Note: I literally just spent all night writing this...because I'm a total dunce...but I hope you guys like it! Please comment/review!
"Hold on Sam, just a little bit longer, we're almost there." I encouraged, grunting as I pulled his lanky arm further over my shoulder.
"Kay Dean." My brother slurred, complying wilfully, something he rarely did.
I snorted, it figured the kid would wait until he is suffering from a gunshot wound and being dragged through the forest to follow a damn order.
I acquired a more secure grip on the rim of my brother's jeans as I pulled him closer against me, cursing his ridiculous height as I fought to keep him from kissing the dirt.
Luckily, though Sam was a complete sasquatch, he wasn't much in the weight department.
I glanced to my right as I felt the tickle of hair on my my neck. My little brother's head was lulling to the side, his bangs curtaining his face.
"Hey! None of that! Front and centre man, come on now." I demanded, jostling the young man just enough to wake him.
Sam's face came into view, his eyes half lidded as they met mine.
"You've got to stay awake."
He nodded drunkenly at my instruction, but his legs buckled a quick second later.
"Come on buddy." I urged, pulling Sam along as I picked up the pace, motivated by the stain of red blossoming across his shirt.
My brother was losing blood, and he was losing it fast.
Sam stumbled over a tree root, nearly taking us both to the ground, his feet struggling for traction as I dragged him along.
"Sorry." The injured man mumbled, his body shaking with the effort to keep moving.
"Don't apologize. Just stay awake." I requested, feeling relief flood through me at the sight of the Impala glistening under the starry sky.
"There she is."
I wasted no time loading my little brother into the front seat, bending down and lifting his legs into the foot-well when he didn't have the strength do it himself.
I grabbed the blanket from the back and tucked it securely around the lanky kid, eager to stave off shock.
I checked the wound, silently cursing the flowing blood that didn't seem to be the least bit stunted by the over-shirt that had been haphazardly tied around it.
Sam looked up at me, tired hazel eyes searching my expression, likely for any sort of indication as to how bad off he was. I kept my face neutral as I gently patted his chest before closing the door.
I slid quickly in behind the wheel, my eyes tracking to Sam. He had his left hand pressed against the wound and was shifting around uncomfortably, unable to rest against the door the way he normally, would due to his injury.
The Impala's tires spun on the gravel as as I patted the steering wheel in apology, baby would forgive me, because it was for Sam.
I did my best to avoid every bump and pothole in the road, but my brother continued to grimace at each turn and jostle.
"We're almost there Sam." I stated.
He grunted in reply, shifting uncomfortably. He was angled in my direction, his good shoulder pressing up against the seat as his head rested on its side. My brother's tired eyes remained on me, crinkled in pain.
I glanced over, meeting them for a moment and then looking away, I could never stand to see the kid in pain.
"Sam, do we need a hospital?" I questioned in all seriousness.
It was a risk, we both knew that anytime you walked into the ER with a bullet wound it was only a matter of minutes before the authorities were grilling you with questions. And while we could tell them the truth, it had been a hunting accident, it was rare that the cops wouldn't go digging for more. After what happened just a couple weeks ago with the shape-shifter, this wasn't the best time to have anyone looking into our pasts, especially seeing as how a fake ID didn't do anything to prevent facial recognition or DNA testing.
No, this wasn't a good time to bring attention to ourselves. But if Sam needed a hospital, that was just a risk we would have to take.
My brother was silent for a moment, probably calculating the same risks as I was, but I didn't worry that he wasn't going to give me an honest answer. As stubborn and independent as Sam had always been, we had grown up knowing the importance of being honest when it came to serious injuries.
And being shot with a fucking hunting rifle was considered pretty damn serious.
"No, this isn't anything you can't fix." Came the thoughtful response.
"You sure?" I questioned.
"Yeah, it went straight through, nothing broken. It's bleeding but not as much as it would if the bullet and hit something important. Few stitches and I'll be fine." He declared with confidence, though the gruffness of his voice was a powerful indicator of pain.
I nodded my head, my hands un-clenching as a small degree of relief came over me me. However, anger was quick to take it's place, and in seconds I was back to white-knuckling the steering wheel.
"I can't believe that asshole shot you." I seethed.
"Dean, it was an accident." My brother placated softly.
"Yeah they mistook you for an animal." I spat, not even attempting to keep the furry from my tone.
"We were out all night, it was dawn by the time we were headed back to the car, that's about the time hunters go scouting for game."
And if that wasn't just like Sam, to make excuses for the bastard that put a bullet through his shoulder.
"You may have a ridiculous amount of hair dude, but anyone who mistakes you for a deer shouldn't own a firearm." I ground out.
The son of a bitch had run off after seeing what he had done. I had been tempted to go after him and rip his lungs out, but my little brother had been on the ground with blood pouring from his shoulder, and that took precedence.
Sammy always took precedence.
But after I patched the kid up, I would go hunt that bastard down and give him a taste of his own medicine.
"Dean." The gentle tone distracted me from my violent train of thought and I looked over to my right.
"It's alright. I'm okay." Sam stated, apparently able to tell I was beyond aggravated.
I made no response, because it wasn't okay.
My little brother getting shot, crying out, and dropping to the ground right at my feet was pretty damn far from okay.
The rest of the drive was made in silence, save my few orders for Sam to stay awake and the occasional moan released by the injured man.
I pulled up to the motel, my nerves on edge and a half-conscious brother slouching next to me. I rushed over to the passenger door, pulling it open, careful not to touch Sam's injured side as I helped him from the Impala.
"Let's get you inside and patch you up." I muttered as I pulled his good arm over my shoulder and steadied the kid as he staggered into the room.
I stalled momentarily between the two beds, choosing mine to set my brother down on. He would have to sleep in his own bed after I patched him up, because this one would be damp with blood and sweat.
