From the second Dean woke up and saw that shaggy head resting on the bed against his thigh, everything felt right again.
It didn't matter that he had a killer headache, or that apparently someone seemed to have it in for him.
What mattered was that his little brother was there.
Although, he was concerned as hell as to how the kid ended up with his amulet. Dean's lack of knowledge about the entire situation did not sit well with him. However, he would work to solve that mystery later, after he spent some time with his brother. Once Sam was settled back at school, Dean would call on his father and they would put their heads together and try to figure out what or who was messing with them.
But for now, he was going on a road trip with his kid.
He looked over at Sam where the taller boy stood near the entrance to the room, he was signing the out-patient forms needed before they could take off. The younger man looked tired, bags shadowed his eyes as he read the paperwork in his hands; Dean snorted, he swore that dork was the only one who ever actually read through all that fine-print shit. No doubt carefully examining every instruction required to mother-hen the life out of his big brother.
Sam's hair was long, longer than he normally liked it to be. It hung down in front of his eyes, forcing him to constantly brush it away from his face - Dean knew how he hated that and wondered why the kid hadn't gotten it trimmed yet. Sam was also thinner than he was last time the brothers were together, which was only emphasized by the over-sized clothing he was sporting. The fact that the kid was wearing his sweater, had not escaped the older boy. He had smiled like an idiot when he noticed that morning. He wasn't going to lie, it felt real good to know that maybe Sam missed him at least a fraction as much as Dean missed his little brother.
Dean sat on the edge of the bed, sliding his shoes on his feet. Sam had retrieved his duffel from the Impala and brought it in so that he could put on some real clothes and wouldn't have to walk out of the hospital wearing a damn gown.
Once the papers were signed, Sam nodded his thanks to the doc and walked back toward his brother.
"You ready to go?" He asked, watching Dean climb to his feet.
"Yup, I'm good." The shorter hunter answered, shrugging off the steadying touch he felt on his upper arm.
He wasn't a freakin china doll.
Sam handed him his jacket and grabbed his bag.
"Dude, I can carry my own stuff." He argued, reaching out for his duffel.
"Never said you couldn't." His brother replied, but moved ahead of Dean, ignoring his reach.
The older man huffed and let his arm drop, not having the energy or the will to try and fight with the giant buffoon.
"Where's your stuff?" Dean asked as Sam headed for the door.
His little brother shrugged, his broad shoulders dropping as he replied.
"Didn't bring anything."
Dean's eyebrows rose at the response; he supposed maybe the kid hadn't planned on staying long.
"Didn't you bring a coat?" He questioned, glancing around the room as Sam stepped into the hall.
"No." Sam stated, as he wrapped long fingers above Dean's elbow and gently tugged him out of the room.
"You didn't think that it might be colder in Seattle than it is in California?" He pointed out, because it was unlike Sam not to be prepared, not to think things through, or over-think things through.
"It's not that cold." His brother muttered as they made their way out of the hospital.
In absolute contradiction to Sam's statement, the chilled air bit through Dean's jeans, and his breath was visible as it left his mouth.
"Not that cold, really? It's January in Washington." He reminded the stubborn brat who was leading the way to the Impala.
Sam gave no response, tossing Dean's duffel into the backseat before moving up and opening the passenger door.
"Seriously?" The older boy balked, staring at his brother in exasperation.
"You're not driving. You have a concussion." Sam explained.
"I had a concussion, and you look pretty wiped-out."
"You're not driving."
"Yeah, I got that, but I don't see why I can't open my own door."
"Just get in." Sam sighed, twitching his head to the right as he waited.
"You're a moron." Dean insulted, reluctantly taking a seat.
Sam simply shook his head, a small smile on his face as he walked around to the driver's side. He swiped the hair out of his eyes and dropped in behind the wheel, pushing the keys into the ignition and starting Baby up. Dean immediately turned the heat on, angling the vents in his kid brother's direction, because Sam could lie to the both of them all day long, but that wasn't going to change the fact that there was a definite chill in the air.
"If you put a single-
"Scratch on her, you'll kill me. Yeah, I know." Sam finished with a roll of his eyes, as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot.
"Just making sure you haven't forgotten."
"You know what other rule I haven't forgotten?" His brother questioned, a cheeky smile on his face.
