The next thing Sam was aware of was the thick fog that had settled over everything, he felt as though he was floating in it – searching for something. There was a beeping in the background that the young man knew he recognized, but for some reason he couldn't peg it – though he didn't bother trying all that hard because that wasn't what he was looking for. There was a dull ache running up and down his back and his shoulder was throbbing, but he paid no mind to it, because that was not the target of his search. He heard noise, it sounded like there was a great deal of bustling movement not far from Sam's location, and while the noise piqued his interest for a moment, he moved on in search of the thing that his heart wanted.
He didn't know what it was, but he knew that he hadn't found it yet.
He racked his brain, trying to figure out what he needed so badly, what vital part of his world was missing. What had been taken from him? Why did he feel so lost?
He tried to think of before.
Before the fog.
But all he could recall was pain.
Pain coursing through his veins and pulsing mercilessly through his frame.
He remembered lots of blood, which would explain part of the agony he had been in. He could also recall the feeling of harsh unrelenting grips holding him down, forcing him to lay still in positions that sent fire through his body.
He sucked in a sharp breath, the recollection of the harsh treatment and the pain it caused alighting his fear and sparking his natural fight-or-flight instincts to life. He was struggling to open his eyes, his breath quickening as panic approached. His eyelids finally lifted, only to allow his retinas to be blinded by bright unnatural light. The feeling of a hand wrapping around his hip had Sam flinching away, the violent movement making him gasp as agony flared up his back and down his left arm to the very tips of his fingers.
"Shit! I'm sorry. Sam, I'm sorry."
If the younger man hadn't recognized the touch mid-flinch, that voice would have told him who was by his side.
Dean.
That was what had been missing, that was who he had been searching for. The sudden realization made all his foggy wonderings seem so incredibly absurd.
The presence of his big brother sent relief flowing through Sam, but that calming wave was followed quickly by anger, because he remembered what had happened – or more specifically – what stupid shit had come from Dean's mouth. Sam's frame stiffened at the recollection, as he did what he could to swallow the physical anguish and pull himself together. He tried to toughen up. To need his brother a little less. So that Dean could understand that Sam was his partner not his ward.
He wished he could turn over and get a look at the man he could sense standing tensely behind him, but his back was throbbing in time with his heartbeat and he knew placing any pressure on it would be the worst possible idea.
"I told them to up your morphine, but the doc said you're already at the max dose. I don't think they took your sasquatch size into account." Dean muttered.
Sam grunted, irritated the older man wasn't moving around the bed to where his brother could freakin' see him, since his injuries only permitted him to lay on his right side. But Sam was too proud to ask Dean to shift into sight, so instead he grit his teeth and stared at the wall, one that was absent of any interesting markings and was painted that shade of white that only hospitals seemed to have access to.
Dean cleared his throat in that nervous way he always did when he was feeling unsure. It was a quirk that often encouraged Sam to toss his big brother a lifeline and be the one to initiate the conversation that Dean was struggling with.
But not this time.
This time Sam was far too pissed to give support. He wanted Dean to feel uncertain and anxious and really fucking stupid, because that's exactly what he was.
"They – uh." Another apprehensive throat clearing that made Sam feel a familiar flash of sympathy before he swallowed it down and felt himself tense-up even more. "They put your shoulder back in place, it was dislocated. The doc said your right wrist was wrenched pretty bad too – they'll both be sore for awhile."
Sam didn't give the information much consideration, dislocated limbs weren't much more significant than paper cuts in the hunting life.
Dean continued, his voice far softer now. "The had to do surgery on your back, there was a lot of muscle damage. And they had to repair your right kidney, they said it was pretty torn up."
The raspy voice listing the injuries sounded as pained as Sam felt. The taller man knew that his brother was suffering with him. Dean had always been that way, he'd always hurt with Sam whenever the youngest Winchester was injured. And Sam was grateful for that. Grateful to have one person in his life that loved and cared about him so completely that they felt his pain. Sam was the same way with Dean. Nothing hurt Sam more than seeing his big brother suffer.
But none of that changed what Dean had said.
Or made Sam less angry about it.
So he remained keyed up and unforgiving on the frustratingly uncomfortable hospital bed.
