Hey- a little early this week - I hope you don't mind.

Oh, and - I still don't own them...you'd be the first to know if it ever changes!

Whiplash

Chapter 10

"For god's sake, Sam. I'm fine. I'm perfectly capable to go to the freaking bathroom by myself, don't need you to hold my…"

Dean's voice trailed off in a hiss of pain, a sharp intake of air that betrayed his words the second they'd left his mouth. He screwed his eyes shut, jaw set and nostrils flaring as he let Sam lower him onto the edge of the bathtub. Sam immediately shuffled to lean against him, to give him leverage and keep him from falling.

"Yeah, I can see how you're fine and all, but why don't we play it safe and you let me help you anyways? I don't think passing out in the bathroom is high up on your wish-list right now. Besides, I told you – I could have gotten you a bowl or a glass to pee into, but you didn't seem to be particularly found of that proposal either."

Sam smirked against the death glare that was shot his way, ducked his head a little but kept a firm grip on Dean's body, careful to avoid touching his back, to keep from jostling his side and shoulder any more than necessary.

"You'd like that, you sick bastard. Like a masochistic Mother Theresa in a 6'4 frame, dude."

Sam couldn't help the surprised that escaped him as he was assaulted by a very vivid imagery of Dean's slander.

"Want me to get out my garter belt and whip?"

At the word whip Dean flinched, and Sam could have bitten off his tongue at his own stupidity. But apologizing now would only serve to make the situation even more awkward, and Sam was pretty much done with awkward by now. He wanted Dean to feel safe and at ease – now more so than ever. So he chose to ignore the laden silence and barged on undeterred.

"Listen, I promise I won't question your masculinity if you let me help you. I'll even look the other way, if that makes you feel any better, even though I've really seen it all already. But there's no way around it. You either let me help you or I'll get Bobby in here and we'll have a big, old, bathroom-party. Somehow I don't think that'll be any less awkward…"

Dean groaned at the suggestion, jaw still set as he let his chin drop down, taking a breath that didn't seem to rattle quite as painfully inside his chest anymore. His ribs were still bruised and just had to be sore and hurting, but at least Sam didn't think that he'd obtained anything else but bruised and cracked ribs – none broken. Wasn't he the lucky one.

"Fine…fine. You do whatever you have to do. But rest assured that I'll store this away for later use…" Dean threatened half-heartedly and Sam had to smile.

"Yeah, me too!" Sam smirked, ignoring Dean's mumbled reply.

It really shouldn't have been awkward, and Sam didn't see it that way at all, but of course Dean would have a different opinion on the matter. For him, letting his brother take care of him was equalling a loss of control, and that again meant him not being the stronger, the older, the more experienced brother and hunter, the protector that he liked to see himself as, no matter what. Even beaten to a bloody pulp Dean wouldn't willingly give up on that position – the picture he had of himself.

Holding Dean upright while he attended his "business" was not easy at all and Sam considered for a second to really ask Bobby for help, but decided against it in the end. Dean would never forgive him if he did – even though Bobby had probably seen both of them in various states of undress, and he sure as hell knew the bladder works of a man as well.

Sam stood by and let Dean lean against him 'just a little' while he used the john, then flushed for him and closed the toilet lid before lowering Dean down on top of it, angling him sideways so his back wouldn't come to rest against the toilet tank behind him.

Sam had a quick mental image of Dean hoisting him up on a toilet hen he'd been barely 2, propping him up and holding onto him so he didn't fall into the bowl. They'd never had those toilet seats for little kids, with the steps and the special construction on top to accommodate much smaller butts than those of adults.

Sam had to shake his head, caught somewhere between smiling and smirking at the memory. And he definitely wasn't going to mention this little snippet of their past to Dean just now. Maybe later…

Dean, to give him credit, suffered through Sam's administrations heroically, jaw set and eyes fixed on a point on the tiled bathroom wall, muscles tense. But he was holding himself upright, managed to oblige to Sam's gentle instructions and nudges, moving his arms and legs to give Sam the space he needed.

Sam was kneeling on the floor next to his brother, cleaning his torso with a wet cloth, wiping away the remnants of blood and sweat and grime from his skin, careful to avoid the darkest bruises and cuts, the tender and still slightly swollen skin bordering the coarse stitches on his back. The slash across his back was healing fairly well now, only the deepest part of the wound still had Sam worried, had Bobby providing an seemingly endless supply of antibiotics and pain meds.

