Chapter Warning: Wee bit a wincest, not near enough for my liking but if it's not for you, ya know. Um bad words acourse and hurt Sammy cause it's me and I just love watchin' Dean take care of him.. :]
"S-Sammy?" Dean finally stammered out, shock twisting his tongue into knots, "Is that you?" He finished, his voice growing an octave higher.
"I'm…so sorry Dea…" Sam's heavy breath was blowing static through the phone, cutting off his words and lengthening his pauses. He sounded exhausted and delirious.
Or hurt.
"Sam where are you?" Dean snapped through tight lips, his voice hard. He was even more frantic to find his brother now that he had access to the answers he needed, if he let this call end without them he'd die; he was sure. "Sam." Dean almost yelled in a growl.
His ears were so strained listening for any sign of movement or noise, he nearly fell on his ass tripping over himself when Bobby walked in and called out his name. Dean threw an exasperated glare and a hand up to the man after steadying himself, returning to his focused hearing.
"Sam? Still with me bro?" Dean asked, quieter this time.
"I…" Dean's heart leapt at the response, "I just…wanted you to love me." And it broke just as quickly. Sam's nearly inaudible, unbearably small voice tore little holes in Dean's heart, shattering him with their words.
"Sam," Dean's voice shook, raw and tense, "Please. Where are you?"
"New York…City."
Fuckin' fantastic. It's only the most populous city in the world… And has a warrant for my arrest.
"Are you hurt Sam? Do you know you're address?"
"Spring." Sam's voice was getting harder and harder to understand every passing second, muffled with the struggle to stay conscious it sounded, "Sprin…stree…" Dean was in a frenzy, frantic and panicked.
"Bobby, get a plane ticket to New York leaving soon as possible." He instructed swiftly, pacing around the room.
"Spring street? Is that it? No name of a motel or something?" Then Dean thought on Sam's answer a second, "Are you outside Sam?"
"Alley." Sam whispered. Dean's stomach dropped as if he'd just been thrown into a free fall a hundred stories up.
Sam.
Before Dean could say anything, or even find his voice to respond, Sam was speaking again soft as ever. He strained to hear.
"Dean…so sorry. 'M sorry…" He heard Sam's breath hitch and hiccup, "It should've…been you."
A tear rolled from Dean's eye, one he wouldn't even try and deny. Whatever his brother was talking about, he sounded on the verge of death. And Dean was over two hundred miles away.
"Always should've been you." Sam finished; there was a clattering on the other end, as if the phone had been dropped.
"Sam?" Dean yelled not waiting more than a second for a response before he hung up, knowing he'd be a hell of a lot more useful in person than over the damn phone.
"Ticket Bobby?"
"Yeah, leaves in an hour." He handed him a crisp piece of printed paper and Dean nodded in appreciation before disappearing out front to his Impala.
His phone rang once in the car and he almost swerved off the road as his heart stuttered to a stop. Then he caught the caller ID. Not Sam.
"Bobby?" Dean's voice rumbled in the car, deepened with tension as he sped down the high way.
"Alright Dean, now that you've got a minute, mind tellin' me what the hell's goin' on?"
"I'm goin' to New York to get Sam."
"Obviously," Bobby growled into the receiver, Dean pulled the phone away from his ear, "What'd he say?" He continued a little calmer, "The kid okay?"
Dean breathed heavy through flared nostrils, jaw twitching before he calmed himself enough to answer, "Not really Bobby. He didn't say much." He sighed, "He-he didn't sound like he could. Like he was fighting to stay-"
"Stay what Dean?"
Alive.
"Conscious."
Static rustled through the phone, "Damnet." Bobby muttered, "Alright, call me soon as ya land. Sure you don't want me comin' with?"
"No Bobby, I'll be alright." Dean paused a moment, "We'll be alright."
The line went dead moments later and he listened to the dial tone a while longer than he needed to before snapping the phone shut.
Dean didn't stopped moving: waiting in the line to check in at the airport, waiting at the gate to board, waiting on the plane to take off, waiting on the plane to land; he never stopped moving. Twitching, shaking his leg, twiddling his fucking thumbs, it didn't matter he just couldn't sit still. The moment he did, seconds took on a sickeningly slow pace, taunting him with their lethargy and flooding his mind with images of his baby brother dead in some trashy back alley.
Sammy.