Several moments of silence passed between the brothers, all of which Sam spent thinking about how much physical pain he was in, because even that depressing train of thought was an improvement over the three other words that proceeded to play on repeat in his head. The three words that had stalled his heartbeat and stolen his breath. The three words that terrified him just as much as they enraged him. The three words that were so fucking unfair to both him and his big brother.
Let me go.
How fucking dare Dean say shit like that. How could he even think to request Sam to do something that he was completely incapable of, something that Dean himself could never even fathom doing. But he expected Sam to. Of course, because the youngest Winchester was a selfish prick who obviously only gave a shit about himself. Right? Hell, Sam had let John down his entire goddamn life by not being a better hunter and deserting the family and the business when he ran off to school, like the ungrateful bastard he was. Then he'd let Jess down by inviting evil into her life and not warning her that it was going to show up in her fucking bedroom and then not bothering to be around to protect her from being burned alive. Clearly, Sam was in the practice of letting down anyone who gave a shit about him, so why not Dean? Why not the one person who cared most about him on the whole damn planet? Why no the person who raised him? Why not the person who protected him and always sacrificed fucking everything for him? Why wouldn't Sam be okay with failing the only person who he had ever been able to truly count on? He'd failed everybody else. Obviously, he shouldn't give a shit about adding one more name to the list.
Because he came first, right? His needs, his wants, his fucking life came before everyone else's. Because Sam was a selfish piece of shit.
Or at least, that's what Dean seemed to think.
His furry caused him to tense up even more, the newly-repaired muscles in his back screaming under the strain, causing Sam to flinch and curse as it became too much.
"Hey, whoah. What's wrong?" Dean asked as Sam felt his brother's large hand splayed gently over his left hip. The lean frame instinctually relaxed at the familiar touch, his body betraying the infuriated state his mind was in.
"I'm fine." He bit out, twitching ever-so-slightly away from the careful hold. He felt Dean not only remove his hand, but heard him take a step back in response. Sam was satisfied that his anger had gotten across clearly, but his body craved the comforting contact and his soul was desperate for his big brother – as it always was when things weren't quite right between the two.
"Look, man, I didn't see it on time. I should've been more prepared. I didn't … I'm – I'm sorry."
Sam opened his mouth, hearing the distress in his big brother's voice and finally willing to throw the hunter a lifeline. He was trying to think through the haze of drugs and anger, trying to figure out what to say, how to explain to Dean that he didn't need to apologize for getting knocked off a cliff, but he damn well needed to apologize for something else. But Dean spoke before Sam had worked out a diplomatic response.
"Visiting hours are just about over. So, I guess I'll head back to the cabin and, uh, let you get some rest."
The sound of Sam's teeth meeting echoed through his skull from the force of which his jaw clamped shut.
Dean had never paid mind to any hospital regulations before.
Not once.
He had battled nurses and doctors and security and even the great John Winchester countless times in the past in order to remain by an injured Sam's bedside. Sam had always done the same for Dean, though he hadn't ever done it with the same fire that Dean could pull off.
"I'll be back in the morning. Get some sleep."
Sam barely managed a nod, swallowing the lump that had appeared in his throat as his vision grew cloudy, the white wall beginning to blurr from focus. It wasn't until the graceful tread could no longer be heard echoing through the hall, that Sam allowed a single tear to fall.
"Fuck." He rasped, shifting in the bed, trying to find some level of comfort now that his main source had just marched itself out of the building.
His left side was a no-go thanks to his jacked-up shoulder, laying on his back obviously wasn't an option because of all the damage that supernatural animal had done to it, his stomach would be too difficult to maneuver onto thanks to the sling around his left arm and all the wires that he was currently hooked up to. Sam tried to curl up on his right side, but the muscles in his back objected violently, causing him to gag, nearly vomiting as agony ripped through him.
"Oh, careful, sweetie. Try not to move."
The nurse came into view, her expression pinched in what looked like mild concern as she bent down looking at her trembling patient. Sam was more grateful than he could express that she didn't reach out to touch him, everything hurt and Dean was the only one who was ever able to find that one spot that wouldn't cause additional pain.