Once Sam was seated he immediately began to tip to the side.
"Hold up a minute." I instructed, my grip firm as I kept the young man upright.
I pulled off his jacket and untied the field bandage, my over-shirt, that was tied around the wound. I grabbed scissors from the med-kit and began cutting off Sam's blooded t-shirt.
"I liked this shirt." Sam sulked petulantly.
"Well trying to get it off you in one piece would have been a hell of a lot more effort that it's worth." I didn't bother mentioning that the garment was stained red.
Sam sighed in acceptance, sounding so much like the child he used to be.
I smiled up at him fondly, swiping the damp bangs off his face.
"I'll pick you up a new one alright? A better one. One with a puppy dog on it, you always had a thing for the dog shirts."
The pain lines littering my brother's face were replaced briefly by two dimples and a look of sheer amusement, which quickly gave way to a wince once I pulled at the fabric, detaching it from the oozing hole in his skin.
"Alright, let's get you horizontal." I declared, seeing how the thin man was swaying, even with my stilling grip on his arm.
Sam hissed and groaned as I helped ease him down onto his left side.
"That's it." I encouraged softly, patting him supportively on the leg as I leaned forward to focus on the source of my kid brother's pain.
His assessment of the injury had been accurate. The exit wound on his back indicated that the bullet had travelled straight through and didn't appear to have caused any extensive damage. There was too much blood though. There was always too much blood when it came to Sam, and that was not just because any blood was too much, which it was, but it was also because the kid's blood ran so damn thin. Dad and I both had dark thick blood, Sam's had always been lighter and thinner, meaning it was a hell of a lot slower to clot.
I glanced over at the clothing I had tossed to the ground, trying to determine how much of the essential fluid my brother was missing. I came to the decision it wasn't a dangerous amount, nothing hydration, food, time, and rest wouldn't fix.
I kept pressure on the exit wound as I examined the entrance. It wasn't small, the bullet that had torn it's way through my little brother was of a large calibre, the kind utilized when hunting large animals. I gritted my teeth in anger, but my touch remained light as I swiped away the excess blood. Several stitches on each side should do the trick, I concluded.
I grabbed the med-kit and threw it open, scanning the contents.
"Shit." I cursed under my breath.
"What?" Sam questioned, craning his neck to see what was going on and then inhaling sharply as he furthered his discomfort.
"Stay still." I ordered distractedly as I stared miserably down into the open container.
No pain meds.
No powerful pain meds.
I hadn't stalked up in awhile, and after the wendigo, shape-shifter, and all the other fuglies that had left us injured lately, all the good drugs were used up.
I kicked myself, I couldn't believe I hadn't stalked up. The best we had was Advil.
Fucking Advil, for a gunshot wound.
"Dean, what's the matter?" The tired, clipped question had me looking down at my hurting little brother.
"We haven't made a hospital run in a while...I uuhh...the kit isn't stalked." I confessed, my frustration with the situation and myself coming across loud and clear.
"S'okay Dean. I know. The Advil's fine." Sam stated, being his usual gracious self and not making me feel like a piece of shit for neglecting to stay on top of things. Dad would never let me get away with slacking off like that.
I dumped two of the extra strength Advil in my hand and grabbed the bottle of water off the side table.
"Here take this." I instructed, my voice thick with apology as I dropped the pills into his waiting palm.
"Thanks." Sam whispered, his jaw clenching as he pulled his head up enough to swallow it down without choking. He shakily handed the bottled water back to me and I set it to the side, returning my attention to the hole in the young man's shoulder that refused to stop pouring blood.
Glancing into the med-kit, I extracted the flask of whiskey that was kept in there for occasions such as this.
"I've got to clean it out." I warned, my hand in place to stabilize my brother as his long body tensed in preparation for the approaching pain. Sam's hand slid out from where it had been tucked under the pillow to grasp onto my leg.
After his tight nod of understanding I liberally poured the alcohol into both sides of the wound.
"Gaah!" My brother cried out,clenching his eyes shut and trying desperately to curl himself around the agony.
I maintained a firm grip on Sam, preventing him from moving too much.
"Ride it out buddy, ride it out." I soothed, tossing the flask back into the kit and doing my best to keep the trembling body still.
Cloudy hazel eyes opened to meet mine and I stared back, offering the support my brother needed. Soon Sam began to relax, his breathing slowed and his white-knuckled grip on my pant leg began to loosen.
I gave my brother a moment to pull himself together as I pulled out the supplies required to stitch him up.
"Ready?" I asked softly, once I was prepared.
The young man stretched out bleeding on the bed sent me a tired look, but nodded slowly in confirmation.
"It won't take long." I promised, feeling Sam's grip above my knee tighten a fraction as I thread the needle through his skin.
Eight small stitches was all it took to close up the entry point, but due to the shredding the bullet had caused to the skin, it had been a slow painful process. By the time I was finished with the front, Sam was sweating and biting down furiously on his bottom lip. I took a minute to grab a facecloth from the bathroom, dampen it with cool water, and wipe the sweat from my brother's brow.
"I'm fine. Do the back." He grit out between clenched teeth.
I ran the cloth over Sam's face another time, before dropping it onto the bedside table. I made to climb over the lanky body but was halted by an unrelenting hold on my leg. I glanced down pointedly, waiting for release, but my brother didn't seem to notice.
"Sam." I prodded patiently.
He looked up at me a question amidst the pain and exhaustion in his expression.
"Uh, you're going to have to let me go there buddy." I pointed out.
My brother's squinted in confusion, clearly not comprehending. I shook my leg in response, smirking as Sam's eyes went comically wide and he immediately released my pants.
"Sorry." He muttered.
"Don't worry about it." I dismissed, giving him a playful swat to the leg as I climbed over him.
