Summary: The tension between the brother's is at a breaking point. When something happens to Sam, Dean is forced to remember what it was like before he took his trip downstairs.
Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah...
A/N: In all unabashed honesty, this is just an excuse for some brotherly h/c/angst. Originally, it was supposed to be a one-shot but I suppose it'll have to be two. Enjoy!
"Thanks, sweetheart."
Dean tossed a wink at the pretty little blonde behind the bar and took a gulp of his beer.
"No problem," she cooed, ruby lips puckering in appreciation. She leaned a little further over the counter giving Dean a generous view of her very full breasts. Had to be at least a D, he smiled to himself. She tapped a carefully manicured nail on the counter in front of him. "If there's anything else I can do for you, just let me know."
"Will do," Dean smirked as she pushed back from the counter, squeezing her bottom lip between her teeth, and flouncing off with a serving tray.
Dean was sitting, nursing his drink and thinking about all of the glorious possibilities when he felt the vibration against his leg. He pulled out his cell and didn't know why he even bothered glancing at the caller ID. Though he had to admit, he was surprised Sam was calling. The tension had been suffocating, with both of them nearly at each other's throats the last few weeks. They needed a break. And Sam had as much as said he was sick of talking when Dean had stormed out of their motel room, earlier.
They hadn't exactly been each other's favorite people lately. What with Sam having developed a sudden disinterest in sharing certain nightly activities with the class, and Dean attempting to manage the Hell memories oozing out of his ears – didn't leave a whole lot of downtime for brotherly bonding.
Not that Dean minded. He didn't.
Sam had made it pretty damn clear he was Mr. Independent since Dean's "resurrection from perdition"...or whatever. In fact, these days, their conversations never really made it past awkward small talk and the occasional jab – and filling the holes were the heated arguments. The only normalcy was in the immersion of a job. Even then, Sam usually did his own thing, followed his own line of questioning, and seemed to consult with Dean only when absolutely necessary.
And it hurt more than he could admit to himself. Dean missed the little brother who trusted and looked up to him, who confided in him. The kid he could count on always having his back.
The brother he'd sold his soul for.
Lately, Dean felt like he was tearing at the seams – barely holding it together. So he drowned himself in booze and distracted himself with...well, other things, so he wouldn't have to feel the emptiness slowly devouring his soul – so he wouldn't have to face the truth that he might as well have never left that hole. When had everything gotten so fucked up?
Well, when what was dead didn't stay that way.
Probably a good thing Sam was taking care of himself these days. Dean rubbed his gritty eyes, sighing as he pressed the button.
"Yeah," he huffed, slightly annoyed his break was being interrupted.
There was no answer but Dean heard the sharp inhale on the other end.
"Sam, you there?"
No reply except the labored panting echoing from the speaker. The slight buzz evaporated almost immediately as Dean's instincts took over and he jumped to his feet, gripping the phone to his ear.
"Sam, can you hear me?"
Finally, he heard a thick, uncertain voice slurring his name from the other end, "D-…D'n?"
"Yeah, yeah, Sam, I'm here. What the hell's wrong with you?"
"I…uh…" Alarm bells clanged inside Dean's head at Sam's hesitancy, his mind spinning with a hundred horrible possibilities. "I don' know wha'-" Sam paused to swallow, "…where I am."
"You're not at our room?"
"I…I don' know…" Sam sounded confused, disoriented…drunk? "D'n? I don' know…" He heard Sam cough raggedly and the subsequent groan that followed.
"Okay, okay, I'm on my way." Dean sprinted outside and dug the keys out of his back pocket, phone pressed desperately to his ear. "Sam, are you hurt?"
"I-" He heard Sam gulping again. "H-head…hurts."
Shit. Dean took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart. "Okay, Sam?"
Silence on the other end again.
"Sam? You hear me?" Dean practically shouted into the phone.
"Um, yeah…yeah." The sluggish response wasn't a good sign.
"Good, okay. Listen to me and focus. I need you to tell me what you see."
Sam had been on his laptop at the motel when Dean left. And he hadn't been at the bar for more than an hour. His brother couldn't have gone far.
"Um, t-trees?" Sam didn't sound at all sure of himself.
"Okay, anything else?" Dean tried again. "Any landmarks or buildings or-"
"Sign," Sam gasped. "'S by th'road."
"Try that one more time, bud?"
"'S a big sign, girl with…beer 'n…lo's of boobs."
Dean breathed a relieved sigh even as he suppressed a smile and leaned harder on the pedal. Because he knew exactly where Sam was. They had passed the very distinctive sign earlier when they'd been searching for a motel. So he was just off the interstate. The information passed through Dean's mind so quickly that he barely had time to follow it up with, what the hell?