"Your brother said you were hurting pretty bad." She cooed sympathetically, pulling a syringe from her pocket.
Sam tensed.
"What's that?"
He didn't usually have to worry about it, usually Dean was around to ask those kinds of questions, to give the medical staff the third degree to ensure they knew what they were doing. Sam would normally roll his eyes at his brother's mistrusting nature, he only ever acted under the same suspicion when Dean was the one being doctored.
"Just something to help with the pain, darling."
Sam nodded as he watched her inject the liquid into one of the numerous IV tubes attached to him.
"It won't last long but maybe give you enough relief to fall asleep. I guess after so many days of the strong stuff, morphine just doesn't feel like it's enough to do the job, huh?"
Sam frowned at that. He had known some time had passed but he certainly didn't know it had been days.
"Days?" He inquired.
"Oh yes, dear. You've been here for nearly four days." She stated, glancing up from the chart she had been studying in her hands. "It makes sense you wouldn't remember, you've been going through one surgery after the next so all the drugs they had you on pretty much kept you under the whole time."
Sam's frown deepened as he reached up with his right hand, frowning as his fingertips brushed at his jaw, searching for hair growth that would back-up the purposed timeline.
"Your brother made sure the nurse kept you shaved when she came in to bathe you the other day. He said you didn't like having whiskers."
They made his face itchy, something he had commented on once when they had run out shaving cream and Dean had recommended just letting his hair grow a little, commenting that a beard might disguise the babyface he had going on and maybe Sam would even stop getting carded at every damn bar.
Sam supposed a look at his big brother's face would have given him a better idea about how much time had passed, but he hadn't gotten a good look, or any look at Dean since he woke up.
And all of the sudden, that wasn't okay.
Sam needed to see his big brother, if only to yell in his stupid face and tell him what an idiot he was.
He couldn't wait any longer, he couldn't allow the issues between them to stew, because they had done that too many times before; refusing to have the hard discussions or just be honest and instead allowing the little things to get in the way and keep them apart. Sam wasn't going to do that. He had just gotten his big brother back after years of separation, he had missed him every damn day, but there had been too much unspoken shit between them for him to pick up the phone. He wouldn't go back to that.
No fucking way.
He needed to see Dean.
He needed to talk and fight and force the uncomfortable conversation.
He needed to make things right.
And he needed to do it now.
"I need to go." Sam said quietly to himself as he began the enormous effort of trying to sit up. His left arm was completely out of commission, but his right arm managed to hold his weight as he leveraged himself up.
"No, dear, you can't leave. We need to keep you for a couple more nights at the least. You just came to now and we were only able to remove the catheter an hour ago, we need to make sure your kidney is functioning sufficiently. The doctor needs to be sure there are no complications or signs of infection." The nurse announced as her hands hovered over Sam, but didn't touch him – something the injured man was immensely grateful for. He was in too much pain already, he couldn't imagine anything adding to it.
"No. I need to go." Sam dismissed, waving off the hands that were getting closer, before unclipping the heart monitor from his finger and reaching for one of the many other things that were attached to him.
"Don't!" The nurse nearly shouted, placing her hand on top of the one Sam currently had wrapped around one of his IV's.
"I need to go." Sam bit out, feeling his nostrils flair as anger appeared. He didn't appreciate being told what to do, and he really wasn't okay with anyone keeping him away from his big brother, his rising aggravation made that evident. "Let go." He ground out, sounding threatening to even his own ears.
The nurse's eyes grew and she backed away, but her hand remained firmly in place. Sam didn't want to scare the older lady, he knew she was just doing her job, but he needed to get to Dean and no one was going to stop him, no matter how well-intentioned.
"If you leave. It will be against medical advice."
Sam nodded, he'd heard it all before. "I know. I'll sign whatever I need to sign. But I'm leaving, now." He decreed with every ounce of conviction he possessed.
He had a brief but intense stare down with the nurse. Her gaze was stern, but Sam's was unwavering.
The nurse huffed in irritation before swatting Sam's hand away and beginning to remove the various tubes and monitoring devices. The scowl never left her face and her touch was clinical – nearly abrasive, it was nothing like Dean's. The older man had disconnected Sam from hospital equipment more times than the youngest Winchester could begin to calculate, but he had always done it so gently it had been entirely painless. Sam winced as the last needle was ripped from his vein and frowned down at the blood that welled up in its place.