I curled my hand around the back of my brother's neck and gave it a comforting squeeze as I wiped away the blood that had been leaking from the wound and began to stitch.
I echoed each moan and hiss from Sam with a gentle touch or whisper of encouragement. I hated seeing my little brother in pain, and I loathed being the one to cause it.
Sam's body began to shudder, glistening with sweat and exposed to the cool air. I had a couple stitches left before I could cover the kid up and let him sleep. I splayed my palm on my brother's spine, willing the tremors to still.
"Sorry." He whispered miserably.
"Shut-up Sam, it's not your fault." I admonished, because this kid would blame himself for anything, even the involuntary actions of his body.
I quickly finished the last couple stitches, spreading anti-bacterial cream generously on each side before folding layers of gauze and taping it over both sets of stitches. Once it was over, my brother was shivering aggressively and his face was pale due to blood loss.
I climbed from the bed and looked down at the sheets underneath the long body, shuttering at the amount of red staining the bedding.
I bent into the younger man's view, setting a hand on his forehead, slicking his sweat-soaked hair back as I waited for his gaze to meet mine.
"Hey buddy, you're all patched up but I want to move you over to the other bed, then you can get some rest."
"I'm fine here." Sam stated, adopting that wistful tone he always used to use a kid when he was trying to get me to cave.
I shook my head, a fond smile crossing my face.
"No way man, you're not sleeping in that mess. Come on, you'll thank me in the morning when you wake up clean and dry." I added, helping to leverage my brother into a seated position.
Sam bit back a gasp as I pulled him to his feet, his long legs shaking like those of a newborn colt. I didn't give the injured man time to find his footing and lock his knees the way I normally would, because our destination was barely a foot away and I saw no need in keeping him vertical a second longer than was necessary.
I half carried half dragged my little brother a couple steps before slowing his quick decent down onto the bed.
"Take it easy." I said, struggling to get a grip on the kid as he attempted to turn around so he could lay on his uninjured side.
We finally got the young man on his side, and I immediately tugged the blankets up over him. I winced in sympathy, knowing that each tremor running through Sam's body was adding to the fire in his shoulder.
Once I had every non-bloodied blanked wrapped around my brother's long shivering form I grabbed the water bottle from earlier, uncapping it and presenting it to him.
"Not thirsty." Sam grumbled between shivers.
"Well I don't care blood-loss boy, you need to hydrate." I declared, wiggling the water about in insistence.
"Blood-loss boy?" My brother asked, face tight, but amusement filled his tone.
"If the shoe fits." The off-handed comment got me a smirk, one dimple making a brief appearance as Sam pulled his hand out form the covers and wrapped it around the plastic bottle.
I waited until I was sure he wouldn't drop it, before I released the water, but kept an eye on my bother as he tipped it toward his mouth.
After a few sips he began to cough, struggling to sit himself up as he choked on the liquid.
"Whoah, take it easy Sam." I instructed, quickly climbing onto the bed and sliding in behind my brother. I leveraged the young man up, propping him up against my chest to cushion his injury as well as enable him to clear his airway.
"Come on buddy, just breathe." I coaxed, supporting my brother as he was wracked with coughs, rubbing at his chest in hopes it would help him out.
Tears sprang from the corner of Sam's eyes, no doubt thanks to the flare-up of pain.
"Deep breaths Sammy." I commanded softly, thumbing the moisture from my brother's face as his back arched.
In time the hacking tapered off and Sam slumped heavily against me, spent, an agonized groan sounding from his throat.
I shifted, intending to slide out so that my brother could lay flat, but he didn't give me that option; his hand wound into my shirt, fingers curling around the fabric as he settled into me.
I couldn't stop the fond smile that pulled at my lips as I leaned back against the headboard, pulling my legs up onto the bed and stretching out, a lanky little brother resting against my chest.
Sam was breathing slow and deep, no longer shuttering from cold, as his eyes fell closed.
I snorted, shaking my head in slight exasperation, realizing that this kid was falling asleep and had every intention to use me as a pillow.
I didn't care. This would make it easier to monitor Sam for fever or any other signs of infection, and easier to stop the nightmares before he ended up catapulting out of bed screaming Jess' name and further injuring himself. I grimaced at the thought, the thought of the nightmares that terrorized my little brother ever single night since his girlfriend was killed.
I lazily began to comb through Sam's shaggy hair, looking down at him, relieved to see the lines of pain dissipating as his body relaxed.
My brother had been through too much and the universe just kept dumping all kinds of shit on him.
"Why's it always you Sammy?" I questioned softly.
The injured man appeared to be in a deep state of rest, so I had assumed he wouldn't hear me.
I should really have known better than to assume anything about my little brother.
"What's always me?"
The inquiry was soft but certain, there was no way I could pretend I hadn't spoken or that Sam and misheard.
"You're always getting hurt, you're a gigantic trouble-magnet." I elaborated, mockery hiding my concern.
"You get hurt plenty." Sam stated matter-of-factly.
"Not as much as you." I whispered, my mind running through the constantly growing list of my brother's injuries, everything from scraped knees to broken bones and worse.
"Hey, if you wanna trade places, let me know." He mumbled.
If this kid only knew that I would give anything to take his place. I had been less than two feet from Sam when he had been shot, it could have been. It should have been me.
"I was kiddin." My brother added, eyes cracking open to look up at me.
"You're not funny." I deadpanned.
He gave me a half smile.
"It's probably better that it's me." The young man stated.
I froze, my hand stalling on Sam's head, fingers still half tangled in his hair.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I barked out, as I gently, but assertively tugged his head back so he was looking me in the eye.
Sam's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"It this about your damn guilt complex? You think because everything is your fault that you deserve to have bad shit happen to you? Because I swear to god Sam if that's it I'm going to shove my finger right through your bullet hole." I threatened, my voice raised in aggravation.