Dean gave the kid a curious look, not sure where he was going until he saw that bony hand extending toward the radio.
"Oh, don't you dare." He warned, attempting to intercept the long reach.
Sam swatted his hand away as he turned the radio on and immediately started to scan for stations, stopping on a country one.
"This isn't funny!" Dean shouted over the noise.
"I'm sorry, what was that, Dean? Driver picks the music; shotgun shuts his cake-hole." Sam responded, a wide satisfied grin stretched across his face.
"Yeah, but country? You're violating my baby!" Dean declared in frustration.
Sam's enjoyment escalated as he turned the volume up higher and hummed along to a song Dean was pretty sure the kid didn't even know.
While the older man was truly outraged with the horrible sounds that were filling his girl, he had no objection to the joy written all over his little brother's expression. He sulked for show, but inside he was more than happy to see Sammy enjoying himself.
It didn't escape him that the volume of that crap music was reduced dramatically the very second Dean rested his head against the window. He appreciated the quiet, the pounding in his head easing off as he leaned it into the cool glass.
"You want some advil or something?" The soft question had him turning toward his brother.
"Nah, I'm good."
Sam sent him a disbelieving glance, but didn't argue.
"Want to stretch out in the back? Get some shuteye?"
Dean smirked at the question, recalling the numerous times he had asked his little brother that very same thing; he returned with the answer that he had always received from the youngest Winchester.
"No, I'm fine."
"Concussion, Dean." Sam reminded him, as though he had forgotten.
"Yesterday, Sam." He retorted.
The shaggy-headed boy sent him a bitch face.
Dean barked out a laugh, because - shockingly enough - he had missed that irritated expression.
"It's not funny." Sam bit out, turning his gaze to the road.
"Well it's hardly tragic." Dean replied with a smirk, because it was a concussion and when it came to hunter injuries, a concussion wasn't a big deal - unless you were Sam.
"You got knocked out and kidnapped. It's not funny." His brother protested, his hands tightening around the wheel as his body visibly tensed.
"Kidnapped?" Dean didn't like how lame that sounded.
"Yes, Dean. Kidnapped. Taken. Whatever you want to call it. You were knocked out and moved to a warehouse where you were chained up." Sam recited; his voice thick with emotion.
The older boy silently cursed his father for being far too detailed in his information sharing - Dean didn't need his little brother worrying like this.
"Yeah buddy, I know." He admitted, not wanting to argue and rile the kid up any further. Sam was clearly exhausted, stressed, and concerned; Dean had no desire to add furious to the list.
"And you have no idea who it was?" The ever-curious boy inquired.
"Not a clue." Dean confessed.
There was a moment of silence, during which he examined the sasquatch behind the wheel. Even from a side-view, he could clearly see the lines in his face, the ones that always appeared when the dork was thinking too hard. Dean frowned at the bruise on his left eye, it was darker now than it had been that morning and the swelling hadn't gone down any. It was obvious the kid hadn't iced the damn thing.
Dean needed to get the name of the jackass that did damage to Sammy's face; the asshat clearly needed to learn what happened when you break rule number one.
"Aren't you worried, man?"
The question grabbed his attention.
"Not really. Dad's on it. We'll figure it out." He declared confidently, in complete honesty. Whatever happened, he was alive, Dad was alive, and Sammy was alive. Did he want to figure out exactly why he was ki-taken, of course, but his father and him would sort that out later. Right now, he was on a road trip with his little brother.
"Dad said he had some leads." Sam added with a sigh, his tense posture loosening a fraction.
"I know. He'll figure it out. Stop worrying, kid." Dean encouraged, playfully smacking the young man's bony knee.
"I'm not a kid." Sam mumbled, but his body finally relaxed and the lines in his face disappeared. "You hungry?" He asked as he drove into what seemed to be the centre of town.
"I could eat." Dean admitted, just now realizing how much that hospital breakfast hadn't satisfied him. "And you should eat." He continued, knowing the young man hadn't had anything but coffee since he showed up at the hospital almost five hours ago.
As shocking as it was, Sam actually nodded. His easy agreement setting off all sorts of alarm bells in Dean's head, but he kept quiet, not wanting to jinx his good fortune.
They chose McDonald's, seeing as how they were in a big city, rather than a small town and had no need to acquire any information, just passing through.