"Keep your ass here until I come back with the papers. I'm not getting fired because you are being a complete fool."
Sam nodded, feeling like a chastised child. If Dean was around, he would have bit the nurse's head off for making Sam feel so damn small. He felt liquid dripping down his arm and looked to see it was that same spot where the IV had been removed that was continuing to leak. He frowned, he wanted to swipe it away, but the hand he needed was dangling out of a sling.
Sam looked down, just now noticing that he was wearing sweatpants beneath his hospital gown, he quirked a smile, he knew that was his big brother's doing. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grateful as hell to spot one of Dean's old sweatshirts draped over the chair Sam presumed his big brother had occupied during his hospital stay. He carefully began to Houdini himself out of the uncomfortable gown. He dropped the sterile smelling garment on the bed and glanced down at his chest. It was spotted with bruises, some darker then others - they were likely from the rocks he slammed down onto during his desperate attempt to reach his brother before he dropped off the edge of the cliff. The injuries Sam could see were not the least bit alarming, bruises on his chest and his left arm wrapped up like a mummy and tucked in a sling; it was the wounds that were out of his view that were the concern. His back felt tight, as though the skin over his spine would rip right in two if he were to do something as simple as bending over. He felt a deep throbbing ache in his lower back, which he figured to be the damaged kidney. He could feel agony lurking just below the surface and prayed the hazy fog of hospital-grade medication would not dissipate until after he got to Dean. Or better yet, until he was through ripping into his idiotic big brother.
Sam was thankful he didn't have an audience upon releasing a pitiful cry as he slid into the sweater, flinching when he tugged the warn material down into place. He didn't bother trying to get his arm out of the sling, instead he kept it snug against his chest and allowed the empty left sleeve to dangle at his side. Sam looked around the room, not spotting shoes or any other possessions. He shuffled toward the door, startling when it swung open, the nurse returning, looking just as furious as she had when she left. Sam tried not to shrink under her glare as he signed the necessary paper work and did his best not to flinch as she shoved a paper bag full of what rattled like pills against his chest.
"Go to the front desk, Anne can call your brother to come pick you up. Though I promise you he will not be happy about the foolish decision your making." The nurse ground out before she marched from the room.
Sam grimaced, she wasn't wrong. He knew Dean would be far from pleased, likely livid that he signed him self out AMA. But Sam didn't much care. He needed to see his brother, even if it was just to fight with him. Sam wanted to fight. He wanted to get everything out, to argue and bicker until the air was clear and he wanted to do it now while everything was still raw and at the surface. He didn't want to wait. Wait until everything was buried down deep again. He didn't want him and Dean to become distant again, he didn't want to leave things unresolved and allow them to damage the only relationship he had left. He wouldn't allow it.
Sam nodded along with his own internal conviction as he began to shuffle his way out into the hall. As much as the younger man wanted to call Dean to come pick him up, he knew his brother would fight against Sam's choice to leave the hospital. He also wanted to meet the hunter on a level playing field, one where he could stand his own ground, not where he was dependent on the older man, even for something as simple as a ride home – especially considering his entire argument was based very strongly on them being equal partners. An injured, shoeless Sam calling for his big brother to please come pick him up didn't exactly scream capable, dependable hunter.
The lady at the desk, Anne, was nice enough to call Sam a taxi, which nearly killed him to climb into. He couldn't recall the exact address for the cabin they had been inhabiting but was coherent enough to direct the driver to the location by observing the landmarks along the road. He didn't have a dime on him, so when they finished winding their way through the forested dirt road and pulled up to the wood cabin and parked behind the classic black vehicle, Sam was given his total and informed the driver that he had to go in and grab some cause and to wait just a minute. The older man nodded, thankfully not taking any apparent issue with the delay of payment.
Sam groaned as he stood from the cab, barely having enough strength to shut the back door as he swayed on his feet. He shuffled toward the set of five stairs that lead up to the cabin, grabbing on to the railing as he stared expectantly at the front door. He knew the ever-vigilante hunter inside had heard the car door close, regardless of how soft a sound it ended up being. Dean had probably heard the taxi make its slow arrival over the leaves and tree roots, unless perhaps the man had actually been asleep. Either way, Sam knew his brother would be checking the perimeter at any moment.
