Instincts by asesina
Summary: set during season 5. Mild apocalyptic spoilers.
Dean has a conversation with an unconscious Sam about the apocalypse. He reflects on his role as a big brother. Mild limp!Sam and protective!Dean.
Disclaimer: Eric Kripke owns SPN.
"Kid, my only kid
You look so small, you've gone so quiet…
You've turned your head,
You've dropped my hand…"
"Kid", the Pretenders
Six hours ago…
It had been a fairly normal day, or at least what was considered normal for a duo of demon-hunting brothers.
Sam and Dean had headed out to Akron, Ohio to investigate a series of hauntings at a local university. They discovered that a belligerent female ghost was haunting the premises and targeting male students in particular.
Finding the ghost was easy, but disposing of her was no simple task.
She put up a hell of a fight, clawing and screaming like a banshee until Sam and Dean found her grave out in the woods behind the university.
Exhuming her centuries-old corpse didn't exactly please the vindictive ghost, and Sam bore the brunt of her wrath. She pounded him mercilessly and threw him against the impermeable trunk of an old oak tree.
Sam was unconscious in seconds, and Dean only had an instant to salt and burn the corpse before she could do any more damage.
He managed to send her away with a blood-curdling screech as he unceremoniously flicked a match onto her mangled remains.
Dean turned his attention back to Sam and felt his heart sink when he saw that his brother was still unconscious.
He ran to Sam's side and exhaled slowly as he checked his brother for any sign of life.
The pulse was faint and weak, but it was consistent.
Consistent. Dean smirked at the word. He could always count on some ghost going straight for Sammy, and he always knew that he would be the one saving his little brother's ass.
However, as Dean awkwardly maneuvered his mammoth-sized little brother into a more comfortable position, he couldn't help but grin.
This time, he could appreciate consistency.
Dean groaned as he realized that he would have to drag his brother back to the car and cart him off to the ER.
He would usually let Sam sleep it off, but he didn't want to risk it.
Some of those bruises looked pretty ugly.
Present time…
Dean wandered down the hall to Sam's hospital room. He exhaled slowly and let his gaze wander to the imitation Picasso prints that lined the sterile walls.
He nearly bumped into a doctor on his way in to Sam's room. Her eyes flashed with fleeting annoyance before she recognized Dean as her patient's brother.
"Ah, Mr. Simmons," she said, clearing her throat as she smiled at Dean over her clipboard.
"Your brother is doing just fine. He has a minor concussion, but he's just resting right now. We would like to keep him here for 24 hours to observe him," she said hastily, flipping through Sam's records on the clipboard.
After a few moments of silence, the doctor glanced up at Dean with mild confusion.
"Aren't you going to go in and see him?" she asked abruptly.
"Huh? Yeah, sure. Thanks, Doctor-,"Dean began, searching for some kind of name tag on her lab coat.
"Christensen," she said with a quick grin.
Dean nodded and slowly approached the doorway to Sam's room.
"Hey, Sammy," he called softly.
When he didn't receive a response, Dean cautiously walked up to Sam's bedside and gazed down at his younger brother.
Sam's face was pale and drawn. It was almost gaunt in a way, but Dean chased the thought away. He didn't want to see his brother like this.
"Sammy, why'd you have to pick a time like this to get beaten up, man?" Dean scoffed quietly, leaning against the wall as he turned his gaze back towards Sam.
"It's the end of the world, Sammy. We don't have time to hang out in hospitals and go after crazy ghost bitches. What we need to do is take a permanent vacation from all this," Dean continued, settling down on the uncomfortable chair by Sam's bed.
Sam looked so peaceful.
Dean shook the thought and turned his eyes to the wall.
It was probably the first good night of sleep that Sam had actually had in a long time.
There it was again, that incessant running commentary that so often plagued his thoughts.
If Dean didn't know any better, he would say that he was returning to his old ways, his controlling, over-protective, decidedly big-brotherly way of thinking.