I had enough of my little brother taking on the blame for the death of his girlfriend and everyone else on the god forsaken planet.
Instead of guilt the face staring up at me was one of interest.
"What?" I snapped.
"I meant that it's better me getting injured than you-
"No Sam, it's not!" I interjected.
"Dean, would you let me finish?"
I squinted down at the young man still leaning against me and gave him a small nod, allowing him to proceed, but wary of what he was about to say.
"It's better that way because you are a crappy patient."
I quirked an eyebrow at the explanation, it was not at all what I had been expecting.
"What are you talking about? I'm a great patient."
"You're kidding right?" Sam asked in disbelief.
I made no comment, not entirely sure where this was going.
"Dude you totally suck at being taken care of, any time you got injured and I had to look after you, you were a total ass. And that hasn't changed." My brother declared. I knew that had he had the energy, the kid would be sitting up so he was taller than me and failing his arms about to make his point.
Sam was always passionate about his arguments.
"I was not. I've let you play nursemaid loads of times." I defended.
"Not willingly." Sam huffed.
I gave him a curious look.
"You remember the first time I had to take care of you, I mean really help you out?"
I sat a moment, thinking back, feeling Sam shift against me so he could continue to use me as a backrest but see my face without craning his neck.
"That winter in Michigan?" I wondered aloud, recalling the event.
"Yeah, the hunt went wrong and you were torn up pretty bad, twenty-two stitches in your abdomen." Sam described, his expression darkening at the recollection.
"I remember, I was stuck on bed-rest for a couple weeks. A total invalid with you waiting on me hand and foot."
A shy smiled crept across my brother's face, erasing some of wrinkles caused by pain.
"Well I tried to." He commented in a reflective whisper, resting his head back down against my chest.
I resumed dragging my fingers through his girly locks as we recalled the memory from years ago.
I woke up to pain.
Not the sharp sort that I had felt soon after the injury, but an aching throb resonating through my body.
I shifted uncomfortably, shakily pulling myself up into a seated position as I looked bleakly around the motel room.
Dad had gone off on a hunt last night, I remembered, and I was pretty sure that it was a week day, which explained Sam's absence.
I grit my teeth, feeling the pull of the numerous stitches across my mid-section, holding me together.
I tugged my shirt up to get a look at the injury. If I hadn't already know that Sammy had been the one to patch me up, the evidence would have proved as such. Each stitch was small and they were all close together. John was efficient, his aim was to stop bloodless and he did a quick accurate job at doing so. Sam was careful, his intention was to close the wound as well, but he always did his best to minimize the scarring that would be left behind. I could recall even now when the two of them had carried me into the room and set me on the bed, my Dad's hands were shaking and his sight was blurred thanks to the concussion he had received, so Sam had started on patching me up. Even in my pained, half-conscious state I could remember feeling my little brothers soft touch, his deft fingers stitching me up at a cautious pace. In the fogginess of my mind I had been grateful it was Sam.
John was more practised in emergency first-aid thanks to his career in the marines, but he had been trained to repair grown men on the battle field, and you could tell as much by the rough urgency you could feel in his contact. My dad was a lot of things, gentle was not one of them.
Sam was the complete opposite, his doctoring always careful not to cause more pain then necessary as he took into account things like discomfort and scarring.
As content as I was that it was my little brother who had stitched me together, I was equally mortified by the idea. The kid was only thirteen, he shouldn't know how to perform that degree of first-aid, let alone be forced to do so.
I felt that everyday I was grieving the loss of more of Sammy's innocence.
And it tore my apart.
Dad had stuck around for a couple days, to heal from his own injuries as well as make certain mine didn't get worse. Once he was sure I would not be acquiring any sort of infection and that I was healing nicely, he took off on a hunt.
Thankfully the man had left a half-decent wad of cash, so I didn't have to worry about finding a source of income, which was good, because I felt that my father would not be returning for some time.
John Winchester was an ex-marine hunter and he was as tough as they come, but seeing either of his sons injured has never sat well with the man and often resulted in him disappearing for awhile.
Normally that was fine, because I could take care of things, but right now I could hardly make it out of bed.
I stared longingly at the bathroom door, all the way across the damn room.
Grimacing I began to shimmy my legs off the side of the bed, trying my best not to cry out as the agony in my stomach flared, travelling into each of my limbs.
"Shit." I cursed vehemently as my feet touched the floor.
My abdominal muscles were damaged, and they were screaming to be heard as I fought to stand.
I heard the door jingle, my mind racing with who that could be as I glanced at the clock, nine in the morning; Dad was on a hunt, Sammy at school, who the hell could that be? I tensed in anticipation, not even having time to pull the knife out from underneath my pillow before the door inched open.
A skinny, shaggy headed teenager quietly stepped inside and silently closed the door behind him. Sam looked in my direction, eyes widening to a comical degree as he dropped the bags in his hands on the table and came rushing over.
"Dean, what the hell are you doing?" He questioned, grabbing my arm and placing his hand on my chest, applying the least bit of pressure that was, shamefully, enough to keep me from standing.
"I was going to take a piss. I didn't know that was against the law." I ground out, using anger to disguise the pain.
Showing weakness in front of my little brother was not something that I excelled at.
Sam paid not mind to my comment, simply pulling my arm across his bony shoulders and careful hooking his other arm across my back and onto the loop of my jeans.
My eyebrows rose in surprise at the kid's confident movements, he was a little small to lean on, Sam had always been a little challenged in the height department, but he did a lot to steady me as we shuffled across the room.
I paused at the entry to the bathroom, shrugging my little brother off.
"I got it from here man." I declared, trying to ignore the shake of my body in response to the pain lancing through it.
"But I-
"Sam. I got it." I bit out, itching to close the damn door before the grimace I was trying to hide shown through.