Dean did not disappoint, Sam saw the curtain over the front window flutter a second before the door was ripped open and his brother burst out onto the small porch. His soaking hair, the jeans just barely pulled up to his hips, the absence of a shirt, and the towel draped around his shoulders explained his delay at arriving on the scene.
"Sam? What the fuck are you doing here?" He shouted, his face tight with both anger and concern as he stormed down the steps.
"Need my wallet."
"You came all the way here from the hospital because you need your fucking wallet?" Dean barked in disbelief.
"No. But I need to pay the cab." Sam explained, gritting his teeth both out of pain and irritation as he nodded over his shoulder at the vehicle he assumed to be incredibly obvious.
Dean opened and closed his mouth, looking as though he wanted to say a million different things at once. Thankfully, he simply clenched his jaw and made his way back up the steps, disappearing inside for a moment before returning with his money clip, unfolding a couple bills, marching right past Sam and leaning into the open passenger window of the taxi to hand the driver the cash. He returned to Sam with just as much purpose, completely disregarding the call of gratitude from the driver and the cab's departure.
"What the hell are you doing out of the hospital?" Dean snapped.
Sam scowled, because he knew there was going to be a fight, but he really only had the energy for one, the one that mattered and leaving the hospital ahead of schedule sure as hell wasn't it. Besides, Dean had no right to question Sam's leaving. He left Sam alone. He walked off and took every ounce of the younger man's comfort and security with him. How could he possibly be pissed at Sam for seeking out what he needed to be okay?
His home.
Which just happened to be the entirety of his big brother.
It always had been, atleast, for as long as Sam could remember.
And yet somehow Dean thought that Sam could let him go.
The older man didn't seem to comprehend how impossible that was.
Because he was a fucking imbecile.
"Sam! What do you think you're doing here?"
Dean had always hated being ignored, especially by his kid brother, it was one of the few things that really used to set him off when they were kids. It was clear that hadn't changed.
"Fuck off, Dean."
But Sam had. He wasn't a child anymore. Dean didn't get to dictate his behaviour or discipline him or fucking tell him to let go.
Surprisingly, the elder Winchester didn't become enraged at the harsh exclamation and begin ripping in to Sam, because he wasn't John. No, Dean shrank away at the words. Because they hurt. Because Sam almost never said shit like that to the only person on the planet who was ever there for him. And unlike Sam and his father, Dean didn't become infuriated and cold when he was hurt, he became quiet. It had always broken Sam's heart to watch how his brother would go silent after he had been hurt by someone he cared about, and Sam hated that his words had just caused that same reaction.
But he was pissed and he had every goddamn right to be, and yeah, maybe he wasn't expressing his own hurt in the most mature way, but he was too tried and in too much pain to experience personal growth or exercise the proper level of self-control at that moment.
Sam used his white-knuckled grip on the railing to help pull his weighted body up onto the first step. He grit his teeth, trying to keep his breathing steady and easy as he mounted the second step. The movement, as minimal as it was, caused a flare of agony to scorch its way up his back. Sam couldn't stop the sharp inhale or the way his body wobbled off balance as he took on the third stair. He noticed his brother reach for him and flinched away from the approaching touch, nearly sending himself backwards down the few steps he had managed to mount.
"Don't." He warned, eyeing the outstretched arms to his left.
Dean made no verbal response, but his body froze. Sam returned his focus to his current task, climbing Mount fucking Everest. His first attempt at conquering the fourth step was unsuccessful, as was as his second, on his third try his foot slipped and nearly sent him down face first. A strong arm wrapped low around his hips as a large hand placed a gentle pressure high up against his chest, helping to straighten his body.
"Dean." The younger man growled, the knowledge that his brother had prevented him from kissing the ground doing little to ease Sam's anger.
The stabilizing hold pulled back for a mere nanosecond, before being re-applied with a firm, but gentle certainty.
"You can be pissed at me all you want, but I'm not going to watch you fall down the damn stairs." The elder Winchester bit out.