Dean looked like some kind of sick Frankenstein double, and while Sam was sure Dean would have probably liked the comparison, he couldn't get himself to say it out loud. The reality of it all was too gruesome to warrant too much joking – at least on Sam's part.

They'd cleaned the wounds before attempting the trip to the bathroom, had drained some of the infected pus-filled pockets on his shoulder and hip and while it still didn't look good, it had gotten better. At least Dean was coherent now, managed to take a couple of steps without keeling over, managed to say more than a word without passing out from pain. Still far from alright but…

Once Sam was done helping Dean to wash, he grabbed their first aid kit, which had been newly refilled with tons of bandages and gauze that Bobby had managed to snatch from god only knew where. Sam hadn't asked – and honestly couldn't care less.

"So, you want me to patch you up in here or you want to go back outside, lie down, let Bobby help?"

Sam caught Dean's eyes, held them as he waited patiently for his brother to answer. Under normal circumstances he'd never even considered asking, would have simply dragged his brother back into the room where it would be a hell of a lot more comfortable for him, no matter what Dean said. But there was something in Dean's behaviour, the way he let Sam help him without so much as really making an effort to stop him…

Dean still was a little…upset with Bobby – for telling Sam about the secret, even though he'd taken it far better than Sam would have thought – maybe a little too well. As a matter of fact, he hadn't said one word, had set his jaw and accepted their explanation with a curt nod. And while Sam knew that Dean would not manage to stay mad at one of the few men besides his own brother he considered a friend, he also knew that Dean would need a little time to get over the initial feeling of betrayal.

"Nah…get it done here. 'sides, you'll do fine by yourself…"

For whatever reason, Sam felt almost grateful that Dean let him do this, that he preferred for them to handle this on their own. There was an inexplicable feeling of relief in the relative privacy of the closed off bathroom, the close confinements that didn't feel oppressing at all, even though they were both more or less hindered in their movements.

Just the two of them.

"Alright, so, you'll need to turn around a little so I can get at your back."

Dean obliged quietly, only grunting a little as his side pinched painfully while he moved. Sam waited patiently, biting his lips and clenching his hands to not reach out and help Dean, knowing the need for him to do this by himself, however minor an act it seemed to be. But he knew his brother, knew that he'd want to do this…

Dean turned towards the sink, braced his left arm across the cool porcelain and leaned forward till his forehead rested against his forearm, right arm held to his side, back ramrod straight. Sam waited till Dean had settled, till the twitch in the muscles of his back died down to a reasonable level, indicating that the pain was once again pushed back behind a wall thick enough to hold them at bay for Sam to finish his work. Only then did he start applying the bandages again, carefully adding rectangle after rectangle along his brother's back, fixing them in place on top of a thick layer of antibiotic ointment with strip after strip of surgical tape.

Dean's skin was twitching every once in a while, silent shudders chasing themselves over the plane of his back, disappearing underneath the waistband of his boxers. He was still a bit warm to the touch, but it was nothing compared to the raging heat lighting him on fire less than 12 hours ago.

"So…" Dean cleared his throat, the width of muscle between his shoulders rolling once, then settling again. "So, Bobby told you…about my little secret…"

It wasn't a question but a statement, because Dean knew that Sam knew – they'd been over that already when both Sam and Bobby had presented Dean with the cold facts. But Sam recognized the statement for what it was – an introduction, an opening to talk. Coming from Dean, it came close to being a miracle.

Sam kept his eyes on Dean's back, his hands moving. The anger he'd felt when finding out about what Dean had been hiding from him had all but abated, strangely enough, had been replaced by tired resignation instead. He wanted to be mad, he really did, but the moment he felt the anger built up inside his chest, it was quenched again by the fear of what would happen, of what was going to happen in only a few too short months – the realization of what his brother had sacrificed for him, of what he was facing.

Dean would always, no matter what, do anything for Sam, Sam knew that. It had always been that way – from the very first memory Sam had right up to the present day. So, however sick and twisted and wrong it seemed that he'd kept the occurrences back then to himself, Sam knew where it had come from. He knew. And he didn't find it in himself to reproach Dean for it – not right now, not with the all fervour he wanted to.

"Sam, you still back there?" Dean asked, turning his forehead against his arm, giving Sam a glimpse of long lashes, weighed down by tiny droplets of sweat, laying low against pale cheeks.

Sam picked up another patch of gauze, gently placing it against Dean lower left back, holding still as Dean sucked in a breath, releasing it slowly.