Hours, lifetimes, centuries passed, Dean didn't know or care, before the plane finally shuddered and slammed to the ground, wheezing as it slowed to a standstill. He shoved his way through the isle the second the doors opened ignoring the irritated and stunned protests as he pushed people out of the way. Dean broke into a sprint the minute he escaped the crowd and ran off the plane, not stopping until he was through the exit of the airport and tapping urgently on the passenger door of a taxi out front.
"Hey, I need to get to Spring Street." Dean barked climbing into the back seat.
The driver was rattled at the exigency in his voice and struggled to get his response out.
"Is New York City, more dan one Spring Street. What does intersect with?" The driver stammered, sporting some thick accent Dean couldn't place – English was definitely not his first language.
Wonderful.
"Shit. Uh, I don't know." Dean huffed drumming his fingers along the back of the seat, knee bouncing and shaking the car, "It would be…it would be like a bad part of town. Like an alley maybe, shit I don't-"
"Yes," The driver started the cab, "Only one out there. By warehouses. Long way. Across city. Hour maybe?"
"Triple the fare if you cut it in half." Dean said still shaking with anxiety and just a hint of relief as the tires spun peeling out of the spot.
Dean dialed Bobby after a few painstakingly slow minutes in the car, surprised he'd remembered.
"Landed," Dean barked as a greeting, "On my way now."
Bobby sighed in relief, "Bet that plane ride was a bitch for ya." He chuckled half-heartedly. Dean was confused for a minute.
Fear of flying. Right.
Dean blew out a humorless laugh, understanding, "Right. Uh, no. Didn't notice really. Call ya when I get Sam."
"Alright boy. Be careful." Dean grunted in assent and hung up, closing his eyes as the overheated skin of his cheek hit the foggy window. It was freezing out, and Sam was in it – had been for hours if he was still where he said he'd be. Panic crept up Dean's spine at the thought of finding an empty alley in his search.
Shut up you idiot. Of course he's still there. Where the hell else would he go, he can't even move.
He can't even move.
Dean squeezed his eyes shut tighter.
God, he's dead. What if he's-?
Den moaned quietly pushing back his nausea, fervidly rejecting the thought in every way. Because it just wouldn't be possible.
"We almost there, sir?" Dean muttered trying not to let his fear or anguish or tension of any kind seep into his tone. Pissing off the driver would get him there no faster.
"Ten minutes. Been fifteen. Impossible to get faster."
"Alright." Dean said tersely fighting to keep his temper under wraps.
Time had never moved slower, but eventually the cab was weaving through narrower streets, passing random abandoned homes and shops.
Spring
He'd never loved or hated the sight of a word more in his entire life. He yanked the door open before they came to a stop and leapt from the car. He spun around to run backwards a few steps, holding his hands up as he yelled to the driver, "Wait here." The man sputtered and fumbled to get out of the car, wildly enraged he hadn't gotten his cash.
Dean tore down the road, the foggy gray sky and piercing wind urging him on all the faster.
Sam's out in this.
The alley grew darker as street lamps became scarcer and he shot a quick glance over his shoulder noticing the cab was far enough away that it became a mere yellow smudge in the distance.
"Sam?" Dean yelled, eyes bouncing off every shattered bottle and stinking dumpster he passed, giving quick once-overs to the intersecting mini alleys on Spring.
Spring. Of all the fucking names.
Dean's labored breath billowed white puffs of steam around his face as he spun, trying to quiet himself in search of a sound. Any sound.
Something like a shoe scrapped along the faded pavement sounded off to his right where a tunnel of unabashed blackness awaited him: one of the mini streets that branched off Spring. One of the darker ones.
As a hunter, a flashlight was almost always a necessity in everyday situations; but as it was, Dean had brought nothing short of what had been in his pockets before racing off. A cell phone and his wallet.
He flipped open the phone and pointed light down toward the enclosing pit of nothing, wading in, following whatever trail he could find.
"Sam?" Dean's voice grumbled and vibrated through the darkness before another rustle sounded off ahead – some sort of scrapping against the ground. "Sammy?" He asked, voice steadying an octave higher. A moan.
His guts wrenched at the agonized sound and he rushed forward, feeling his way around to the ground. Something appeared up ahead pulling his attention: a small white light. Dean lunged the few paces it took to get there and knelt down beside a lumpy shape huddled next to the source of light. A cell phone, he saw clutched tight in a battered hand.
"Sam?" Dean's breath caught in a tearless sob as he pulled on the figure, revealing the face that rolled over toward him.
His Sammy's face, eyes half closed in delirium, brow wrinkled up in pain, body trembling with a chill of the crisp night wind. "Sammy."