"Okay, that's good, Sam." Dean hoped his voice sounded as calm as he was straining for. "Stay right where you are. I'm coming."
"'Kay," Sam whispered and Dean could've sworn his brother sounded relieved. But it quickly turned to panic when Sam's breathy voice began stuttering into the phone. "D- Dean? Wait…Dean?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here."
"D-don' go yet, 'kay?" His brother sounded so young. He was either drunk off his ass or he'd busted his head like a watermelon on cement. Dean desperately hoped for the first option.
"I'm not, Sam. I'm staying right here on the phone with you," Dean quietly assured.
"'Kay," Dean heard Sam swallowing again. "D'n?"
"Yeah, man."
"M'head hurts."
Crap. Sam didn't usually sound this confused when he was hammered. His little brother was a happy, sloppy drunk…but then again, things had changed.
"I know. I'll be there in a minute and we'll get you fixed up, all right?"
"Yeah…don' know where I am, though. Don' 'member getting here."
"That's okay, I can find you."
"Fuck, I can't 'member," Sam slurred.
"Hey, Sam? I need you to stay awake until I get there, all right? Keep your eyes open."
"Th'y are," Sam replied, sounding childishly petulant. Dean cracked a nervous smile. He was grateful to hear the familiar streak of obstinate stubbornness. At least some things hadn't changed.
There was another beat of silence and Dean thought he detected the rustle of leaves.
"D'n? Wh-where…you?" Sam's breaths were hitching all over the damn place.
"Almost there."
"Don' feel good…" His voice was thick and watery. Head injuries tended to drastically lower inhibitions with his little brother and Dean's fear spiked.
"I know, Sam. I'm gonna-" But his next reassurance was abruptly cut off when Sam started retching. Shit. Dean grimaced sympathetically and could do nothing but wait until his brother was finished being sick. Dean listened for the phone to be picked back up.
"Sam? Hey, Sam, pick up the phone."
He heard ugly hacking and what sounded like his brother fumbling with the cell.
"D'n? 'M still here."
"Yeah, you all right?"
There was a long pause, as if Sam were trying to decide what the right answer was.
"I threw up."
Dean couldn't help rolling his eyes.
"Just don't fall asleep in it, okay, Einstein?"
Sam mumbled something in response that Dean couldn't quite make out. He pulled off the main highway and made a U-turn, easing the car over to the shoulder as he approached the gaudy sign. He killed the engine and jumped out, phone glued to his ear as he began searching for signs of his brother.
"Hey, I'm here," Dean said into the phone.
"D-...wh-where? Where?" Sam's voice shook.
"Sam!" He hollered along the stretch of grassy road. He turned his ear back into the phone. "Hey, man, can you-" A dark form caught his attention a few yards away, huddled against the metal post of the sign. "Never mind, I see you. I'm coming." He pocketed the cell and broke into a run.
Sam was lying with his back against the giant post, legs sprawled limply in front of him, one arm hung between the thighs of his jeans and the other held his phone balanced in the palm of his hand. Head rolling against the metal, eyes at half-mast, and mouth lolling open in the throes of unconsciousness.
Dean rushed forward, fell on his knees beside his brother, and cupped Sam's face in his hands.
"Sam?" He felt a slight tremor run through Sam's body and suddenly wondered how long his little brother had been wandering around in the cold. "Hey, Sammy? Look at me."
Sam's eyes blinked open in confusion, finally coming to rest on his brother's face. "Wha'?" He winced and swallowed before his eyes slipped shut again.
"Hey, Sammy? You with me?"
"D'n?" Sam finally squinted up at him. His eyes widening in disbelief, glancing around skeptically like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Dean refused to stop and acknowledge the prick of guilt - refused to believe that Sam wasn't used to people showing up to take care of him. Wasn't used to letting people take care of him, anymore.
"Yeah, it's me, man."
"Don' 'member getting here," he sounded genuinely upset - frightened - Dean rubbed a reassuring hand down along his arm."Y-you don' do that," Sam mumbled, eyes full and wet.
Dean's wall was beginning to crumble, panic filling the cracks. If Sam was in this much pain…
"Do what? Sam what's a matter? It hurt that bad?" Sam's head dropped to his chest and long bangs fell in front of his eyes. Dean flipped a few unruly strands out of the way with his thumb.
"N-nuh," Sam shook his head and groaned at the movement.
"Easy," Dean soothed.
"Don' call me…S'mmy…'nymore," he whispered like he was telling Dean a secret.
Dean swallowed uneasily. He hadn't realized how automatically it slid off his tongue - an unconscious instinct in response to his little brother's distress. But Sam was right. The nickname was a fond memory Dean's little brother would never outgrow. But Dean hadn't been feeling very affectionate lately. He didn't think Sam had even noticed the absence.