"Yes, I'm still here. And yes, Bobby told me - you know he did, we talked about it already." he said quietly.

Sam left it at that. For the moment.

Another couple of minutes later Dean broke the silence between them again.

"So, uhm…you're still collecting your thoughts, trying to make a list of all the things you're gonna call me for being so stupid and stubborn and…nhhh."

He broke off, bit back the sound of pain that had slipped from his lips a little too late.

Sam winced along with his brother, sympathy almost making him feel the pain as if it was raging through his own body as well.

"Sorry…and, yeah, I'm still getting my thoughts lined up so I don't forget anything I wanna throw at you." he said, voice calm and even.

Dean blinked, sighing silently.

"Alright…I guess…I deserve as much. So, I'm not out of the woods yet, I take it?"

"You can bet your ass you're not." Sam said, a hint of a smile coloring his voice.

"I figured as much." Dean sighed. "Only, bear in mind…you know…"

"Yeah, I know. Only a couple of months left to live – your dying wish, you're hurt and feverish…"

Sam slowly felt irritation creep over him, despite his best efforts, despite all the warm feelings he'd had just moments ago. How Dean managed to push his buttons so thoroughly, Sam had no idea. He'd always thought Dean was the short-fused one in their family, but maybe Sam wasn't all that much better. But Sam was just so tired of Dean not staying serious for once…

"This is getting old Dean, and fast. When the hell will you learn to trust me…?"

"I was gonna say…" Dean interrupted his brother with sudden vigour, muscles in his arm jumping "…bear in mind that it was a really long time ago – and you were still a kid, and I was still young and it was my job to protect you and…you know, I didn't know…"

"Didn't know what?"

"I didn't know that trusting you would have been my best option…that you would have been able to help, no matter how…no matter what you would have done."

That finally managed to shut Sam up. For good. He felt like the air had been ripped out of his lungs and he had to stop working on fixing up his brother's side, had to catch himself.

This he hadn't counted on.

"I mean…don't get me wrong - god, this has to be the fever, I don't even know what I'm saying here – I don't regret a thing. Don't regret handling it the way I did – not really. It was the only way, at the time. I did it to protect you – us. Our family, Sam. It was the right thing, I did the right thing. I held us together. They would have torn us apart, if the police would have gotten wind of our situation…they'd have locked dad up, taken you away from me. I couldn't let that happen. You were still a kid, Sammy, you didn't need to know…and when dad left…"

He seemed to have lost his trail of thought, and Sam could see that it was only in parts to the fact that he was no doubt trying to justify what he knew had been wrong all along. He looked exhausted, beat, tired and hurt. But he also looked like he really, really wanted to make Sam understand what had driven him. And Sam thought, despite his best knowledge, despite his better judgement, that he got it. Even though he didn't really want to, but he understood Dean's intentions and purposes.

After a minute of silence, Dean went on as if he'd never stopped.

"You…you were having nightmares as it was, had just started to get into fighting with dad about everything, dude. If I told you that he'd left because he was ashamed of me…"

"He wasn't ashamed of you, Dean." Sam broke in, determination thick in his voice.

"Dad was a dick, Dean, and he was wrong so many times, I can't even begin to count them, but he was never, ever disappointed in you."

Dean shrugged, winced as the movement pulled on tender flesh.

"Doesn't matter now…not anymore. All that matters now…Sam, is that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone off on my own, I should have told you…but I didn't – and I think I paid the price for not trusting my pain in the ass little brother, don't you think…"

Ok, so definitely still the fever talking, because Dean would never, ever…

"It was Joe, Dean, Joe who did this to you – his spirit. Right?" Sam ventured carefully, fearing the moment still wasn't right. They hadn't delved as far into the topic earlier as Sam would have liked, had merely presented Dean with the fact that now Sam knew… But he really needed to know, needed that last confirmation.

And Sam knew he was walking a thin line.

If he barged ahead too quickly, he ran danger of losing Dean's willingness to talk again, of him clamming up and closing himself off again.

But, surprisingly enough, he was rewarded with a small nod, a whispered "Yeah" muffled by a sigh of exhaustion and defeat.

It was the biggest admission to Dean's still weakened state of body and mind that he didn't even wonder or inquire as to how Sam knew, that he just accepted that his little brother knew without questioning.

Sam nodded, finally finding his suspicions confirmed. And now that he knew, there was no doubt as to what needed to be done.

"Sam?"

