Sam's laugh was like music to Dean's ears. Mainly because he hadn't heard it in so long, not since before the wendigo attack, really, and also because Sam had been so out of it the day before that anything normal, anything at all, was enough to make his heart pick up speed. It was mid-afternoon of their second day at Bobby's house. They were seated on the couch watching some horrible attempt at a horror movie that they'd found on one of Bobby's shelves, and Sam was cracking up about how god-awful the acting was. "I mean, I know this is old and times have changed and all, but seriously. It's like they're not even trying. Are they even trying?"
Dean didn't respond, but he knew Sam didn't really expect him to. He just pulled the blanket that was currently covering both of them a little higher up on his baby brother's chest and kissed the back of his shoulder.
Sam pressed himself tighter against Dean and murmured a soft sound of contentment. "You're really cuddly today."
"Awh, Sammy, c'mon, man. Don't use words like that to describe Dean friggin' Winchester."
Sam giggled, like only Sam would. "It's not my fault you're a big softie."
"I'm just glad you're feelin' a little better. 'S'all," Dean clarified. Dishonestly. Not that he wasn't glad Sam was feeling better, of course, because he was. But there was really nothing (besides maybe sex and pie, and possibly Baby) that he enjoyed more than this.
Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to suppress the smile that he knew his brother would be able to hear in his voice when he spoke. "What the hell ever."
Dean kissed Sam's shoulder again, and this time, Sam turned to face him. "Now, Sammy, you know you're gonna miss the movie if you're lookin' at me, right? And this one's a life changer. You'll never be the same again after you've seen it, scout's honor."
Sam scoffed. "Yeah, I don't doubt that. Somehow, though, I think I'll survive."
The corner of Dean's mouth turned up, and he leaned in to press his lips gently to his brother's, but Sam held his finger to them before they could reach his own.
"I don't want you to get whatever I have," Sam explained. "I'm already letting you breathe all my germy air. Don't push it."
It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes, now. "Sam. I'll be fine."
"I'm sure you're right. Just like I'm fine. But that doesn't mean this crap doesn't suck. And I don't want you to catch it if I can help it. So no kissing until I'm better. Like, totally better. Not just better enough to stay awake thr-"
Dean decided he was done listening to Sam's stipulations and took matters into his own hands, bringing their mouths together while his brother was distracted with speaking to assure that he wouldn't have time to object again. During which time, Dean took note of something. Sam's lips were much more dry than they should be; a sure sign of dehydration. Excellent. Just what Sam needed.
Sam took Dean's hesitation as an opportunity to pull away and promptly flick his nose. "I said-"
"I don't care what you said, Sammich. If I wanna kiss you, then I'll kiss you," Dean stated, masking his worry with humor, as usual.
"I'm gonna tape my mouth shut so," Sam paused, yawning, and then continued, "you can't..." Giggle. "...do it anymore."
"Meds kicking in?" Dean asked, a slightly entertained tone entering his voice.
Sam nodded. "Yup. 'Bout time. It's been, like, half an hour."
"You gettin' tired again?"
"Mm... a little, yeah. Don't wanna go to sleep, though."
"Then what do you wanna do?" Dean inquired, stroking Sam's hair.
"What do you think I wanna do?" Sam asked slyly, and, oh, man, if it hadn't just been the medication talking, Dean would've been all over that as fast as a fucking squirrel on a telephone pole, because, god, he missed Sam.
But, against his better judgment, Dean cleared his throat and responded, "Sammy, two minutes ago, you were tryin' to keep me from kissing you."
Sam pursed his lips. "Yeah? So? I'm not now."
Dean was a little too preoccupied with willing his dick to stay down to say anything for a moment, but when he finally got it under control, he cupped Sam's face in his palm. "I don't wanna do this right now."
A mixture of shock and hurt crossed Sam's face. "Oh..."
"No, no, I mean, I want to. God, Sam, you have no idea how much I want to. But I want you to be in the right mindset first, okay? If you'd been all over me before your medicine started making you loopy, then I wouldn't even be questioning it. But I wanna be sure you really want it whenever we do stuff like that. Make sense?"
Sam shook his head yes, looking much less offended, but more frustrated now. "Yeah, I get it."
"Okay. Good." Dean leaned down and kissed Sam's forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment to determine whether or not his brother had a low temperature again, or maybe a high one this time, which, thankfully, it didn't feel like was the case. "So, if you still don't wanna sleep, then what else?"
Sam was quiet for a moment, and his reply was almost inaudible. "I wanna see Dad."
Dean gasped. "Kiddo, I... I really don't think-"
"Please?" Sam looked up at Dean through his lashes, his eyes scared but honest.
Dean blew out a long breath. "Are you sure you're up to that?" Dean had actually been planning on it, himself, the day before, but hadn't gotten around to it as he'd been too busy taking care of Sam.
"I need to," Sam told him. "One more time while there's still something besides ashes to look at. I know it won't look like him. I mean, I'm sure it's kind of more bits and pieces than anything. Can't imagine much more after a ton of wendigos fighting over him. But..."
"Okay," Dean conceded. "Yeah, we can go see him. Are you sure you want to now? Or would you rather wait for Bobby?"
"Now," Sam whispered.
Dean didn't say another word, but helped Sam up from the couch and slowly outside to Bobby's garage. "Do you want me to go first?" he asked softly, eyes glued on the garage door.