"C'mon," he wrapped both hands around Sam's biceps and tugged, careful not to jar his head, which was sporting a pretty gorgeous lump. Nothing too deep, at least not that he could feel under the mangy mop. But Sam's nose, chin, and undershirt were crusted with blood. A lot of blood. Dean felt an angry throb of panic in his chest. What the fuck, Sam?
Sam groaned as he was hoisted into the air and scrambled to find purchase, clamping an arm around Dean's neck. Apparently, his legs weren't feeling particularly cooperative.
"Dammit, Sam. Lock your knees. Lock 'em," Dean ordered.
Good, okay, standing. Standing's good. Dean braced one arm against Sam's chest and the other more securely underneath his shoulders. And even better, now they were moving towards the car. But a moment later, Sam began whimpering, his eyes rolling back in their sockets and his body pitching forward, legs going limp as spaghetti noodles.
"Gotta stay with me here, man. C'mon." Dean braced his legs and supported his brother's dead weight. "Sammy, you hear me?"
He couldn't hear anything.
Nothing except the incessant whine that had hiked up a notch or eight and now his vision was blurring gray around the edges - plus the spinning. Scenery voluntary rearranging itself was never good. He had been hurting, now he was just numb and desperately wanted to sleep.
Sleep. Sleep sounded like heaven.
"Hey! I need you to open your eyes for me, okay?"
He felt himself falling and then suddenly he wasn't. It was like bungee jumping and the brutal yank when you reach the end of the rope. He felt a rough hand clasp his jaw and give it a shake. The movement jolted him back to awareness. Sam only wanted to close his eyes for a moment, but the voice and the hand gripping his jaw wouldn't let him.
"Sonovabitch," he heard someone growl. Dean. He needed to stay awake for Dean. He needed to pull himself together. He tried lifting his head and begrudgingly cracked open his two-ton eyelids.
"Good. That's it, Sammy," Dean praised. "Hey, you with me now?"
Sam managed a miserable nod and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the merry-go-round of Dean heads all vying for his attention. His stomach lurched and…oh shitshitshit.
Dean's hand slid down to where his jawline met his neck. Checking his pulse. Sam swallowed again which was far more difficult with his brother's hand pressed against his throat.
Apparently, Dean noticed because he stopped pressing. "Sam," he asked warily as he pushed back the unruly mess of sweaty hair. "You gonna throw up?"
Sam panted, squeezing his eyes shut and gulping more urgently. He was freezing and sweating and the ringing in his ears wasn't helping.
He felt his heavy head drooping, brushing against smooth leather, sliding down to brace against Dean's warm chest. He felt Dean's hand drop onto the back of his neck, pressing lightly and really wished he could just pass out already.
"Sammy? Dude, if you need to puke, better get it over with, 'cause I don't have any bags in the car."
No. No, he really didn't want to. He felt his throat working, the involuntary reflex desperately trying to hold it back. He tasted old blood - stale copper coated the roof of his mouth. He gagged on his next swallow, fingers bunching spastically in the fabric of Dean's jacket.
"Whoa, whoa, okay. Hang on." Suddenly, as if on cue, Dean was gripping his shoulders and bodily spinning him to hang over his arm. Sam felt a firm hand pressing against his back as Dean quickly lowered him to the ground.
"Okay, you're okay," he soothed when Sam leaned over to cough into the grass.
God, he felt awful. Weak and blurry and his head felt like a construction site. Stalks of grass wavered dizzily beneath him like billions of marching ants.
He hadn't remembered why he hurt, just remembered wishing it would stop – but it wouldn't because...'cause you deserve it.
He remembered swimming out of the darkness - feeling confused, panicked, and sick…wanting his brother.
But he couldn't have him because...Dean was gone. Wasn't coming back and its all my fault. My fault.
He remembered the terrible loneliness clogging his throat, so thick he couldn't breathe, suffocating blackness blanketing his mind. Damn, he missed his brother. Just wanted to hear his voice again. Teasing him, laughing with him, yelling at him, comforting him.
Sam knew it was pathetic.
But that didn't stop him from tugging the cell out of his pocket and dialing the number he knew would ring out to voicemail. But it was better than nothing, providing him a fleeting moment of comfort.
And then, instead of the curt, this is Dean, leave your name, number and nightmare after the tone, there was a voice. His brother's voice.
Dean.
On the other end.
"Yeah."
And he'd gone numb. Considered ending it for the thousandth time. Because wasn't that just like his fucked up brain? But then the voice had deepened with a concern so specific to his big brother - angry, worried, and fiercely protective all at once - you couldn't tell one emotion from the other.
"Sam, can you hear me?"