Sam tensed at the frustrated reaction and began to pull away, Dean's grip tightening in response. Sam resisted until Dean spoke again, his voice much softer than it had been just a moment ago.
"Just- just let me help you inside. You can hate me, you have every right to, just- can it wait until you're inside and sitting down?"
Sam stopped fighting the hold keeping him vertical, but he wasn't yet convinced.
"Please."
The whispered addition was the key to the stubborn man's cooperation. He nodded reluctantly and allowed his brother to support him up the last two steps, across the rotting porch and into the small cabin. Once Dean began to guide him towards the bed, Sam pulled away. The injured man wanted nothing more than to curl up on the semi-comfortable, almost-long-enough queen mattress, but he could feel the pain-numbing effects of the hospital-grade medication fading and knew he only had a matter of minutes left to make his argument before the agony overcame him.
"Sam?" Dean questioned, the concern blindingly evident, even in his impossibly soft tone.
The lean man wobbled a couple steps, stopping at the small table and latching with his right hand on to the back of one of the four wooden chairs around it. He used it to prop himself up, the bend in his back causing his numerous wounds to flare-up in pain, but he pushed it out of his mind, needing to focus.
"Buddy, we need to get you sitting or lying or anything not standing right now." Dean stated, his hands reaching once again for his little brother.
"No. I need to say something first." Sam declared, his voice raspy from days without use but still strong enough to convey his adamant refusal.
"I know what you're going to say, man, it can wait until after I make sure you didn't burst any stiches on your trip here."
"You don't know and I'm not waiting. I've waited long enough." Sam stated, twitching in discomfort but not allowing the confidence in his decision to waver.
Dean wanted to argue, Sam knew the man well enough to know how much he would hate having to wait around to play nurse to an injured little brother. Sam watched the internal debate playout on the freckled face, relieved when it ended in the reluctant closing of Dean's jaw and two wary green eyes meeting Sam's hazel ones.
Sam took a deep breath, willing his body to cooperate with him long enough to get out everything he needed to say.
"You're an idiot." He declared, the rasp in his voice not minimizing in the least the gravity in his tone. Usually when Sam called his brother names he was joking, but not this time. This time he was dead serious.
"I know." Dean nodded, sounding damn near understanding.
"No. You don't. You don't know." Sam argued, not surprised to see his older brother's eyebrows rise in response, Dean proving all the more what a blockhead he was. Sam ignored the throbbing ache travelling from his back throughout the rest of his body and willed himself to continue before that ache became an unavoidable burn. "Why do you think I'm pissed at you?" He questioned, nearly certain of the answer he was about to receive, but needing it to be stated aloud nonetheless.
Dean's jaw clenched, his gaze wandering avoidantly, none of which bothered Sam; his brother had never been a fan of uncomfortable conversations, least of all ones that involved any sliver of emotion.
"Come on, Sam. I don't want to play this game." The older man requested. Sam held back a wince, his brother's comment sounding far too close to a plea, something that rarely happened and always caused the younger Winchester to cave. But Sam shook his head, he wasn't giving this up or letting it go, they needed to talk before they both buried their hurt so damn deep that it put distance between them.
Again.
Besides, Dean crossed a line and he needed to understand that.
"It's not a game. Just tell me." He bit out.
Dean released an exasperated sigh, the way he often did when he was humouring his little brother, but the nervous energy he was exuding was not nearly as familiar.
"Because I screwed up and I almost got you fucking killed." Dean admitted, sounding furious as his expression clouded in disgust. Sam knew that both those emotions were things Dean was pointing towards himself, and yet the youngest Winchester found himself almost wishing that they were aimed at him instead. Dean was disgusted with his own failure – or what he perceived to be a failure. He was infuriated by his own short-comings. The way he saw it was that he screwed up, he made a mistake and he hated himself for it. He had all the grace in the world for his little brother, something that had been one of the many defining realities of Sam's childhood – that no matter how he fucked up, his big brother would always forgive him and always be there for him. Dean had endless grace that he extended towards Sam on countless occasions, but when it came to himself, he was merciless. It was something about his big brother that had always broken Sam's heart, and it was one of the main reasons that Sam fucking hated their father.