"Dea…" Sam's hand came up, bloody and bruised, to flail at the front of Dean's shirt, trying to grasp onto something. "Shh brother. It'll be okay. I'm here." Dean lifted Sam's head cradling it in his lap as he pressed a couple fingers to the slow but there pulse in his brother's neck and then moved his knuckles to brush across his chin, quiet tears sliding down Dean's nose, "I'm gonna take care of you."
He had to get Sam somewhere warm fast. His lips had a dangerous blue tint to them as they parted in a short, agonized breath and his body wracked with another gust of wind. The hospital was out of the question though; he would not be dragged to jail in the midst of trying to save his brother. He wouldn't leave him alone. There was no way.
With the steady, though faint, pulse he'd felt, Dean reassured himself he could handle this. He could take care of his Sammy and he would, no matter what.
Dean bent further down to scoop his lengthy brother up under the knees and neck, trying to keep his head from lolling. Sam's face twisted up in torment as his body was jostled and Dean felt it then, wet and thick seeping into his jeans, running over his hands. Blood, everywhere. Sam had been lying in a puddle of it, the back of his clothes soaked to a dark crimson.
"God Sam. What happened? " Dean choked, settling Sam back on his bent knees; he was too gone to answer though. Too tired, too cold, too hurt.
Dean didn't have time seek out the source of the bleeding though, he had to get Sam inside somewhere. He was ready to stand again, his mind trying to detach itself from the situation to work functionally when the phone Sam had been clutching slipped from his hands and landed on its side, still shining a dim white light from its screen.
Time seemed to slow down as a couple things happened at once, spurring a flood of thoughts clicking together in Dean's mind. The light from the phone bounced around until it landed still, casting strange angled shadows over everything in its path. The gleam of a belt buckle caught his eye and he looked down to see Sam's pants undone, hanging loose around his waist. And Dean turned his head back up to look more closely at the scene the light so graciously revealed.
The puddle of blood he'd felt before was soaking into a dirty rag. A rag that was stuck to a long tangled piece of duct tape and a longer piece of bloodied rope.
And a crow bar lay a few feet over, shining proudly in the light, dry blood coating one end. One end that was bent from a hook to lay flat against itself, almost as if whoever used it needed it to fit-
Everything snapped into focus.
Oh, god. Ohgod. The blood on his clothes, the unbuckled pants, the gag, the rope. No, no, no, no, no.
The only reason Dean didn't hurl his guts out right there was the ever precious body, limp and still trembling in his arms, desperate for his help. For his strength.
"Okay," Dean sobbed, hiccupping to regain his breath, "Okay Sam. We're gonna be okay. I've got you." Dean stood, pulling himself together and at the same time leaving a piece of himself behind in that alley. A broken, devastated, irreplaceable piece that would always remember what he saw there that day.
He tried to block out the guttural moan of pain as Sam was moved again and his hand came up pushing feebly against Dean's chest, trying once more to find purchase.
"Relax Sam." Dean whispered into Sam's hair pressing a kiss to his matted locks, "We're gonna get you home. We'll get you better. Just relax." Dean wished with all his heart he could bring Sam home, give him a home. A life. Maybe then he wouldn't have run away – this wouldn't have happened.
Finally stepping out from the lightless alley, Dean's heart nearly jumped from his body when he saw the blur of yellow at the end of the broken road, still waiting. The taxi seemed to spot him as it backed up and turned into the street, racing toward them. Dean quickly stepped out of the way as the driver swerved and screeched to a stop.
"You pay now!" He yelled rolling down the passenger window; Dean shook his head in disbelief a little scared at how easily the man could disregard the wrecked body in his arms.
"I need to get to the nearest motel," He said as he climbed in the back ignoring the driver's arguments and pulled his wallet out. He threw all the money he had into the front seat and turned his attention back to Sam.
"Americans." He muttered before slamming on the gas pedal.
"Hey," Dean snarled as the car slammed over a pot hole, "Fuckin' take it easy."
"Yeah, yeah. Get blood on seat, pay for new car." The man sneered into the rear view mirror with a thumbs up. Dean about knocked him out right there, speeding down the main road with pure, mutinous fury sizzling up his spine.
The only reason he didn't was the ever precious body still curled up and quivering in his arms.
Sammy.
He took the next lasting five minutes of the ride to do a more thorough check on Sam's injuries and get their full extent. The most visible one being the massive shiner blooming from Sam's right temple, reaching far enough to swell his eye shut. Discerning from the bruise, Sam most likely had a concussion. Dean prayed it wasn't severe.
