Note: Written for the "Hurt/Comfort Comment Fic Meme" on spngenlove, in answer to the prompt: "Sam and Dean driving back to the motel after a particularly brutal hunt, taking quiet comfort in each others' presence." Thanks to my beta, Wave Obscura.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural related.
---Sam rests his head against the window with a sigh, the cool glass soothing the pain pulsing through his skull. He doesn't have a concussion – Dean made sure of that – just a bump and a nasty cut above his right eye that's not even bleeding anymore. It really fucking hurts, though.
It's dark inside the Impala except for the light from the other cars on the road, brief flashes that Sam uses to study his brother's face. Dean's forehead is lined and his lips are pressed tight together, a sure sign that he's in pain, though Sam doesn't know exactly what is wrong with him. There's no obvious bruising or bleeding, or tear in his clothes.
"You…" he rasps, feeling like he hasn't used his voice in forever. He clears his throat. "You okay?"
"What?"
Dean looks confused, and Sam feels a sudden pang of worry. He didn't notice Dean hitting his head when he was wrestling the vampire, but he was busy himself with the rest of the nest so maybe he just missed it, and what if… He straightens up in his seat.
"Are you hurt?"
"Uh, no. Well, kinda."
"Where…"
"Just bruises, Sam. Quit freaking out on me."
Sam watches his brother, wonders whether he buys it or not. He frowns, but his head doesn't really agree with him so he stops, breathing in slowly so he won't feel slightly nauseous anymore.
"You sure?" he asks again, though he knows prodding will only annoy his brother. He kinda wants that, to be honest, to make Dean react just so he will say something. Sam hates it when his brother is silent like that, like he is locking himself in some deep underground place where Sam can't reach him.
But Dean surprises him; he doesn't snap, but answers quietly:
"I'm sure, Sam. I'm just… I was just thinking."
Oh.
Sam wracks his brains trying to think of something comforting to say, but he's so exhausted he can barely put together words that make sense.
"There's nothing we could have done," he finally says, which is a stupid thing to say, but he doesn't have anything better.
"We could have saved this woman from killing her own fucking daughter!"
Dean sounds angry, now, and that's a bit better than quiet and despondent – Sam will take what he can.
"She turned, Dean, she was a vampire and she killed people. Jesus, she almost killed you."
He feels murderous just thinking about it, his fingers tingling with painful energy he didn't think he still had.
"We couldn't have avoided killing her. You know that."
"I should have done it myself," Dean says, back to quiet, and Sam's eyes burn with contained tears.
He sighs; he has exhausted his list of meaningless words of comfort, so he just moves his knee so it bumps against Dean's leg, letting him know he's here, at least. Sometimes it's the only thing they can do for each other, and the day that stops being enough they'll just have to let themselves get killed.
"Your head still hurt?" Dean asks after a moment.
Sam snorts. He sees the question for what it is, Dean reaching out, grounding himself.
"I'll live."
"Well, I sure hope a little bump to the head won't kill you. Wuss."
Sam doesn't dignify the jab with an answer, just flip him the bird. His eyes are closing now that he can hope his brother will be okay, eventually.
"Aw, Sammy's sleepy?"
"You're a fucking jerk, " Sam mumbles, then yawns.
He wants to stay awake, stay with his brother, but it's too much effort. He falls asleep in a minute.