"Okay." The small response was nearly drowned out as I shut the door, grabbing hold of the counter to keep from collapsing completely.
The short time I spent relieving myself just about wiped me out. My legs were barely keeping me up as I washed my hands and threw some water over my face. I hardly had the door cracked open before Sam was already grabbing hold of me.
"Dude handsy much? I'm pretty sure I can make it the ten steps back to bed." I announced, swatting at my brother's hands.
"I know." Sam stated, although he proceeded to try and get a grip on my arm.
"I said I got it!" I insisted, moving forward on my own as if to prove it.
Sam looked up at me, confusion in his face, and something else I didn't quite have the time to peg as I was desperate to get back into a seated position before I ended up sprawled out on the floor.
My brother shadowed me all the way, his hands ghosting over me.
I allowed the contact once I made to sit, the supportive grip on my back and elbow probably the only reasons I didn't drop..
I let out a long shaky breath, doing my best to maintain a fraction of control as my mid-section felt like it was on fire.
"Why aren't you in school?" I questioned the second I could trust myself to speak without letting on to how much pain I was in.
"Here, take these." Sam instructed, placing two pills in my one hand and a glass of water in the other.
I squinted at the kid, wondering when he became so demanding, but I took the meds willingly, eager to soothe the agony of my injury. The drugs were strong enough that they would reduce the searing fire to a dull throb, but not so good that they would take it away completely. I liked it better that way though, I didn't become loopy, just tired, and they didn't mess with my mind and confuse me like the really good meds would.
I watched Sam shrug out of his coat, and return to the numerous bags on the kitchenette table.
He sorted through them.
"You never answered my question." I pointed out, staring at my brother's back as he proceeded to unpack the groceries. I craned my neck to see the contents of the bags, but my brother's body blocked them, intentionally or not I wasn't sure.
"Sam!" I shouted, demanding an answer. I didn't like being ignored, I liked it even less when I was too injured to get out of bed and demand a response.
The teenager turned, his expression neutral.
"I wasn't going to leave you alone all day." He stated simply with a shrug before turning back to the table.
I didn't like that answer.
Sam loved school. The dork hardly ever took a sick day, and whenever he was too injured to go he would bitch about it constantly. My little brother was skipping school to look after me.
No teenage kid should have to do that, especially not one who valued their education as much as Sammy did.
"I can take care of myself. You should go to school." I said.
Sam shook his head in refusal and began placing food and the fridge as well as pulling some out.
"Is grilled cheese okay?" He asked me, glancing over his shoulder as he organized his supplies on the small kitchen counter.
"What, you my personal chef now?" I grumbled, my frustration with the situation coming across bitterly in my words.
Sam's eyebrow rose, but he made no reply and began to butter slices of bread.
I hated this.
Hated that my kid brother was forced to play nursemaid.
Hated that he had so much responsibility.
I sat sulking, thinking about every aspect of my current situation that was unacceptable, how unfair it all was for my little brother.
"Here."
Sam set a plate on my lap, on it was a grilled cheese sandwich, the cheddar oozing out all sides just the way I liked it. An orange Gatorade was placed on the bedside table, my favourite flavour.
"Need anything else?" He asked, standing next to the bed.
"Yeah, I need you to go to school." I answered, my tone level and serious.
"Dean it's fine, I can take a week off, I'm not going to fall behind." Sam insisted.
"A week? You think I'm going to let you miss an entire week?" I asked in disbelief.
"I don't think you have a choice. You're still healing, you can hardly get out of bed. You need someone to help you and Dad's not here." My brother explained logically.
I clenched my jaw, my agitation growing, this isn't how it was supposed to work.
I took care of Sam.
I sacrificed for Sam, I prioritized my brother over everything else.
It wasn't supposed to be the other way around.
He was my little brother, just a kid, he wasn't supposed to be responsible for taking care of me.
"I'll manage Sam alright? I don't need you here to babysit me."
"Yeah well, I'm sticking around anyway."
"You think that's a good idea? Skipping school all week? You don't think any of your teachers will notice? You want to risk them sticking their noses into our business?"
"I already had Dad call the school. He told them I wouldn't be in this week. So don't worry about it and eat your lunch." My brother instructed.
"You giving out orders now?" It came out with more bitterness than I had intended and I immediately regretted it at the resigned look that appeared on Sam's face.
The young teen sighed tiredly, sounding weary in a way that no kid his age should as he sauntered back to the kitchen.
I knew he was exhausted, he hadn't been resting well. Sam had stayed up all night, waking Dad every hour, as was protocol after a concussion and tending to me. The kid had slept restlessly the other couple nights when our father was still here, because he had been stuck on an uncomfortable cot. Dad and I were taking up the other beds and Sam had refused to share with me in fear of causing me pain and he was the only one small enough to fit on the cot provided by the motel.
When Dad left last night Sam had taken his vacated bed, but I had heard him wake at least twice from nightmares. I was too weak and injured to walk over and check on the kid when I heard him come to, panting heavily. I had asked the kid if he was alright, which of course that little brat insisted he was fine and told me to get back to sleep. I had lain in bed cursing my uselessness as I listened to Sam work to steady his breathing.
I hated injuries, especially ones that were bad enough to impede on me doing my job; taking care of Sammy.
I burrowed deeper into the blanket as I munched on my lunch. It was cold in Michigan during January and though the motel wasn't as sketchy as some we had stayed in, it wasn't great. The cold air came through the shitty windows and cracks in the thin walls, the small radiator in the corner of the room did little to cancel out the drafty condition of the building.
"Here I picked this up for you." Sam said as he approached my bed, an article of clothing in his hand.
I took it, eyeing the object uncertainly as I unfolded it and held it out in front of me.
It was a sweater.
A nice, thick, warm looking sweater.
Mine had been wrecked a few days ago, ending up covered in blood and slashed open.