Sam blinked, startled, finished taping the last gauze-pad into place, surprised as he realized that he'd continued his administrations as if on autopilot. Now that his hands were suddenly unoccupied, they felt too empty all of a sudden, robbed of their purpose and he wiped them on his jeans nervously, looking at the back of his brother's neck.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you… I promise it won't happen again…"

His voice was getting weaker, more sluggish by the minute. But there was honesty in Dean's words, heavy and heartfelt, peeking out through layers of drugs and exhaustion – and even though Sam knew that Dean trusted him, with his life even, it was still almost overwhelming to hear the confession passing Dean's lips.

"Well, alright…you know - thanks…good to know. That's good to know." Sam breathed, almost dizzy with emotions, unsure how to go on, how to get them out of this again without doing too much damage.

Before he knew what he was doing he'd planted a hand against Dean's neck, fingers splayed wide as he started to massage at the knots of tensed up muscle that had collected there.

At first, Dean seemed to tense up even more, but after a minute he relaxed into the motion and Sam could feel his breathing ease up, could see his lashes finally touch down and make full on contact with his cheeks as he gave in and closed his eyes.

"You'd make one hell of an awesome masseuse…" Dean breathed, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smile and Sam couldn't help but mirror the motion.

"Bite me." He said, continuing the attention for another second or two before laying off, watching as Dean pulled himself up sluggishly, but obviously more relaxed than before.

"So, you want me to help you shave?" The question was only in parts meant to be mocking, but Dean reacted just the way Sam had suspected – and secretly wished for.

"Yeah, right, sure – why don't you? Or maybe you'll just keep your fingers to yourself. You just want to rid me off my manly look, Sam. I think I'll keep the stubble – the girls are real found of that. Tickles them in places…"

"Awww, shut up, dude. Come on…Picture in my head - I'll never be able to sleep again."

"You should pay attention, kiddo – might still learn a thing or two."

"Oh, I think I'll pass, thank you very much!"

Dean smirked, shot Sam a look with his chin dipped low as he got up to his feet.

"Your loss, then." He grunted, taking a second to find his balance, standing slightly tipped forward but relatively steady nonetheless.

"Ready to get back in there? Face the firing squad?" Sam teased as he made to get up himself, deciding to clean up the mess he'd made later – or hope that Bobby would do it for him.

"The old man wouldn't be able to hit me if I was standing right in front of him." Dean snarked.

"Don't let him hear that. Might tempt him to give it a try."

The sound of Dean actually snorting a laugh, albeit subdued as he pushed open the door to their room was about the best thing Sam had heard in a long time.

And then, as suddenly as happiness had hit him, Sam had to fight off the sharp pang of pain that seemed to topple him over the edge whenever he saw his brother smile, let alone laugh lately. Because together with the joy it brought him, at the same time it inevitably made him realize what he was about to lose…

Sam swallowed hard, pushing back the tears threatening to claw their way to the surface as he closed the door to the bathroom carefully behind himself and his brother.

OoOoOoO

Sammy was pissed.

Full on - bitch-face and sulking posture – the whole nine yards.

And he was anything but subtle about it.

Not that Dean could have cared any less…

Bobby didn't quite look as if he approved either, but again Dean just couldn't get himself to care. Because honestly - he was pissed too. Pissed that they teamed up against him like that – and pissed that they would even consider this in the first place – and had the guts to think Dean would play along with it willingly. Which had to have been clear as a bell from the beginning he wouldn't.

And now, to make Dean suffer for his stubbornness, both of his fellow hunters had decided that, if Dean wanted to be a part of this hunt, he had to prove it in getting himself dressed and ready, in walking out to the damn car (and his baby would forgive him for using that term – but he really was in a fair amount of pain here…) by himself. Which had sounded like a fair enough trade in the beginning, but turned out to be a hell of a lot harder than he'd anticipated.

Dean really had thought that at least Bobby would level with him on his decision – but apparently he was surrounded by not only one, but two stubborn, narrow minded jerks now – which was just his luck.

Sam had been gracious enough to help Dean with his jeans and shoes, so he didn't need to bend over too far, but the help had stopped there and now Dean was left to struggle with his shirt by himself. Both Bobby and Sam were hovering, he could feel their stares boring into his back, while they pretended to pack their gear – but Dean wasn't going to ask for help again.