"You want me to grab take-out? Or do you want to go in and sit?" Sam questioned as he pulled into a parking space.
"We'll go in. I've got to take a leak anyway." Dean said, exiting the Impala before his brother had the chance to play doorman again.
Sam may not have gotten out in time to open the passenger door, but he made up for it by opening the door to the fast-food joint. It never ceased to amaze Dean how a concussion could disable one's ability to pull on a door-handle.
"Bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a coke?" Sam asked.
"Make it two burgers." He threw in, turning towards the washrooms.
"Uh wait Dean, I uh-I don't have any cash, I could-
"Here." Dean placed his money clip of bills into his brother's palm, frowning at the younger man's obvious discomfort. Sam never used to be so awkward about asking for what he needed – at least not with Dean.
"Thanks."
"Oh please, it's not like I haven't bought you meals before." Dean pointed out, not understanding the shame that was emitting from the lanky man in front of him.
"I know, just thought maybe it was my turn to take care of you. You know?" Sam commented softly, his soft hazel gaze flickering between his big brother and the floor.
The words took Dean off balance for a moment. Sam was feeling bad that he wasn't paying for things? After he spent all his cash just getting up to Seattle?
Gawd, this kid and his stupid guilt complex – Dean had missed the hell out of him.
Missed him so fucking much.
"It's just money, dude. Don't worry about it." He stated sincerely, waiting for the shaggy head to nod in understanding before walking off to the bathroom. "And you better get yourself some real food, none of that rabbit crap." He instructed over his shoulder.
He was too far away to hear what his brother said under his breath, but he was sure he could have made a pretty accurate guess.
After relieving himself he returned to the seating area, scanning for the sasquatch and spotting him as Sam waved him over.
"Aah, the feast of kings." He sat, already drooling over the meal neatly laid out on the table.
As Dean took a big bite out of his already unwrapped burger; he looked over and examined his little brother's food; two chicken wraps and a salad, along with what he assumed was an iced tea, because that's the girlie sort of crap his little brother chose to drink.
"What did I say about the rabbit food?" He asked around the meat in his mouth.
"Rabbits don't eat chicken, Dean." Sam informed him, in that classic I-can't-believe-I-actually-have-to-explain-this-to-you tone.
Smart-ass.
Dean let it go, because he had learned early on, that when it came to Sammy, it was important to just be happy that he ate and be less concerned about what he ate.
He would take what he could get, even if it was gross green stuff.
He finished his first burger in time to look up and see the young man across from him starting in on his last wrap. Once he had eaten half his fries, Sam was done.
Dean stared in confusion, because his brother had never been a quick eater, not ever. Even if he had half the amount of food Dean did, the kid would still take twice as long to get it all down. The only time he ever ate that fast was back when they would run out of cash and had to go without, back when the kid was really, really, hungry. When he was starving.
Shit.
How was he so hungry?
Dean knew Sam probably didn't eat on his trip up, and he hadn't eaten that morning - that accounted for about sixteen hours, but the younger man wouldn't eat that fast after twenty-four hours let alone anything less than that.
Did he not eat at school?
Dean continued to analyze Sam as his brother sipped on his iced-tea. He looked thinner, not alarmingly so, but skinnier than he was six months ago, thinner than Dean was comfortable with his kid being. The boy had never been much more than skin and bones, but his cheek bones didn't used to stand out quite so prominently on his young face. Hell, Dean's sweater swallowed Sam, which was wrong, because that was an old sweatshirt and it used to barely fit the kid. Now it looked almost baggy.
Dean casually nudged the rest of his fries in Sam's direction and started in on his second burger, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the younger man. Sam ate the fries as quickly as he could, shoving three or four in his mouth at a time, which was very unSam-like. Dean had questions that needed answers, but he didn't want to ask now, because he knew that if he brought it up, Sam would become self-conscious and stop eating.
So, he waited.
He waited until they were both done eating, until they were back in the Impala. He waited until nearly twenty minutes later when Sam suddenly jerked his baby over to the side of the road, dived to the ground, and began to vomit violently.
Dean hurried over to his brother, sliding his hands under those lanky arms and pulling Sam further onto the shoulder of the road, away from traffic. He kept one long arm wrapped around Sam's chest and another on his forehead, underneath his bangs, keeping his head up as he lost all the food he had only just eaten.