His whole body was covered in grime, dirt – whatever the alley ground had been crawling with – except the few distinct lines he noticed down his cheeks: tear tracks. In the eighteen years of Sam's life, Dean had seen Sam cry a handful of times since he was a child.
The sight shattered him all over again.
He moved down Sam's body jaw tightening as he tore his mind away from horrifying images of his brother writhing on the ground, crying as he was tortured, and lifted Sam's shirt to continue his check.
Jesus Christ.
Dean's hand froze when he saw the black, blue and all different shades of red that coated every inch of ribs on his right, reaching from under his armpit down to his navel. Little bruises like finger prints drew Dean's attention next down to his hips, pushing the bile back up in his throat as tears leaked from his eyes. His fingers brushed lightly over a scar under the discoloration of his left hip; two cuts crisscrossed into an 'X'.
What the hell?
Dean stopped his search pulling the shirt back down – he couldn't do it in the confines of the jostling car anymore, he'd puke. Or pass out. It was too much. He was still reeling from the fact that after two months, his Sammy was back in his arms. He couldn't process all the rest. Not here.
They arrived at the motel quicker than he'd hoped and Dean settled Sam in the back seat of the cab, left the door wide open and ran inside to book a room. Dean could hardly keep his eyes on the clerk trying to get his attention to pay as he was constantly glancing out the window to make sure Sam was still there. The door slammed behind them as he carried Sam into their room laying him down on the king sized bed. He immediately began racing around like a frenzied whirlwind to get water, hot rags, and start the tub almost simultaneously.
"Hey Sam," he sat down lightly next to his brother, cursing himself for not bringing a change of clothes. Sam could really use them after the bath considering what he was wearing now. "How you doin' buddy?" Dean rasped, voice thick with distress.
Sam shuddered and winced, a damaged hand moving to his damaged side.
"Cold." He murmured through frozen lips, the first coherent word he'd spoken. Dean laughed in spite of his silent tears, trailing his fingers down the unscathed side of Sam's face.
"I know," He said, "Tubs goin'. Nice and warm, promise. Think you could get in for a bit? Just sit?" He asked not fully expecting a real answer as he moved Sam's hand from his side and pushed his shirt up needing to remove it for the tub. Getting it off would be a problem though, he realized; he'd have to cut it. He reached for the knife always kept snug in his boot.
Shit.
He'd had to leave it to get through security. Dean patted down his brother's pant leg gently, careful of any unseen injuries and found exactly what he was looking for, right where he'd always taught Sam to keep it.
"Good boy, Sammy." Dean breathed, taking the edge of the blade to Sam's shirt and cutting a straight line down the middle and through each sleeve.
"Mm." Sam moaned trying to open his eyes, wondering what was going on as his shirt fell off around him.
Dean moved his hand to Sam's already unbuckled pants and felt the wrath return, ready to eat him alive and render him useless to his brother. He took a deep, steadying breath and tried to tug them of as gently as possible. He slid a hand under the low of Sam's back and lifted his hips as he inched the waist of the jeans and boxers down.
Sam's face wrinkled up again and his teeth came down on his bottom lip, hard and grating as a moan choked out of him.
"Shh Sammy, you're okay. It's alright, I've got you." Dean soothed around a barely contained sob and got the blood soaked garmets off around his ankles. Dean did sob when he saw the blood dried on the inside of Sam's thighs and swollen, darkened color of his testicles, as if they'd been squeezed too long and tugged too roughly. He averted his watery eyes as quickly as he could but the sight had him staring in horror for a second before he regained some of his self-control.
Come on man keep it together. Sam needs you.
He coached himself trying to rein in his thoughts and keep them off the many different, horrifically graphic images he conjured of his little brother being raped, brutalized and tortured for god knows how long in the back of some filthy alley. He shook his head and ran his clean hand roughly down his face, swiping away the wet tracks and stooped to pick his brother up again.
Sam's pain was completely evident in his cry as Dean lifted him off the bed and carried him toward the bathroom. It seemed like every jostle, no matter how soft, had agony tearing through his baby brother's broken body. It wasn't surprising or anything considering what Dean could see of his injuries, but still it had more painfully stinging tears crawling down his face.
As slowly as he could, Dean lowered Sam into the luke warm water, eyes intent on his face, watching for signs to back off or go slower, anything.
Sam's face was a tight grimace again but he wasn't making any attempt to stop Dean, so he let Sam rest against the bottom of the tub, softly as he could.
"Hey Sammy, how's it feel?"