It was painful going, struggling first his right arm, then his left into the sleeves of his comfortably worn brown Henley. It was a bitch pulling the thing over his head, his back pulling and screaming at the unwelcome movement of muscles, stitches pulling at tender flesh, making it hard to keep up the appearance of relative calm that he'd wanted to portray more than anything right now.

Because there was no way they were going to leave him behind, no way he was to be cut out from this hunt.

No way.

When he finally had the damn garment over his head and settled into place, Dean took a moment to catch his breath and unscrew his face from what he was sure had to be twisted into all kinds of weird shapes with the sheer effort it took to get dressed. His back felt like it was on fire, skin shrinking in on him, pulling taut over muscles that hadn't been there just days ago.

But he could do this. He was going to do this.

They'd wasted too much time as it was, had given Dean another night until setting out to do what Dean had insisted on doing last night already. Another night during which Joe might have found himself another victim. The only reason Dean was pretty confident now that things had at least worked in their favor on one part, was the fact that it had rained pretty steadily over the past three plus days. Which would make finding another victim in the woods pretty damn hard, or so Dean hoped. Surely, nobody would be stupid enough to wander the forest in the pouring rain, right?

So far the papers had stayed empty of any new disappearances, Dean had made sure to check it himself, not quite trusting his two companions on the matter anymore.

Dean straightened himself carefully, thankful for the old pair of jeans he'd found at the bottom of his duffel, the one that was a size too big and hung pretty damn low on his hips, made him look like he was wearing one of Sam's baggy ones. But they were a blessing now, giving him the chance to wear pants in the first place, without aggravating the pretty impressive wound in his side. He sure wasn't going to wear a belt for a while to come.

Dean ran the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away the beads of sweat that had collected on his upper lip before scrubbing the palm over his whole face, feeling the already retreating lump on his temple where Joe had knocked him out cold. God, it felt like a month ago – and only yesterday all at the same time – his thoughts all so scrambled up from the fever, the flashbacks…but it had been, what, three, four days ago? Yeah, that sounded about right.

"Dean?"

Dean flinched, let his hand drop from his face and straightened up even more.

He could do this.

"Yeah…ready. I'm ready. Let's get moving."

He didn't turn to face his brother and friend though, waited for the inevitable question.

"You sure you're up for this? This is just a simple salt and burn – we could easily do this on our own. You don't have to torture yourself like this, Dean." Bobby offered carefully.

Dean closed his eyes in frustration, letting out a steadying breath. He wasn't going to snap at them – not again. He honestly lacked the energy to get into yet another argument about him coming along on this hunt.

This was his hunt – his business. One of the few things he had left to do – that he had to do before…

He was not going to be left behind.

"I'm sure, Bobby. We've been through this. I'm sure. I wanna waste the fucker – if it's the last thing I do…"

Ok, now, that might have been a tad inappropriate. Dean could feel the frown plastered onto his companion's faces. Yeah, ok, definitely inappropriate.

"'kay…maybe not the last. But I want to…I have to do this. I told you. I let you dig him up, leave all the work to you guys. But I'm gonna light him on fire, watch him shrivel and burn to a sorry crisp. You won't take that away from me – you can't take that away from me."

And hell if he didn't sound like a petulant little kid there, but he was just so tired of having to explain himself over and over again. He thought they'd got it…

"Alright, then, we should probably get going. The cemetery will close in about an hour. We can make sure we find the grave before they lock up, then wait for darkness to cover our tracks."

Sam sounded defeated, resigned.

Finally.

Dean released a heavy sigh of relief. Because, honestly, if they'd actually decided to leave him behind – take the cars and walk out on him, he'd have stood no chance. There was no way he would have been strong or fast enough to follow them – to make them take him along. He plastered the brightest smile possible onto his face, turned around and faced the two hunters that looked everything but happy. Which only served to make Dean's smile ever the brighter – and more heartfelt.

"Good. So, what are we waiting for?"

OoOoOoO

AN:

Alright, so I hope I made up for last chapter, if you found that one too short or too boring.

To deangirl1 - here's some more "Dean" for you...I actually planned on putting the first part of this chapter up as a second part in chapter 9 - I was fully convinced I'd uploaded it all. then I read your review - saying how you would have wanted to have Dean in the chapter. It had me wondering, so I checked...and damn if I hadn't plainly left the second part of the chapter out! Maybe it would have turned out better with this in it?? Anyways, here it is now, I hope you like it!

As always, thanks and love to all those who took and will take time to read and review, you are my heroes!

Hope you enjoyed, and if everything works out as planned, I'll have the next chapter ready very soon!