"It's alright. I got you." Dean reassured uselessly, while the young man's body shook with effort as his stomach purged itself of all content.
Dean crouched behind Sam, supporting him as he knelt, hands pressed into the gravel, while his returning meal splattered onto the ground.
"Awe shit, Sammy." He cursed, holding tight to the kid in hopes of keeping him from falling face first into the mess he'd just made.
"S-Sorry." The younger boy stuttered out, breathing heavily as he heaved up nothing more than stomach acid.
"Shut-up." Dean ordered, not unkindly.
A few minutes later, when Sam had finally regurgitated every possible thing he could, Dean helped him sit back against the Impala. He grabbed a bottle of water from the back seat and handed it over to his brother.
"Small sips." He instructed.
Sam nodded knowingly and did just that.
Dean took the water away after the first few swallows, Sam sent him a pitiful look as he reached back out for it. Would his little brother ever stop looking like he was seven years old?
"No way, man. We don't want a repeat performance." He stated sympathetically, setting the water bottle off to the side.
Sam sighed miserably, but let his arm drop. Dean gave him a moment to catch his breath and regain his strength, but couldn't wait much longer for answers.
"What the hell, Sam?" He asked, far too baffled to form a proper question.
The younger man opened his eyes, head coming up from where it had been leaning back against the car.
"Sorry. Guess I ate too much." He commented wearily.
"Bullshit." Dean called, because it was.
Sam gave him a curious look.
"You ate too fast, not too much. You practically inhaled your lunch. I haven't seen you eat like that in years." Dean pointed out.
"Sorry." Sam apologized again, his voice unsure. He clearly had no idea what it was his older brother wanted to hear.
"Why did you eat like that?"
Comprehension dawned on his little brother's face, followed quickly by one of shame as he shrugged.
"You only ever eat like that when you've been hungry for awhile. When you haven't been eating much. So tell me what the hell is going on. And tell me now!" Dean nearly shouted, his concern coming across as rash anger, the way it often did.
Sam opened and closed his mouth a couple times, like a fish out of water.
"When's the last time you ate?" Dean asked in a much calmer voice as he knelt across from his brother, knowing full well that anger and frustration didn't get through to Sam the same way that patience and understanding did.
Sam pulled his knees up against his chest and looked over at the older boy tiredly.
"The day before yesterday." He answered simply.
Dean tried his best not to show any reaction, his expression neutral, disguising the growing dread he could feel in his gut.
"Are you eating at school?" He questioned.
"Yeah, just...not a lot." Sam replied, his bangs curtaining his eyes.
Dean leaned forward and swiped the too-long hair off the young face, staring into those familiar hazel orbs.
"Why?"
Sam shrugged evasively, not wanting to answer.
Stubborn.
He had always been stubborn, and Stanford clearly hadn't changed that, if anything it made it worse.
"Look man, I know you get really into your studies; but that doesn't mean you can just ignore everything else. You need to eat, it's necessary, why can't you-
"It's not that."
The interruption was quiet but assertive.
"What is it then?"
"It's not like I don't eat or that I forget to. I eat, everyday. I just don't eat a lot, especially not lately."
"Why?" Dean asked, his patience wearing thin as his concern continued to grow.
Sam directed his gaze down, gazing at his knees as he absently picked at a whole in his jeans.
"What is it then huh?! You trying to lose some weight? You too busy to eat? You trying to fucking starve yourself, Sam?"
"No!" He shouted in defence, glaring across the space at the older man.
"Then what?" Dean yelled, matching his brother's volume. His head was pounding and he was really sick of the stupid game they seemed to be playing.
"I can't afford it! Alright?" Sam hollered, his angry stare focused on the pair of green eyes.
The confession took the elder Winchester by surprise; he ran a hand through his hair as he stared at the kid in front of him.
"What do you mean?"
His little brother's face fell from a look of fury to one of resignation.
"I'm broke, Dean. I have been trying to get a job, but it's hard. It has to be near campus, because I don't have a car and it has to have flexible hours, because my school schedule is insane. Not to mention that my resume is pretty bare, I've got next to no experience and no references. Hunting isn't exactly something that I can put on a job application." Sam pointed out.
"What happened to all your savings?" Dean asked, because he had known that Sam had been saving for college long before he actually went.
