker up and enjoy the sand and sea."
BENDERS
"You should've said something, you idiot," Sam muttered as he took a good look at the mess that was hidden by Dean's shirt. "Hundreds of cars in those yahoos' back yard, and you just lets us walk out of there instead of picking out a car."
Sam waited for a reply, for a justification, but it wasn't like Dean would be holding up his side of the conversation anytime soon. He made sounds, mostly moans and sighs, that couldn't in any form or language be confused with words. Except when he was whispering Sam's name. "Sammy..."
"Don't 'Sammy' me. We walked for four miles, Dean... frigging walked with your shoulder cooked to crispy by those asses... and you don't say a single word to me about it! Talking about being jumped by humans, and what pie's flavor you're craving for, about the frigging weather! Soon as you wake up, I'm punching you in the face... remember that."
They had made it into the town and the car impound before Dean had finally toppled over in the Impala's passenger seat. So boneless and heavily that Sam had initially thought that he was horsing around. All it took was one look at Dean's fevered flushed face for Sam to realize that there were no horses involved in Dean's lack of response.
The incoherent sounds Dean kept making turned into half whispered words as Sam worked to peel all the little pieces of fabric imbed in the burned flesh. Sam's name turned into a plead, humph turned into 'find you' and into 'come back'.
Sam stopped his ministrations; unable to tear his eyes away from Dean's flushed face.
Fevered eyes, red and too blotchy to actually be seeing anything but a blur, opened to look directly at him. "Come back, Sammy... I miss you."
It was more than Dean had ever said since the day Sam had left for Stanford. It was more than he would ever say again.
Sam blamed it on the fever. He blamed it on the Benders. It was all much easier than blaming it on himself.
SHADOW
Fifteen stitches. And that was not counting the butterflied gashes all over.
"You think we-eer evva gonna see dad again, Deany?"
And two Vicodins. Dean had to keep in mind the Vicodin, so he wouldn't punch Sam out for calling him 'Deany'.
"I'm sure we will. The guy's the best," he answered, knowing there was no way Sam would even remember any of this in the morning. "Now sit still or I'll end up stitching 'loser' to your cheek."
"I'mmnnot a loser," Sam offered, after seriously considering the matter for a good five minutes. "You are... loser."
"Very mature, Sam."
"You end up... losing evva—everyone. Mom, dad, Cassie," Sam went on, failing to see the moment when the smile disappeared from Dean's face, being replaced by a frown. "Gonna... lose me too... 'cause... the loser cannever keep wha—what he wans."
That was the last time Dean ever gave any sort of opium-based drugs.
SOMETHING WICKED
"You know," Sam started like they hadn't been silent for the past hour, watching the scenery rush by the Impala. "I'm sorry too."
Dean didn't give him more than a confused look before returning his attention to the road.
"I got to be a normal kid until I was almost ten, and that illusion was only broken because I was too curious for my own good."
Dean smiles faintly at that, probably remembering all the times Sam was too curious for his own good. His grip on the steering wheel relaxes just a few notches.
"You never got that choice... not since you were four and it was taken from you," Sam went on. "And for that, I am truly sorry for you."
Dean opens the car's window to allow the wind free reign inside the Impala. That way, when Sam notices the tears, he'll have an excuse for them.
DEAD MAN'S BLOOD
Sam didn't see how this could possibly be a good idea. How could this even be called a plan? He and his dad where hidden in the bushes near the road, still too far for comfort, patiently waiting for the nest of vampires that was onto their scent, to catch a whiff of Dean. Who was alone. In the middle of the road. Playing the car-problem, dumb-blond-in-trouble bait card.
The trick was probably older than some of those vampires.
Watching the way that she-vampire prowled around his brother, grabbing Dean and forcefully kissing him while they stood and watched, gave Sam, all of a sudden, a complete and clear insight over all those hunts gone wrong over the years. The ones that had happened before he was 'allowed' to join dad and Dean and that had ended with John carrying a bloody Dean into their motel' rooms.
It was hard to keep the bile inside as Sam figured for just how long Dean had been paying bait for his father's obsessions. And for how long dad allowed the deceit to go on.
SALVATION
Dad's yelling was doing nothing for the raging headache that took Sam's brain by assault every time he had one of his 'visions'. For a flash of images that lasted less than thirty seconds, Sam was almost always granted with a nagging migraine-like pain that lasted for hours.
Even if John knew about that particular fact, Sam doubted he would've shut up anyway.
Dad was being an ass about them –Dean- not telling him about Sam's visions. Sam wanted to shout back at him, to tell his father that they couldn't get a hold of him even to know if he was still alive, never mind to relay recent events. Sam wanted to shout back that every time they had needed their father, John was nothing more than a recorded voice in a cellphone's mailbox.
And then Dean, the one who never talked back, the one who always managed to find the silver lining of reason and sense within their father's most absurd actions and orders... Dean snorted at their father's angry words and, not stopping to allow any sort of reaction on John's part, proceeded to tell him everything that Sam wanted to yell back but was in too much pain to voice. Everything that Sam had wanted Dean to say for himself for a very long time.
He was yelling too, but to Sam's head, Dean speaking up for himself felt better than a thousand aspirins.
DEVIL'S TRAP
The pool of blood that grows under Dean's body is already too large for Sam to believe this will ever be all right.
"It's alright, Dean," Sam whispers all the same as he picks Dean up. "It's all going to be okay... I gotcha."
He's still whispering it as the truck collides with the Impala and sends them all into oblivion.