I would be lying if I said I hadn't missed it, the cold penetrated my flannel over-shirt and it was hard to keep a blanket wrapped around your arms if you intend to utilize them.
But it wasn't Sam's job to buy me clothes, and we had been left with enough cash, but not much extra.
"How'd you pay for it?" I questioned, sending a side-long glance to my brother.
"What does that matter?" Sam asked, in a tone that told me he knew I wouldn't like the answer.
"It matters because we don't have a lot of extra funds lying around, and I'm in no condition to go making more right now." I explained flatly.
"I didn't use Dad's money."
He was right, I didn't like that answer.
"Take it back." I ordered, holding the sweater out.
"What?" Sam gawked.
"I don't need it, and I don't need you buying me clothes. Take it back."
Sam stood, staring wide-eyed and began to shake his head.
"No." He replied.
I sighed in exasperation, why didn't this kid get it? Taking care of me was not his job.
"Sam-
"Just keep it okay? It was on sale so I can't return it anyways." The teen stated, turning away and walking back to the kitchen area.
I knew he was lying, but I also knew that there was nothing I could do about it.
Sam had always been a stubborn little shit, and there's no way I'd be able to convince him to return the hoodie if he didn't want to.
That pissed me off.
My little brother didn't have a lot of money, and the little he had managed to save up should not be spent on me.
I set the sweater to the side, uncertain of what I would do with the gift.
Sam brought his own sandwich over and seated himself on his bed, thumbing through a textbook as he ate.
I stewed in anger as I flipped through the few channels that actually came in on the television.
This was unfair. Sam should be at school doing his work, not cooped up in the cold motel room having to look after his older brother.
I spent the afternoon watching daytime tv that bored me to death. Sam spent his hours puttering around the room, cleaning and organizing. Every few minutes he would ask me if I needed anything, how I was feeling, or offer to play cards.
I had just about had it with the shitty talk shows and my little brother's constant questions when I noticed him approaching my bed. I had just taken my next dose of meds so I had a feeling another one of those infamous inquiries was headed my way.
"Dean-
"I'm fine Sam. You don't have to check on me every two seconds. I don't need you to play cards with me or walk me to the bathroom or make me food. I just need you to back the hell off." I snapped, the words spouted harshly.
I immediately regretted the outburst, knowing that it came from a frustration with the situation and my own personal failure and had nothing to do with my mother-hen of a little brother.
"I uuh...I was just going to say that I picked these up for you...in case you got bored." Sam stated, his voice small and insecure as he bit down on his bottom lip and set two magazines on my lap.
I turned my attention down, seeing vintage cars on the cover of one, and firearms on the other.
I opened and closed my mouth, searching for words, an apology that would even begin to make-up for being such a dick.
Before I could find one, Sam spoke, his timid voice just loud enough to be heard over the nervous shuffling of his feet.
"What am I doing wrong?"
The question surprised me, my eyebrows raising.
"What?" I asked, my confusion clear.
"I mean...I'm trying to do everything you do...you know, when I get hurt. I know I'm not as good at it...but I thought I was doing all the same stuff you do that always makes me feel better." The young teen stuttered, his big hazel eyes searching mine.
"You are." I whispered, choking back emotion, only now realizing what I totally asshole I had been.
"No, I'm not...because everything I do...it just makes you angry."
My heart clenched at the words and the genuine misery in my little brother's voice.
"So...just...what am I doing wrong? Because I'll fix it, I promise...I just...I don't know what it is."
Sam looked over at me, equal parts puzzled and upset, as though it was his fault, he had done wrong and was desperate to make it right.
Words failed me again as I was hit with just how awful I had really been to the kid.
No wonder Sam was confused.
He works his ass off taking care of me, and instead of being grateful and appreciative I throw everything back in his face.
My brother took my silence as a bad thing and turned away.
"Sorry, it was a stupid question." He muttered, sliding his coat on and wiping aggressively at his eyes.
"No, Sam that's not-
"I have to go pick my work up from school, I'll be back soon." He announced, his voice cracking as he left the room.
I called after the teen, but he didn't return. I cursed my useless body as I struggled to climb out of bed, giving up once I realized there was no way I'd be able to chase the kid down, especially since John and taken the Impala.
I sat back in bed, knowing that Sam should be back in no less than fifteen minutes. Because even in his hurt, Sam had made sure to tell me where he was going. The school was just down the street, so I knew he wouldn't be long.
I placed the magazines on the side table, smirking at the covers, realizing how well my brother knew me. I traced my hand over the sweater before pulling it over my head, revelling in the warmth of the thick fabric and hating myself all the more.
What the hell was the matter with me?
How could I treat Sam that way?
How could I just disregard everything he did for me?
Sure, I was pissed that this thirteen year old boy had to shoulder the responsibility of taking care of the very person who was meant to be looking after him.
I hated how unfair it was that Sam had to take of school and spend the little money he possessed all because I was injured.
I detested how fast my kid brother was having to grow up, how every day I was left watching more of his childhood innocence slip away.
But that didn't make it okay for me to treat Sammy like a piece of shit for doing what my example had taught him to.
I had been taking my anger with the situation out on the one person who was doing the best he could to make it better for me.
I picked up the T.V. remote and chucked it across the room in disgust with myself.
I sat thinking about what I would say, or what I could possibly do to make it up to the kid.
I heard the door opening a short time later, my focus on the shaggy head that appeared.
"Sam I-
Before I could recite my pre-planned apology I saw the red smear down the side of my brother's face.
"What happened to you?" I asked, straining to sit up straighter and get a better look.
He placed a small stack of papers onto the table, presumably the week's worth of homework assignments he went o pick up, and shrugged out of his coat.
The teen refused to meet my eyes, and turned away from me, such avoidance would be acceptable, especially after my behaviour as of late, but Sam was injured so his anger would have to wait no matter how justified it may be.