"I spent most of it on books, they're so damn expensive, and then other supplies I needed for school. And I was saving what was left for the second term textbooks that I still haven't purchased."
"I thought you got a full-ride?"
"I did. It covered tuition, accommodations, and gave me some money for books, but not enough. I cashed out of the meal plan so that I could buy a laptop and bedding and other stuff I needed to, like, live." Sam confessed miserably.
Dean's little brother looked at him, his expression uneasy as he awaited the older man's response. Dean was still digesting the new information. He hadn't known the kid was struggling so much. He'd figured that the scholarship Sam had received, covered all the essentials, but he never asked. He never bothered to make certain that his little brother was looked after. He never took the time to make fucking sure that everything was being taken care of.
"I eat everyday though, Dean, really. I pick up groceries, simple stuff, like we always ate when the funds were running out and Dad was on a hunt. A lot of mac and cheese, sometimes I mix stuff in it like you always used to. Whatever I buy, I make it last. On occasion Jackson will stock up on food and then I won't have to worry about it. I try not to eat too much though, because he paid for it all, but I don't think he really minds. It's just been bad lately because I had to spring for a new pair of shoes after my other ones finally fell apart and then there was this mandatory class trip thing I had to fork over money for. I was going to cancel my phone plan and maybe get some money for my cell, not that it is worth much, but then I'd have no way to call or anything. I'm sure I'll find a job soon though, and I can go without most stuff, we always used to anyways, right?"
Based on his nervous rambling, Sam must have sensed Dean's growing agitation, but what he didn't know was that Dean was directing it at himself, not his little brother.
"Yeah, Sam, we went without too much a lot of the time, but I thought things would be different now." He sighed, because they should be different.
They were different for Dean. He never worried about money now that he could run his own credit card scams, or freely walk into a bar at any time and hustle up some cash. He had believed that Sam was worry free as well. He had thought that the days of never having enough were over for the both of them.
"It's okay, Dean." Sam assured softly.
"It's not fucking okay, Sam. You not having enough to eat – you fucking starving, that is not okay. Not with me. Not ever." Dean explained trying to ignore the way his voice cracked – the mere thought of his kid brother going hungry making his heart ache.
They had both experienced hunger in the past – the real kind that stole your energy and darkened the world and made every little thing about life seem like too fucking much. It had been awful and even as a child Dean had vowed to never allow his little brother to experience such garbage again.
And he'd failed.
Because here his kid was, curled up in front of him, thin and hurting because he had been fucking starving and Dean had done nothing.
The older boy tried to breathe through the guilt and despair that were trying to strangle him, he pushed it all way because that wouldn't help Sam. But he would help Sam. He would make sure that this never happened again.
Because he wasn't a fucking child anymore, and he could do something this time around.
He would do something.
"I'm sorry."
The whispered apology pulled Dean from the storm in his mind and had him concentrating on the young man whose face was coloured in embarrassment and shame as he leaned back against the Impala.
"For what? Not being able to grow cash out of your ass?"
Sam's face crinkled up in disgust at his comment, and he shook his head.
"No. Gross."
Dean snickered, because even after six months at some hoity-toity university, Sam was still predictable as hell.
"I'm sorry for making you worry. I should be looking after you right now. It shouldn't be the other way around."
"Dude, when are you going to get this through your thick skull? You are the little brother. I will always be looking after you, even when your taking care of me, that won't stop me worrying about you and looking out for you. That's what big brothers do." Dean explained casually, trying his best to keep this out of chick-flick territory, but needing to get his point across.
"That's stupid." Sam declared petulantly, his face morphing into a pout.
"You're stupid." Dean retorted lamely. He watched a shiver run through Sam's body and decided that they had spent enough time sitting outside in the cool temperature. He climbed to his feet and reached down to help the kid off the tarmac. His little brother stubbornly swatted his hand away, getting up on his own and immediately opening the passenger side door, waiting for Dean to get in.
"No way, dude. You were just puking your guts out all over the place, I'll drive."
"Concussion." Sam stated, as though that was enough of an argument.
"Hurling." Dean retorted.
"Not the same. Get in."
Dean stared up at the little brat, taking in his confident stance and steady expression, the kid obviously wasn't going to budge on this one. The shorter man released an overly-dramatic sigh as he dropped into the passenger seat. He didn't even reject the Advil Sam presented him. All the talking and yelling had caused the pounding in his head to escalate to an irritating level.