"Hot." He mumbled eyes tightly shut, "Stings."
"Okay little brother," Dean brushed the back of his hand down Sam's cheek, "It'll get better, give it a sec. Gotta warm you up." He said gently through his tear-constricted throat.
Dean watched the tub water turn a pink and brown mix as a little of the dirt and blood rinsed from Sam's skin. He quickly grabbed the hand towel by the sink and brought it back to the tub, running fresh hot water and soap over it.
Dean wiped what he could of the dried blood and dirt from Sam's face without irritating the bruise or cuts, holding his chin firm in his hand. He moved to his chest and rubbed tenderly at the skin under water, running the rag softly over the discolored ribs and then the purple spots on his hips. God the kid was just black blue and red all over. Dean put a hand under one of Sam's knees and lifted slowly, eyes once again trained on his face watching for signs to stop, that it hurt, that he was waking up. But Sam just moaned lowly and rolled his head to the side keeping his eyes closed in his exhausted delirium. Dean set his foot down on the bottom of the tub and made sure it would stay upright before moving down the length of the tub to try and see the damage.
He didn't want Sam to know he knew what happened in that alley until or unless he told him himself, but while Sam was still out of it like this, he felt an elder-brother, instinctive need to make sure the private injury wasn't bad enough to cause infection or something, knowing Sam wouldn't willingly come to him for help with something so personal, or what he would see as embarrassing. Dean watched a little blood trickle into the water from between his legs, but he couldn't see much else, so he lifted Sam's other knee, just as slowly as before and rested it up against the edge of the tub.
Dean moved further down and lifted the drain running more luke warm water to get rid of the clouds of filth and keep the water clean, taking a moment to rinse out the rag and soap it up again. Dean's gaze flashed over to Sam who, for all intents and purposes could've been sleeping, except that his eyes slit open every once in a while and he shifted around, allowing Dean to relax a little, seeing that Sam wouldn't lose consciousness from blood loss or something.
So he moved back to look between Sam's legs, feeling terrible about invading his privacy without him aware but also too concerned to dwell long on his morals. If this wound needed treatment, Sam wouldn't come to him; he'd suffer in silence until it was too late and Dean couldn't have that. So with a deep inhaled breath, he steeled himself and peered down. Immediately he felt his gag reflex working, trying to force up something from his empty stomach.
Sam's hole was a bulging swollen, raw and torn mess, but thankfully not leaking blood anymore and Dean took another deep, heaving breath as he blinked the tears from his eyes, immensely grateful that he could lift his gaze again. Though the gratification was short lived as he realized there was no way they could let those tears go without proper attention, without cleaning them. He had no doubt Sam would get an infection if they didn't.
He heaved a trembling sigh and looked at Sam again who seemed to be really sleeping now, and moved the sudsy rag to the back of his thighs getting all the blood and dirt off his skin. Soon he was about finished with bodily cleaning and decided to wake Sam up to finish the rest.
"Hey man." Dean said softly grabbing his chin in his hand, "Still with me?" He asked.
Sam made a strange but compliant noise in the back of his throat and tugged open his eyes.
"Still…here." Sam murmured, "Can't believe you found me." His voice crackled, deep in his chest trying to pull himself from the grogginess of his sleep deprived mind.
"'Course I did. I had to." Dean said simply, eyes far away as he softly rubbed the cloth down Sam's arms, watching the bloody wrists but trying to keep the parts of him above water warm. His focus returned to the present when he noticed the tremble subsiding from Sam's battered body – the blue tinge fading. "How's the water feelin' now?"
"Lil' better." Dean gave his brother a lopsided smile and turned on the faucet to add more fresh hot water as he lifted the plug on the drain again.
"Good." He said taking in an uncharacteristically shaky breath, "And you? How're you feelin'?" He asked rinsing the rag under the running water and hanging it up to grab a cup and shampoo.
"I uh…" Sam sighed and flinched, "Hurt." He cracked as much of a smile as he could manage and straightened out his legs slowly, shut his eyes and leaned back against the tub. As unusual as it was for Dean to see Sam cry, it was even rarer to see him admit the true degree of his pain.
"I-I didn't bring anything when I came," Dean stammered, "Stupid I know, but you had me pretty fuckin' freaked with your call, for good reason I see," Dean shook his head, getting back on track, "Point is, I don't have any pain meds, or first aid or…anything." He admitted, "Maybe I should take you to a hospital." Dean's voice dropped to a whisper considering the idea silently and jumping when Sam's hand came down on his arm.