"Sam!" I hollered, my voice strong, demanding a response.
True to form, the stubborn brat made no reply to that demand.
An alternative tactic was necessary, if Sam wouldn't come to me, I'd go to him.
I began to climb from the bed, clenching my jaw as I struggled to ignore the instantaneous flare of agony.
"Dean! Don't, you're going to hurt yourself." Sam lectured, as he took a few quick steps in my direction, halting his advance once I obeyed.
I pulled my legs back up onto the bed, but remained seated and attentive as I tracked the blood trickling down my brother's face from underneath his hair.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice calm, but serious.
"It's nothing, some guys at the school were throwing snowballs, I got hit."
"I haven't been outside in a few days, but last time I checked snow didn't make you bleed."
"It does when there's ice in it." Sam muttered, swiping at the blood to keep it from dripping into his eyes, causing it to smear down the side of his face.
The sight made me cringe, I would never be okay with seeing blood on my little brother, and I knew that it was never something I would get used to.
"Come here, let me take a look." I ordered, shimming over on the bed so Sam would have room to sit, but the young teenager didn't budge.
"Why?" He asked, his face tight with anger.
"Because you're bleeding." I stated the obvious.
"So?"
"So? What do you mean so? Your hurt Sam, let me take a look." I insisted, my patience wavering as blood continued to trail down my brothers right cheek.
"Oh, so when I'm hurt your supposed to take care of me, but when you're hurt I'm not allowed to lift a finger, is that it?"
My brother's hostility was not unwarranted, but it still took me by surprise.
"Look man-
"No, you look! I don't get what your problem is. I've done everything I can, everything I know how to do to help you, but you won't let me! I thought maybe it was me, that maybe I was doing it wrong, but it's you! Because I did all the same stuff that you do when I'm hurt. The only difference is that I actually let you look after me, and all you do is dismiss me! Why can't you let me take care of you?" He questioned loudly ignoring the blood running down his face as he glared over at me in indignation.
"You're right." I admitted honestly, Sam's hard expression faltered at that.
"You've been doing everything right and I've been biting your head off for it. I've been a complete ass."
Sam smirked a little at that, making to speak, but I beat him to it.
"You've got to understand something though. I wasn't pissed at you man, I was pissed at myself, pissed that I got hurt, pissed that you have to take time off school to babysit me, pissed at being stuck in bed for days on end. Not at you." I clarified, being sure to maintain eye-contact with the teen, needing him to understand that he was not responsible for my shitty attitude.
"I don't mind helping you though Dean! You do it for me all the time." My brother insisted, distractedly swiping blood from his brow.
I grimaced, the kid's face had way too much red smeared over it and his apparent disinterest at the leaking injury on his head did not settle well with me.
"I get that man, but I'm the older brother so it's different." I explained hurriedly, itching to find the source of all the blood.
"How?"
"It just...it's different. Is there any way we can continue this chick flick session later. Maybe when you aren't bleeding all over the place." I pleaded hopefully.
Sam relented, marching forward and sitting down carefully by my knees on the bed, facing toward me.
"It's not all over the place." He mumbled petulantly.
"You haven't seen your face." I responded, sliding my palm under all his ridiculous bangs and pushing them back.
The cut was right above Sam's right eyebrow, it wasn't deep or particularly large, but it was big enough to warrant me kicking someone's ass.
"Who did this?" I asked, my tone clipped, but touch soft as I examined the cut. I grabbed the first-aid kit off the night-stand and plopped it next to me on the bed. I pulled on some gauze and used it to clean the red from my brother's face and dab at the injury.
"Just some older boys, they were hanging around outside the school when I came out with my work. They just kept asking me why I was leaving and when I didn't answer they threw some snowballs. Figures the only one that actually hit me would be the one made of ice." Sam hissed as I pressed the gauze against the open wound.
"Those bastards." I swore, wishing for the billionth time that day that I wasn't so damn useless.
Sam snorted in amusement and rolled his eyes.
"It's fine Dean."
That was bullshit, because some douchebags hurting my little brother would never be fine, but I would let this go until a later date when I could make it to the bathroom without nearly collapsing in pain.
"I know you think it's different Dean, because your older and everything...but that doesn't mean that you can't let me help you...at least some times."
I listened to Sam, cleaning the last of the blood from his face and applying a couple butterfly bandages over the cut.
"That should do it." I said as I finished my ministrations and began to return the supplies to the med-kit.
"Dean."
A hand latched on to my forearm, stopping my movement.
I forced my gaze to meet my little brother's as he watched me.
"Please let me help." He pleaded, those damn puppy dog eyes on full force.
I didn't stand a chance.
"What else did you buy this morning?"
Sam gave me a curious look, but answered nonetheless.
"Soup, crackers, sandwich fixings, oh and pie." He finished with a cheeky smile.
"You've been holding out of me Sammy." I joked.
"How about this, you go get us some pie and grab the deck of cards, keep me entertained, because I swear man if I have to watch one more lame-ass talk show I'm going to lose my damn mind." I joked.
A wide grin lightened my little brother's face as he nodded eagerly and leapt from the bed.
Sam wanted to help.
The least I could do was let him.
We spent the rest of the day playing poker with crackers and joking around. My little brother made us both sandwiches for dinner and we had more pie for dessert.
The next round of meds came shortly after and the exhaustion began to catch up to me.
I was dozing off when I felt thin, nimble, fingers tugging my blanket down and my shirts up.
"What?" I questioned, rousing at the contact.
"Sorry, just re-dressing." Sam muttered softly, peeling the old bandage away and analyzing the healing wound.
I studied my little brother's expression as he gently spread antiseptic cream over the stitched skin.
His face was lined in both concern and concentration, the bags under his eyes were evidence of a serious lack of sleep, and the stoop of his shoulders attested to the weight of responsibility weighing on them.