Sam slid in behind the wheel, sipping on the bottle of water as he closed the door and put the Impala back in drive.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean asked before his brother could pull out onto the road.
Sam shrugged, glancing over at the passenger, his cheeks red with embarrassment.
"I just- I didn't want to put this on you. I wanted to- well at least I thought maybe I could do it on my own." He explained quietly as he directed Dean's baby back into traffic.
The Sam Winchester independent streak, strikes again.
"You're a-
"Moron. Yeah, I know." He sighed with a small smile.
"I was going to say dumb-ass." Dean lied, resting his throbbing skull against the cool window.
Dimples appeared on his kid brother's face as he grinned in amusement.
"Just get some rest, Dean." He ordered softly.
Dean wasn't going to lie, rest didn't sound like a bad idea. He had gotten some in the hospital, but it had often been interrupted by annoying nurses asking him what his name was every five minutes. So, he conceded, relaxing against the inside of the passenger door and closing his eyes. He felt the weight of one of the old scratchy blankets from under the backseat as it was draped over him. Rolling his eyes underneath his lids, he just barely resisted the urge to tell Sam to stop fussing. He bit his tongue and decided to let his little brother look after him. This time, because it seemed to be what Sam needed.
They often took turns looking after each other, or did it simultaneously. He knew that Sam was itching to mother-hen him, and the kid had travelled a hell of a long way to do it, so He'd let him take his turn.
As he allowed himself to begin to fall asleep, Dean promised himself that when they got to Stanford, it would be his turn. He would make sure his little brother had everything he needed; clothes, dorky textbooks, and enough food to gain back all the weight he had lost and then some. He would teach a lesson to whatever asshole had decided it was okay for them to put their hands on Dean's kid. He would also grab the clippers and tame some of that ridiculous mane, because his little brother was starting to look more like his little sister.
Dean smirked at his own humour and finally drifted off thinking about the bitch-face Sam would give him if he had expressed that thought aloud.
Unfortunately, he did not awake in that same enjoyable manor.
He was jarred to consciousness by the feeling of Sam's long arm slamming into his chest, he barely had time to open his eyes before the entire world shook and the loud sound of crumpling metal filled his ears. He blindly reached out for his little brother, grasping tightly to the fabric of Sam's sweater right before his head slammed violently into the window, stealing the breath right out of him.
Dean must have blacked out, because the next time he came around, everything was still and quiet, far too still and quiet. He cracked open his eyes, squinting against the searing pain in his skull, and subconsciously thinking that being knocked out twice in the same number of days probably wasn't the best.
He turned his head painfully to the left, swallowing at the instant nausea that arose at the tiny movement. Sam was pressed into him, his shaggy head resting against Dean's shoulder.
"Sam?" He croaked, unnerved by the lack of reaction.
He twisted around to get a better view of the kid.
"Shit. Sammy?" He cursed, seeing the amount of blood matting down the long brown hair and covering his shirt. The kid's shoulder was twisted at a disturbingly awkward angle, so much so that it made Dean cringe at the sight.
The passenger side door was caved in, Dean noticed before looking out the shattered window to see a large pick-up truck.
They had been t-boned.
Dean vowed to rip the lungs out of the asshole that damaged his little brother and his baby, prior to turning his attention back to Sam. Before he could finish triaging the injured young man, he was distracted by the noise of a vehicle door slamming. He watched as a large, looming figure made its way over to the crushed-up Impala.
Dean was tempted to shout at the dickwad who rammed them, but instead he turned back to Sam, carefully taking the younger man's head in his hands.
"I'm going to fix this, Sammy. Alright, buddy? Just hold on. I'll take care of you." He promised, his hand shakily brushing the blood-soaked bangs out of the pale face, wishing to God that he could get a glimpse of those stupid puppy dog eyes.
"Careful, boy. I wouldn't go making promises you can't keep."
Dean's head spun around at the voice, one that sounded strangely familiar. Before he could catch a glimpse of the owner, his temple was struck with something that felt like the butt of a shotgun. His world went black for the third time; his last thought was of his little brother.
Dean was supposed to protect him.
Keep him safe.
Sammy.