"No, Dean," He said trying to put more force behind his words, "You have a warrant…for your arrest out here, don't you?" Sam stopped and caught his breath as best he could with his ribs shooting splinters up his side, "I'll be okay."
"I could just, drop you off and leave." Dean said forcing the words out of his mouth; not at all sure he was even capable of doing it.
"You…wouldn't." Sam whispered with a tiny smile, "Then you'd get your ass arrested and I'd hafta break you out…big mess." He said in-between labored breaths trying to keep steady eye contact with his brother.
Dean whispered a chuckle and rinsed Sam's soapy hair dropping any real consideration of the idea, "I'd break myself out just fine thanks."
"Right." Sam chuckled, stopping short as visible pain flared through him.
Dean winced and put a hand on Sam's shoulder in silent reassurance, listening to the hiss slip through his brother's grinding teeth.
"Alright, how 'bout we get you out and dried off." Dean said after Sam relaxed a little, satisfied with at least his hygiene now. Sam opened his eyes after a moment and attempted to sit up, "Think you can try and stand?" Dean asked as he knew there was no way he could bend into the tub and lift all 190 lbs of his brother from that angle.
"'Course," Sam mumbled obviously not keen on relying on help.
Dean put his hands under Sam's arm's and carried most of the weight as Sam rose with a deep, barely suppressed groan, barely getting his legs under him in time to catch his body weight as he was still weak and obviously in serious torment. Sam's forehead dropped to Dean's shoulder as he panted, arm's shaking with the strain of trying to stay vertical.
"Don't know…if I can…walk." Sam admitted slowly, muffling his words into Dean's t-shirt, hoping maybe he wouldn't hear as shame washed over him.
Dean grabbed a towel behind him, never letting go of Sam, and wrapped it around his brother's waist without a word. He was gentle securing it and scooped Sam easily into his arms, lugging his dripping body back to the bed.
He leaned over to put Sam down noticing the subtle shift of his brother's hips as he tried not to be placed on his back. Dean snapped his eyes over to Sam's when he saw, but his brother's face was hidden away, the subtle red flush of his good cheek giving away his disgrace or embarrassment.
Dean felt a million different words bubble up in his throat, itching to come out and take away that misplaced dishonor in his brother's eye. But he knew nothing he could say would fix this, if anything it would add fuel to the flame, bringing attention to Sam's feelings of indignity. So Dean let it go, returning to the bathroom for another towel and gently rubbing the water from his brother's longer hair, drying his chest and arms, patting delicately at the countless bruises.
"Think you're good to stay here for a couple minutes while I go grab some stuff?" Dean asked after removing the towel and tucking his naked brother under the blankets. He needed some clothes. "You hungry at all?" He asked considering what else he'd need.
"Not really." Sam shook his head, shivering again, "Yeah…I'll be fine."
"You cold still?" Dean pressed the back of his hand against Sam's forehead, "How's your head feel?"
"Dean…I'm okay. Go." Sam slurred unconvincingly, "Could use…clothes though…while you're out."
"On my list." Dean said before pressing a chaste kiss into Sam's hair and heading for the door.
"Dean," Sam called just before his brother disappeared, "Missed you." He breathed, exhaustion creeping over his features.
"Dido Sammy." Dean said, fully aware as it was happening, that the moment's memory would be one he'd carry with him forever. The heartbreak image, the strange mix of relief and sorrow bubbling in his stomach, every detail would be branded into his mind.
"Be okay little brother." Dean pleaded to no one in particular as he shut the door and bit back more reckless tears, "Please be okay."
It took all of five minutes to steal a car in this part of the city and fifteen to find a Walmart, search for what he needed, pay and get back in the car with three bags full of supplies.
Dean's heart was a throbbing, sputtering mess as he climbed out and ran up to the motel door, scrambling with the key before lodging it in. Anything could've happened in the last twenty minutes, anything. Sam could've slipped into a coma for all he knew, twenty minutes could change everything.
Thankfully, when Dean slammed open the door he startled Sam awake and watched his eyes – or eye – with relief as it popped open to bounce around the room in surprise.
"Dean?" Sam pulled the covers tighter over his shoulder, shaking with the wintery air that blew in through the door, "That was quick." He grated, his voice heavy with sleep.
He took a seat next to Sam and smiled shakily, almost giddy to find his brother awake as he put the bags down at the end of the bed.