Sam had a lot of issues with John Winchester. The man was a tyrant. It was his way or no way. He didn't ever take a single goddamn moment to listen. And as much as Sam knew his father loved his sons and how many people the elder hunter had saved, Sam still saw him as a selfish bastard. There were a multitude of reasons why Sam did not get along John, there were years of a combative history that contributed to the strained relationship between the two. There was a lot of bitterness and hurt and a truckload of anger, but the biggest and most significant reason that Sam didn't believe he would ever truly be able to forgive his father, was for what that drill sergeant had done to Sam's big brother.
John had never allowed Dean to make a mistake. He had drilled it into the younger man that there was no room for mistakes or flaws of fucking humanity in hunting or in life. John had been so bloody critical of Dean growing up. He had expected way too damn much of his oldest, even when Dean was just a kid.
A child who needed love and support and guidance and a drop of grace, instead of constant criticism, unattainable expectations, unrelenting pressure and harsh treatment.
John was the reason Dean beat himself up for not living up to an impossible standard of perfection, the reason Dean refused to forgive himself for ever making a single error, for being human!
There were a lot of transgressions that Sam knew he would one day have to get over and forgive his father for, for the sake of his family, but he knew that he would never truly be able to forgive the man for what he did to his big brother - his best friend, his guardian, his whole fucking world.
"You're wrong." Sam declared, his voice still as gravelly as it had been since he woke up in the hospital, but entirely certain.
Dean had been looking down at his feet, the way he often did when he was ripping into himself, but his head shot up and his bright green eyes flashed confusion over at the man across from him.
"What?" He asked, sounding as though he was curious about his little brother's sanity.
"I'm not pissed at you because you almost fell of a fricken cliff, Dean." Sam bit out, shifting on his feet as the pain in his back began to escalate. "You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't screw up."
Dean's expression morphed to one of frustration as he rolled his eyes. "Come on, man. Don't do that."
"Do what?" Sam challenged, already knowing in which direction his brother was heading with that comment.
Dean gave him a knowing look, it was damn near parental – Sam had always internally entitled it as his big brother's 'cut the bullshit' look. "You want to do this, that's fine. But if you want me to be honest then you have to do the same."
"I am!" Sam exclaimed, his irritation rising.
"Be real here, Sam. You know how you are." Dean replied softly.
"And how is that, exactly?" The younger man bit-out, annoyed that the conversation was taking a turn he did not anticipate or appreciate.
Dean shrugged, his gaze shifting about, he was obviously uncomfortable about whatever he was going to say. Sam was okay with that.
"You never think anything is my fault. You've always been that way." Dean mumbled with a shrug.
"Then why the hell would you think I'm so pissed at you for nearly falling off a cliff?" Sam queried.
Another evasive shrug did nothing to satisfy the younger man, so he waited for his big brother to give an actual response.
"I don't know. I thought maybe things changed. You're not a kid anymore. I figured now that you're older you'd notice when I fuck up, especially when it almost gets you killed."
Sam didn't think he could possibly feel more wounded then he already did, between his physical anguish and the three words Dean had spoken that were causing Sam emotional agony, he didn't imagine there was room for more pain; and yet, the fact that his big brother thought that their time apart and a few extra years was enough of a reason for Sam to start treating him like shit, well that tore at the young man in a whole new way.
"I'm not Dad." Sam ground out.
Dean looked back up at that.
"I'm not him. I wouldn't crucify you for making a mistake. If you had made one, which you didn't, but if you had, I wouldn't yell at you or ice you out or be fucking pissed at you. I would never- I will never hold stupid mistakes or colossal fuck-ups against you. How do you not know that?" Sam was nearly out of breath, shaking with the passion of his argument.
Dean's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
"You never ever ripped me a new one for screwing up, even though I did it more than anyone."
"No. You didn't."
"I did. I fucked up more than you and Dad combined."
"You were a child, Sam. You were learning and you did learn, fast as hell. You were fucking amazing." Dean defended, because God-forbid the man lift a finger in his own defense, but the second Sam was on trial Dean was ready to light fire to the entire courtroom.
"But I still screwed up. Hell, I still do now, all the time."