This was Sam he was talking about. Twenty-six year old, independent adult Sam.
As often as he repeated that mantra, Dean still couldn't shake the feeling that he still had to protect Sam, no, Sammy, after all this time.
He buried the thought so often that he could practically see China on the other side of that cerebral sinkhole.
Even so, Dean would never stop looking after Sam.
He knew that there was a canyon between them. Hell, they might as well rename the Grand Canyon the Winchester family national park for all of the distance that was between them.
Dean didn't care. It was instinctive.
It was also instinctive for him to dive in front of any bullet, knife, or female ghost that happened to have Sam in its trajectory.
He knew that it would hurt them in the end, but Dean didn't care.
Even after the relationship between Dean and his brother had cooled considerably, he still couldn't abandon Sam. He wouldn't.
Sitting by his unconscious brother's side in some nameless hospital in Akron, Ohio further cemented the fact that Dean Winchester hadn't changed a bit.
Old habits really did die hard.
Dean's thoughts drifted to the apocalypse and the impending sense of doom that gripped his heart whenever he gave in and listened to his fears.
Free will was an illusion.
Sitting in that hotel room was pointless.
Soon, he would kill the very same brother that he fought so hard to protect, that he instinctively shielded and protected with his body and life.
No.
Dean gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes angrily at an unseen foe in the room.
"You can't have him," Dean hissed to the still, hypoallergenic air.
"It's not gonna happen," he added threateningly, glancing back at Sam's unmoving body.
"Sammy," Dean began in a quiet voice.
"I know that this is all screwed up five ways to hell," he added softly, voice cracking softly as he valiantly fought against the wave of sentimentality that tugged at his heart.
"But I want you to know that I won't let 'em get you," he whispered.
"Neither one of us is sayin' yes, man. You know that the devil is comin' after you, but we can stop him. You're strong enough, Sammy, but if you ever do get weak," he paused, clearing his throat as he swallowed tightly and glanced at his brother.
"I'll fight 'em off, Sammy. Even if we don't end up acting like friends or even brothers after this, I'll make sure that you get out of this alive," Dean choked, embarrassed to hear the emotion in his voice.
"Man, if you heard any of that, I will be fuckin' pissed," Dean muttered with a short, ironic laugh.
He stretched his arms and folded them across his chest.
It was going to be a long night.
Minutes later, Dean heard a soft noise from the bed.
He looked over and was surprised to see that Sam's eyes were open. His brother gazed at him through sleepy, half-lidded hazel eyes, and Dean gave a brief nod of recognition.
"How ya feelin', Sammy?" Dean asked shortly.
"Fine, I guess," Sam replied, wincing as he brought his hand up to his forehead.
"Head hurts, though. What the hell happened?" Sam wondered aloud.
"Nothing, man. Just a fight with some ghost bitch and a visit with some pretty hot nurses," Dean answered with a wink.
"Come on, Dean. We have to get out of here soon. We're easy targets for, you know," Sam trailed off, chewing on his bottom lip nervously as he shifted his gaze away from his brother.
"It's not gonna happen, Sam," Dean said firmly.
"You always say that, Dean. What if we can't escape?" Sam asked, his eyes belying his calm tone of voice.
"Sam, for the last time. We're going to be fine. We'll just keep our guard up and stay here for the rest of the night," Dean answered firmly.
"All right, but we're checking out first thing tomorrow," Sam said with a sigh as he rolled onto his side and let his heavy eyes rest once more.
"They won't get you, Sammy. I promise," Dean said quietly, his voice almost inaudible in the quiet hum of the hospital room.
He threw Sam one more worried glance before shoving his hands in his pockets and wandering back to the chair.
Dean's eyes drifted to the ceiling tiles as he suppressed a grin and drifted off to sleep.
Lucifer might have plans to enslave Sam and take over the world, but he was forgetting one thing.
Sam had a big brother.
End.