"Yeah." Dean nodded and ran a hand over Sam's still wet hair. "Let's get those ribs taped." He pulled medical wrap out of one of the bags and peeled back the covers, "Can you sit up?" Dean asked, quickly cringing internally as he realized what he'd asked and the position that put his brother in. He didn't want to pressure Sam in telling him the extent of his injuries until he was comfortable with it.
"Or you know, just prop yourself up." He backtracked. Sam gave him a quick curious look but Dean wouldn't meet his eyes as he helped Sam onto his elbow. The youngest brother seemed to let it go quickly as moving around spiked pain through him again and he lost any train of thought.
Dean quickly and methodically took care of Sam's ribs doing his damnest not to hurt his little brother, knowing the pressure over broken ribs was excruciating no matter what you did. He taped off the wrap and let Sam back down on his side, "Alright Sam, worst's over." He reassured listening to Sam's shaken breath slowly even out, "I think." He added under his breath moving to his thrashed hands.
"You think their broken?" Dean asked, gently holding one in his own, putting delicate pressure to feel for tell-tale bumps or notches that shouldn't be there. Sam hissed and moaned but shook his head.
"No. If they are, we can have someone look at them when we get outta this damn city." Sam breathed in relief as his hand was put back down.
Dean couldn't place why exactly those words pricked tears in his eyes, but they did and he blinked them back furiously. Maybe just knowing Sam planned on going back with him was enough. He hadn't really thought about whether his little brother would stay or leave again at this point, but hearing his hopes reassured lifted an anchor from his heart and let him really breathe again.
What a fuckin' sap.
Dean pushed his knuckle across his eye and grabbed the rubbing alcohol from a bag, leaning the bottle against Sam's side as his brother eyed it wearily.
"Sorry Sammy, don't want these infected," Dean said in response to the look and retrieved a couple cotton balls, soaking them in the acidic liquid.
"So what've you been doin' the past two months?" Dean asked before he picked up Sam's arm and began cleaning out the rubbed raw slices on his wrists. The answering hiss from his brother was exactly what Dean had wanted to distract him from, but he gave him a moment to breathe through it anyway and waited.
"Uh," Sam's cheeks puffed as he blew out a breath, "Not a whole lot." He groaned, "You?"
"Not a whole lot." Dean mocked scoffing, "Yeah, alright." He said letting it drop and moved to the other wrist working quickly – the soft whimpering from his brother urging him on all the faster. He bandaged up the wounds and sat back grabbing one more fresh cotton ball and soaking it, grabbing Sam's chin gently but firm in his hand.
"And to think I was havin' a nice nap 'fore you came in." Sam said managing a small crooked grin that stopped Dean from descending toward the cut along Sam's temple. Dean gave a quick toothy smile in return,
"You know me Sammy," Dean quipped, "Never one to miss a party." Sam smiled again and Dean tilted the cut toward him and gripped him a little tighter, "Sorry," He whispered as he cleaned out the gash and picked out a couple pebbles with tweezers whatching Sam's face crumpled up in a way Dean wouldn't miss if he never saw again.
"Anything else?" He asked after patching up his head and he looked over Sam's body, hoping maybe he'd come clean with a little innocent prompting.
"No." Sam answered quickly as he pulled the covers up, heat blooming a soft pink over his neck and cheeks, embarrassed under his brother's gaze.
Dean sighed and let it go looking deep into Sam's glassy eyes, "I have so many questions." He blurted out in a whisper after things had gone quiet a few minutes, not consciously realizing he'd said anything until Sam's brow rose in anticipation.
"Part of me wants to just scream at you now that I know you're not gonna die…" Dean started after he realized he was supposed to continue, dropping his head to break away from Sam's stare, "But part of me's too relieved you're alive to do it." He huffed again in defeat, shaking his head, "Why'd you go Sam?"
Why'd you run from me?
It was Sam's turn to split his gaze from his brother's as Dean turned back toward him, eyes hiding their devastation, trying to convey an honest desire to understand.
"I-" For one split second Sam thought he might just spill every secret he ran away to protect, but thought wiser of it a moment later, "I'm really tired, it's hard to focus. Maybe we could talk about this in the morning?" Sam asked still unable to look Dean in the face.
The eldest brother was quiet for a minute, trying to understand that answer.
What the hell is he hiding?
"Yeah Sam, take somethin' for the pain first."
"It's not that bad."
Dean gave a humorless smile, "Yeah I'm sure." He twisted off the cap and shook two pills into his palm, grabbing the glass of water on the nightstand. Dean helped Sam onto his elbow, reminded once again that he couldn't sit, and made sure he swallowed the pills.