"You just got back into the game. It's going to take some time to get back into the swing of things."
Sam shook his head, a part of him grateful for his brother's never-ending grace and the other part irritated that Dean wasn't getting it.
"It doesn't matter how much I learn or how long I hunt, I'm still human and so are you. And even though I hate messing up, I never worry about you being pissed at me for it. I worried about Dad tearing me a new one, I worried about getting one of you killed, I worried about letting you both down, but I never once worried about you being angry. Not once. And I – well I guess I just thought…" Sam swallowed, trying to rid of the lump in his throat, refusing to allow his emotions to overwhelm him because he was still pissed about what Dean had said on that cliff. "I just figured you knew it went both ways." He finished with a mumble and a shrug.
"I did- I do."
Sam shook his head in dismissal, because that obviously wasn't the case.
"I mean it, Sam. No matter how bad I screwed up you never held it against me. You've always forgiven too easy and if it had been up to you, I never would have had to take the blame for a single damn thing, even the things I was one-hundred percent guilty of. Don't think for one goddamn second that I don't know that, or that it never mattered. Because it always fucking did."
"Then why the hell did you think I was pissed at you?" Sam questioned, nearly yelling out of sheer frustration, not having a lick of understanding where Dean's reasoning was coming from.
"Because you were!" The older man exclaimed, matching Sam's raised volume.
Sam opened his mouth to shout back. To tell his brother exactly why he was pissed and that, yes, it had been Dean's goddamn fault. It had been his fault for opening his stupid mouth and spouting those three bullshit words that had torn Sam's heart right the fuck out of his chest. He opened his mouth to spell it all out to his moron of a brother.
But the universe had always had it in for the youngest Winchester and refused to allow him even the simplest of favours.
At the very moment Sam was about to finally get this shit off his chest, to finally release the hurt and rage that had been eating him up inside, to finally allow him to begin the argument that he needed to have and to fix what needed to be fixed. He was finally going to have the conversation he had dragged his damaged body across town to have, but his legs chose that moment to buckle. The muscles in his back failing him and turning him into a giant ragdoll. His strength chose that moment to abandon him and left him to gasp as the floor rushed up to meet him.
Sam braced for impact, but calloused hands halted his decent. However, the relief was short-lived, as stabilizing as those hands were, one of them pressed against one of the wounds on Sam's back, sending a fire of pain through his entire frame.
Sam cried out in agony, his body jerking in a feeble attempt to escape the pain that was consuming him.
"Whoah, easy, Sam. I'm sorry. I won't touch your back again. I promise. Just stop moving, let me get you to the bed."
Sam clenched his teeth and forced himself to keep from pulling away as Dean practically carried him to the bed. The injured man failed to bite back a sob as he was lowered onto the mattress. He attempted to curl up onto his right side, only to have Dean stop him.
"Keep your back straight, buddy."
Sam groaned, knowing the advice was wise, but hating that he could do nothing to ease the agony scorching through him. He had to lay there and ride it out. His long frame shook as he waited for the pain to subside, or at least fade to a more bearable degree.
"Fuck, I should have got you lying down when you got here. Or better yet, you should have stayed in the freakin hospital."
Sam wanted to tell his brother to fuck off, but he knew if he unlocked his jaw the only sounds that would escape would be noises of anguish, so instead he closed his eyes and focussed on breathing through the pain.
"Just ride it out, little brother. It'll be better in a minute. I promise." Dean encouraged softly as Sam felt a cool cloth being spread over his forehead.
The pain began to edge away, leaving Sam's body feeling utterly depleted, even his eyelids were too heavy to lift.
"Just get some rest, Sammy. It'll be better when you wake up."
Sam would have snorted in derision if he had one drop of energy left, but all he was able to do was submit to his body's demand for rest and give himself over to sleep.
As his limbs grew impossibly heavier and his mind began to cloud, Sam braced himself for the nightmares he knew were soon to bombard him. Though this time he knew he wouldn't see Jess burning above him, but rather Dean dangling below him. He knew he wouldn't be haunted by his girlfriend asking him why, but rather his brother begging him to do the impossible.
Sam cringed as those three fucking words followed him into unconsciousness.