I felt my heart break for the young boy who was having his innocence ripped from him on a daily basis. The skilled touch I could feel re-bandaging my wound were very different from the chubby fingers that used to cling to mine and the small hands that were always grabbing or reaching for something.
"It looks a lot better." He observed softly.
"You did good Sammy." I praised.
Sam's eyebrows disappeared behind his long locks as surprise coloured his face.
"And thanks for the sweater." I added drunkenly, the fog of meds and exhaustion making it difficult to stay awake.
"Thanks for wearing it." I heard Sam whisper as I dropped off to sleep.
The next time I woke up it was to the sound of my little brother's panicked cry, my name on his lips. I opened my eyes to be greeted by the dark room, searching immediately for Sam, the same way I always did upon waking.
The moonlight shinning through the window made it possible for me to see the young teen sitting up in bed. He was panting and his thin frame trembled.
Nightmare.
"Sammy?"
"I'm alright." He answered shakily.
I shook my head, refusing to believe that bullshit lie again.
'What was it?" I questioned, my voice rough with sleep.
"What was what?" Sam replied, feigning ignorance.
"What was your dream about?"
"Nothing." He lied, laying back down, but even in the shadow of night I could see the tension in the thin body.
"Sam." I used my cut-the-bullshit-tone that time, as I continued to look over at the other bed.
"You. It was about you...you were hurt...and...and I couldn't do anything..." The teenager faded, his voice small and frightened, the way it always was when he woke from nightmares, ever since he was a young child.
"I'm okay buddy, I'm right here." I assured the kid.
"I know." Sam nodded, trying his best to pull himself together, but I could see right through his attempt.
"Come here." I ordered softly.
"What? Do you need something?" My brother asked, sitting up again, fully alert and ready to do what I needed.
"Come here." I instructed again, slowly shifting over to the right side of my bed.
Then young teen climbed out of his bed and padded over to mine, bending down toward me.
"What do you need?" He questioned.
"Lie down."
"What?"
I reached up, wrapping my hand around Sam's lanky arm and tugging hard.
The kid was pulled off balance and came crashing down onto the bed.
"Deeean." He whined, but made no effort to get up.
"Get some rest Sammy." I instructed.
My little brother rolled onto his side, his forehead pressed against my shoulder, as tentative fingers curled around my arm just above my elbow.
"I was scared Dean. When you got hurt. I was scared you wouldn't make it." The young boy whispered, pressing his head harder into me.
I reached over with the arm not in my brother's grasp and slid my fingers through Sam's hair, squeezing the back of his neck in comfort.
"I'm not going anywhere buddy."
"Promise?" He breathed, his fingers tightening their hold on my arm.
I smiled fondly, my heart filling with an overwhelming love for the young boy resting next to me.
"Yeah Sammy, I promise."
He nodded against me, his body finally going lax as he nuzzled into the mattress.
"Now get some sleep, you've got a full day of waiting on me tomorrow, Bitch."
The soft chuckle that I heard in response was the greatest sound to reach my ears for days.
"Sure, whatever you want, Jerk."
"I was terrified."
The quiet confession pulled me from the fading memory and had me looking down at the young man resting against my chest.
The young man who had gotten older and grown a whole hell of a lot, but was still very much my same little brother.
He still had the same floppy hair and puppy dog eyes, nightmares proceeded to tear him from peaceful sleep, and he still had the power to make my heart swell with stupid girlie emotions.
The kid had lost a lot more of his innocence since he was thirteen, especially recently, but he held on to the heart of gold that he was born with.
"About what?" I asked, just now registering what Sam had said.
"That I was going to lose you. Anytime you got hurt I was terrified of losing you."
I nodded, because I knew the feeling all too well.
"I was scared of losing Dad as well...but...it was worse with you."
"What do you mean?" I asked, watching Sam's gaze aimlessly wander the room as he chewed on his bottom lip.
"When Dad got hurt you were there, you took care of things. And I was afraid of losing him, but I also knew that I'd still have you. But when you got hurt...I mean when it was bad...I was terrified because I knew that I...I couldn't handle losing you." Sam finished, voice cracking.
I slid my hand to the back of my brother's neck, giving it an understanding squeeze, because I knew exactly what he meant.
Losing John, that would be awful, even now as we search for him I'm afraid that he might not be alive. But losing Sammy...there would be no recovering from that. Just tonight when I had seen the kid hit the ground after the bullet tore through him, my hear had stopped, and I don't think it started beating again until Sam had moaned my names and his hazel eyes had locked onto my green ones.
I felt the long body relaxing, my brother closing his eyes and nuzzling into me, like a cat.
I smiled fondly at the familiar gesture, hearing Sam inhaling deeply, his breathing only hitching at the occasional twinge of pain resonating for his shoulder.
"Get some rest Sammy." I ordered gently, knowing the kid needed it after everything his body went through tonight.
Sam's hand wrapped around my arm right about the elbow, as though he was anchoring himself, before entering the realm of sleep, because he knew what kind of nightmares were awaiting him there.
"I'm right here, not going anywhere." I soothed.
"Promise?" The question whispered against my chest.
"I promise little brother." I said, feeling Sam fading off to sleep in response.
My little brother had lost enough.
He lose his Mother and his girlfriend, in a lot of ways he lost his father, and the normal life he had fought so hard for.
Sam was not going to lose anything or anyone else.
He was not going to lose me and he sure as hell wasn't going to lose his life.
Because I would make sure of it.
Protecting Sammy was my job after all.
And it was one I refused to fail at.
It was too important.
Sam was too important.
He was all that ever mattered.
He's my brother.
My family.
My heart.
And my soul.
Note: What did you think? Gibberish? Please review/comment, I live for feedback! Thanks for reading! - Sam