And then he'd remembered. He wasn't alone anymore.
Dean was back.
He'd held onto the phone for dear life, had been frightened it might actually shatter beneath his grip, but that voice on the other end – Dean reassuring him, ordering him to listen. Dean would find him. He was there for him. And even if it wasn't true, if it was just his screwed up mind playing tricks again…he didn't care.
He just didn't fucking care anymore.
"De-" Sam gasped, emotion and nausea choking him, overwhelming him, whirling him back into the present. "Dean…" He pawed at his brother's jacket, trying to find a handhold before leaning over to retch again.
"S'okay Sammy, I gotcha." Dean wrapped his arm a little tighter. "Just get rid of it, huh?"
"Nuh…"
"Don't argue. I'm not sticking you in my car while your face looks like that."
Sam scrunched up his nose and swallowed. He looked like maybe he wanted to say something else, argue another point. Instead, he lurched over Dean's restricting forearm and emptied his stomach.
Dean empathetically turned his head away, trying to block out the sounds of his little brother's hurling and concurrently attempting to keep his own dinner where it belonged.
Sam took his dear-sweet-time heaving his guts up and Dean had to shift his position more than once to keep his legs from falling asleep. Eventually, he felt Sam sagging.
"You done?" Dean ventured cautiously.
Sam groaned and slumped back against Dean's chest.
"I'll take that as a yes," Dean decided for both of them. "Okay, let's get going. Get you outta here." He gripped Sam's biceps and began hauling them both up before Sam struggled out of his grasp, ass plopping back down on the damp grass.
"Nuh," he slurred as he cradled his head.
"English, Sammy. Flintstone grunts aren't gonna cut it anymore, tonight." Dean rolled his eyes and knelt beside his brother.
"N-need to...lie down. 'M tired. Jus'…jus' for a minute…"
"Hey, Sam," Dean gently patted his brother's overly warm cheek. "You can lie down in the car, okay? Not yet. Help me out here."
"Mmm," Sam hummed. He turned watery eyes up at his brother. "D'n?"
"What, Sam?"
"No hospital."
"Don't think that's up to you, kiddo," Dean sighed.
Sam blinked slowly, once, then twice. He didn't understand. A few frustrated tears escaped and trailed over his cheeks. "Please, D'n…no hospital," he repeated as if Dean just hadn't heard him the first time.
"Sammy," Dean began gently. "Let's just get you in the car for starters, huh?"
Sam swiveled his head in confusion, trying to look over Dean's shoulder without much success. "B-brought…the 'pala?"
"Yep, sittin' right back there," Dean smiled in confirmation and cupped a hand around the back of his brother's lolling neck.
Sam's chin dropped to his chest as he clenched fists of muddy grass and nodded woozily. "M'kay…yeah, 'kay, D'n."
Panting with effort and renewed determination, he pushed himself to his feet while Dean offered his shoulder for support.
By the time they finally made it back to the car, Sam was puffing air like a locomotive. He was drenched with sweat, hair clinging untidily to his neck, and his face was a pallid shade of green. But he'd managed to stay conscious all the way to the car and Dean was beyond grateful. Lugging the kid's heavy ass around wasn't exactly on his list of favorites.
At first, Dean tried to balance his brother against the side of the car while he rummaged for the keys jammed in his pocket. Sam's eyeballs rolled in their sockets before he collapsed forward, head smashing into Dean's chest.
"Whoa, okay," Dean rushed to right them both and recover his balance. "Geez, Sam," he grunted as he caught Sam under his arms and lifted him back up against the car. Dean silently yearned for the "tall and lanky" days. His brother had put on at least twenty pounds of muscle - he was built like a friggin' bull. Sam was draped over his shoulder, limbs trembling as he struggled to stay on his feet. Dean was forced to sandwich his brother between himself and the car to keep him from face-planting while he hunted for the keys and unlocked the passenger's side door.
Sam whimpered against Dean's shoulder, desperately fisting at his shirt. Dean took a moment to rub his back, trying to soothe some of the pain. "Hey, hey, you're all right, Sammy. I gotcha."
Sam's features smoothed as the tension gradually dissipated and his body went boneless. He was out cold.
"All right, here we go," Dean coaxed as he maneuvered Sam inside the door and settled his long limbs down on the worn leather. Dean removed his jacket and tucked it around his unconscious brother. He slid behind the wheel and momentarily rested his palm against Sam's forehead, worriedly noting the feverish body temperature. He was far too pale and the blood was really scaring Dean. The confusion, lack of coherency, the clinginess - this wasn't good. Dean's mind was made up.
He needed an explanation. But first, Sammy needed help.
"Sorry, little brother."
TBC...
Would appreciate your thoughts if you have a moment :) Thanks for reading!