"Sleep lil' brother." Dean whispered patting Sam's shoulder as he got up from the bed.
Sam drifted easily once the pain started ebbing, and sunk into the bed as if it were the most wonderful thing he'd ever felt. Considering where he'd been sleeping the past couple months, it was, and hours blew by, the sun rising and settling in the late afternoon.
He woke to a pitch black room though, sweating and panting as he wrestled with a nightmare of gags and ropes and crow bars. Sam tried to jolt up in the bed – wrench himself from the terror – only to find it was real. He was being pinned down by something strong and soft and completely terrifying, something locked over his arms.
"No, no. Get offa me." Sam begged, "Please don't do this, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll do whatever you want…just not this. I can't, not again." Sam whimpered, struggling as hard as he could. He kept his eyes tightly shut, gasping through the sharpened splinters in his side and the raw sting in his wrists, the dull throb in his hands and the insufferable ache in his ass as they all protested the jerky movements of his body.
"Stop, Sammy. Stop. Open your eyes, Sam. It's me. It's your brother. You're okay, calm down." Sam heard a voice over him, just barely breaking through to his conscious mind that was still making him believe it was happening all over again. He yanked open his eyes which were pouring down tears to that voice he'd only just began to process and gasped for breath through sobs he didn't realize were coming from him.
"C'mere Sam," Dean squeezed the salty tears from his eyes and tucked Sam's head against his chest trying to get the hitching cries to subside from his brother, knowing full well how bad it had to hurt. "Just breathe Sammy," He heard above him, whispered into his hair. Sam tried to comply, not able to take the searing agony that ripped through him every time his stomach muscles did even the faintest flutter let alone pulled a sob from him.
"That's it." Dean encouraged, "There you go brother. Your doin' good." Sam could hear the waver in his brother's praise, the fear, the anger, the tears. He was sure under different circumstances Dean would be crucifying them both for these seriously dramatic chick flick moments, but as it was, he could tell Dean was just scared.
After a few slow, focused breaths, Sam lifted his head and locked tired, red eyes with his brother's in silent apology.
"You okay?" Dean asked, voice breaking painfully, thick with lasting tears.
Sam nodded, Dean's arms still secured around him, a flutter of something hot and deep pooling in his belly.
"Sam, I'm so sorry this happened. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you." Dean began dropping his eyes from Sam's, "I know I haven't been able to give you everything you've wanted. Hell, I haven't been able to give you anything you've wanted, really. A life, or a home. A steady school. I should've been able to do that for you." Dean shook his head and sighed, mouth set in a tight line, "I'm supposed to take care of you. Not drive you away." He admitted with ever crushing defeat as he hung his head, turning his face from Sam, "For that I'm sorry, cause you should have that life. You deserve it." Dean nodded as droplet fell from his nose, "That home and a chance at wife and kids. Whatever you want. And from here on out-"
His brother's sentence was cut short when Sam's lips stole a life of their own, crushing down on Dean's with an intensity and passion he didn't know he possessed. Dean's mouth had been open but it snapped shut when Sam's came into contact and his lips closed around them, molding to fit just right.
Sam's tongue traced the bottom line of his brother's mercilessly full, sinfully soft lip and to Sam's great surprise, Dean didn't shove him away. Whether it was the knowledge that he was hurt and pushing him wouldn't end well or that Dean actually wanted this, Sam couldn't find it to care. He was taking advantage of the opportunity, positive nothing like it would ever come again.
Sam brought a hand up to Dean's cheek holding him close as he memorized the taste of his brother's lips, not pushing it to ask for entrance. Sam decided right then if his brother kicked him out, disowned him and never spoke to him again, getting to finally know the solely-Dean, sparked and unbelievable taste of his lips would almost be worth it.
Then, things shifted and Dean's mouth started working with Sam's, his lips parted without any prompting at all, inviting Sam to explore. His brother's open mouth caught the pleasured moan that escaped from deep in Sam's throat as his hand tangled into the sensitive curls at the nape of his neck.
The kiss was quick and careless and so heated Sam thought his heart might jump right out of his throat and break them up, but soon it was over and Sam was pulling away, sucking in quick shallow breaths.
"I don't want any of that, Dean." Sam whispered into the empty stagnant air around them, "You've always been all of that to me. My home, my school, my life." Sam pulled in a deep ragged breath, trying to keep his voice steady. Fighting to keep his nerve, "I left because I wanted more of you. I wanted this," He pressed a hand to Dean's chest never taking his eyes from him, "And I knew I could never have it."
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