"Dean? I love you," Sam mumbled. He could see the frantic look on Dean's face, but couldn't figure out what the cause of it was. They had all the time in the world, didn't they? Everything felt warm and fuzzy and happy, and Sam decided that he just wanted to take a short nap, preferably with Dean, and then he could dream about how awesome his older brother was. Dean was probably just upset by the blood speckled on his face, not about anything important.
Somehow Dean managed to read Sam's mind, or maybe he'd just said all of that out loud. Either way, Dean looked even more panicked than before. "Sammy, stay with me, man. You can sleep later, but right now I need you to stay awake, okay? If you do, I promise that I'll never look up porn on your computer again, and I'll eat your rabbit food with you, and I'll never make fun of you and- Dammit, Sam! Keep your eyes open!"
It took a very long moment for Sam to realize that Dean's arms were pressed up against his stomach, and not against the floor like he'd initially thought. Was Dean trying to tickle him? Sam wasn't really in the mood for that. Not that he was ever in the mood, since he was a grown man who did not like to be tickled.
Sam snorted at the thought of Dean actually following through with any of those promises. "S'okay," he mumbled. He wanted to reach up to pat the top of Dean's head, but his arms felt like lead, and it seemed more comfortable to just leave them lying on the floor. He blinked, and kept his eyes closed for a few extra seconds. It took a lot of effort to pry them open again, but he didn't want to disappoint Dean. He could see a tear running down Dean's cheek. Something about Dean crying just seemed so fundamentally wrong. "You okay?"
The question managed to startle a laugh out of Dean. "You're the one bleeding out on the floor of a filthy old house, and you want to make sure that I'm okay? You're too much."
The response shocked Sam. "Bleeding out?" It took a lot of effort, but he managed to tip his head down. Dean was pressing pieces of cloth down on Sam's stomach with one hand, and slightly higher near his chest with the other. There was certainly a lot of blood, staining Sam's shirt, the scraps Dean was using, and all over Dean's hands. "Sorry," he managed to get out before letting his head thunk back down. That's when Sam remembered why they were here in the first place. A crazy witch. Neither of the brothers had expected someone with magic on their side to pull out a gun while they were distracted. "Witch?"
Dean sighed, and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "She got away. I couldn't chase after her and just leave you here." He pressed down even harder, though Sam was barely aware of the increased pressure. "And you can't leave me either, hear me? I already called for an ambulance, because I didn't have any other choice. But we'll get through this, alright? You're going to be just fine, and someday we'll laugh about this when we tell all the stories of our glory days."
It sounded more like Dean was trying to assure himself than Sam, but it was still sweet of him to say anything. "You're the best," Sam told him with a soft sigh.
He wasn't sure quite how much time passed. It felt like only a couple of seconds before there were sirens outside. Sam vaguely wondered how Dean was going to explain the situation to the EMTs. Then again, it probably wasn't that weird to find shooting victims in old abandoned houses. As the EMTs rushed inside, Dean leaned over to press a light kiss to Sam's forehead. "I know I don't say it enough, but I love you too," he whispered. Then he moved aside to let the professionals do their job, despite how much it clearly pained him to do so.
Sam offered what he hoped was a comforting smile, and then closed his eyes again. He really was just so tired, and he was sure that a short nap wouldn't harm anyone. He would talk to Dean later, and then they could go after that witch to make sure she wasn't able to hurt anyone else. For now, he was just going to sleep.
,,,
Too bad that floaty feeling from before was gone. Now, even with the painkillers he was on, Sam felt awful all over. Like he'd been shot a couple of times. Which made sense, considering the fact that he had been shot. He could hear the soft beeping of the machines around him, and every time he shifted even a little bit, it brought a crinkle of the bed sheets along with a wave of pain.
He cracked his eyes open and looked around the room, smiling when he saw Dean slumped over in the visitor chair, head tilted back as he snoozed away. He wanted to reach over and grab his brother's hand, just to have some small way to prove to himself that the man was really alright, but his arms felt too heavy and tired to actually lift up, so he had to be satisfied with just watching.
After a few minutes, Dean stirred, and then bolted upright to look at Sam. "You're awake."
Sam nodded. "Yeah," he croaked out. His throat felt very raw, like he'd chugged some ground glass. "Sorry."
Dean arched one eyebrow, and then he stood up and leaned over, pressing his hands against the bed. "What the hell are you sorry for? I'm the one who should've seen her before she-"
It hurt to move, but Sam felt like he had to make the effort to reach over and rest his hand on top of Dean's. "It isn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."
The look on Dean's face made it pretty clear that he didn't believe Sam, but he didn't say anything to contradict him. It was probably the privilege of being the one who'd gotten banged up. Next time Dean would be the hurt one, and then everything would be the same as ever. For now though, he'd be an idiot to not take advantage of Dean's softer side. "Did you mean what I said before?" There was a shifty look on Dean's face, and Sam narrowed his eyes before elaborating. "When you said that you love me too?"
The older brother's shoulders slumped down as he displayed an odd mix of relief and embarrassment. "Yeah. Of course I meant it, Sammy. I'm sorry that I don't say it often enough. You know I'm not great with… feelings. But it wasn't fair to only say it when you were really hurt." He put his other hand on top of Sam's, which was still on top of his, and then lowered himself back down into the chair. "I love you, Sammy. I don't know what I'd do if I were to lose you."
"You won't lose me," Sam promised. "We're in this together, right?"
Dean smiled. "Yeah. Now go back to sleep. I expect you to be back in tip-top shape before you know it."
,,,
Dean clasped his hands together in excitement as Sam walked into the motel room with one of those brown paper bags that signified he'd been by the local diner. Sam put the back down on the small table, and then pulled out two foam containers. Dean couldn't smell the usual grease, but he figured that it had probably just gotten cold while Sam was out.
Then Sam flipped the lid open of one of them, revealing a salad. Dean rolled his eyes as he reached over to grab the other container. He opened it with anticipation, only to actually growl out loud when he saw the salad inside. Sam, I think they messed up our order. They gave you two salads!"
There was a devious grin on Sam's face. "Hey, I wasn't the one who made you promise that you'd eat my 'rabbit food' if I got better."
Dean's eyes widened. "You actually heard all of that? You were so out of it, man. I didn't think you'd remember that stuff."
"Oh believe me, I remember. To be honest, I was going to let the food go. But then I opened my browser history earlier, and you'll never guess what I found." Dean gulped. "Which means that now it's time to shut up and obey at least one of your promises." The look on his face was so smug.
The chances of Dean actually eating any of this garbage were very slim. Maybe if he made it up to Sam, it would negate the fact that he'd already broken his word. He stood up and stepped right up into Sam's personal space. "You mean you weren't happy about me looking at porn on your computer? Is it because you're so frustrated that I've refused to make any real life porn with you the past few weeks?" He hadn't wanted to do anything that would risk tearing open Sam's injuries until he was certain that they were stable. "How about I make it up to you right now?" He didn't even try to disguise his lecherous expression.
Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "You're not wasting that salad, Dean."
Dean pressed even closer. "You wouldn't make me eat rotten food though, would you?"
"What are you talking about? It's perfectly-"
Dean cut him off with a long kiss. Then he pulled away just a little bit to respond. "Well it's certainly not my fault if we get too caught up in other activities to remember to throw the food into the mini-fridge." Then he (gently) tackled Sam down onto one of the cheap beds.
"I love you, Sammy," Dean murmured a little while later, once they'd both settled down.
Sam let out a soft yawn. "Mm, I love you too. Now go eat your damn vegetables."