Sam shook his head. "No. I'll go." Sam walked forward cautiously and bent, lifting the door from the bottom. Immediately, his nose was met with a painfully familiar scent. Rotting flesh. Knowing that it was the flesh of his father started an internal battle within his mind. Part of him wanted to stop in his tracks and turn back toward the house. The other, however, the bigger part, was even more determined to step inside and find the source of the smell. So, he obeyed.
As soon as he saw what he was looking for, he felt his emotions shut themselves down. John's body was lying on an old, metal table in the corner of the room. Covered, of course. But there were blood stains on the sheet, so Sam knew. The figure underneath didn't look much like a body, but he guessed that was just what was left of it. And he wouldn't have hesitated to walk over and pull the sheet off if it hadn't been for the sudden weight of Dean's hands on his hips, silently instructing him to wait; that his brother wasn't ready. So, of course, Sam waited. He waited until Dean let go and took his hand instead, beside him rather than behind him, showing that it was okay to go ahead.
As soon as Sam removed the sheet, he heard his brother start gagging. He turned to Dean and placed his hand on his back just in time for him to double over and vomit onto the concrete floor. Sam squeezed his eyes shut to keep sympathetic tears from escaping. "I know," he murmured. "It's okay. You're okay. Why don't you go back inside? I'm just gonna clean this up and then I'll be right there, okay?"
"Sammy..." Dean coughed and righted himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You don't have-"
"Shhh," Sam whispered, leaning up very slightly to kiss Dean's cheek. "Just go."
Dean sighed tiredly and nodded his consent, starting back toward the house and leaving Sam alone in the garage.
Sam didn't move for a moment. Just stood staring at the remnants of John's corpse and making a mental note to tell Bobby that they'd had their chance to get closure, so it was time to salt and burn. He didn't feel anything, but he knew it was because of the shock. Because he wasn't letting himself. He couldn't. He didn't know what would happen if he allowed himself not to block out everything, so he didn't take the chance.
After quickly pulling the sheet back across the table, Sam found a bucket and a few old rags in the old sink on the far wall of the garage and cleaned up the floor before making his way back to the house where, coincidentally, Bobby happened to be pulling up. Sam waited on the porch for him to get out of the car so that they could talk about John without being in Dean's presence.
Bobby shut off the engine and pushed open his door, grabbing the grocery bags from the passenger seat and stepping out to meet Sam. He looked slightly hesitant, and Sam guessed it was probably because of his own hollow expression. "Hey, son," Bobby began slowly. "How are ya? I picked up some more medicine while I was in town. Figured we were probably runnin' low."
Sam gave him a grim smile. "Thanks. I'm okay right now, but I think we are running kinda low, and I'm sure I'll need some more later. I'm more worried about Dean than myself at the moment, though."
Bobby raised an eyebrow, setting down he bags he was holding on the porch. "Why's that?"
"We, uh..." Sam didn't finish his sentence, but gestured toward the garage.
Bobby's eyes went wide for a moment, and then his expression softened as he placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "What happened?"
Sam glanced down, chewing on the side of his lip. "He threw up. Soon as he saw. I was fine, but I'm not too sure he is. I think it's time."
Sam hadn't specified what he thought it was time for, but Bobby knew what he meant. "Yeah, I think you're right. We'll handle it soon. Tomorrow, maybe. Make sure you boys don't have anything of his that his spirit could be holdin' onto, and if you do, we'll burn it with his body."
Sam gave him a curt nod and turned toward the door, pushing it open.
Bobby picked up the bags again and followed Sam into the house, kicking the door shut behind him. "You hungry yet?"
To Sam's surprise, his stomach actually growled at the thought of food. Possibly, he considered, because he hadn't eaten in over a day. "Yeah, actually," he told Bobby.
"Go get your brother and we'll have some dinner. How's chicken sound?"
"Awesome," Sam responded. "We'll be down in a few."
Sam walked through the living room and up the stairs to the room that he and his brother shared, lightly tapping on the closed door. "De?"
He heard Dean clear his throat before answering, "Yeah?"
"Can I come in?" Sam knew it wasn't like there was any side of Dean that he hadn't seen before, but everyone needed their privacy sometimes.
"Yeah, you can come in," Dean confirmed.
Sam pushed the door open to find Dean seated on the edge of the bed, hands crossed in his lap, head down. "Are you okay?"
Dean looked up at him, the corner of his mouth twisting into a small, sad smile. "I'm alright. What's up?"
"Bobby's making chicken," Sam reported. "You wanna eat?"
"Sure. I think I'm gonna go shower real quick first and then I'll be down. I just feel kinda gross."
"That's fine," Sam assured him.
Dean surprised Sam, then, by pulling him down into his lap and wrapping his arms tightly around him. "Thank you," he said quietly.
"For what?" Sam asked, confused, running his fingers through Dean's short hair.
"Just... for being an awesome brother."
Sam let out a small laugh and disentangled himself from Dean's arms, standing up again. "Well, one of us has to be. Ow! Don't hit me, I'm joking. Go take a shower."
Dean allowed Sam to take his hand and pull him up from the bed. "Yes, sir."
Sam stopped in his tracks and shivered. "Don't... don't do that."
Dean started to ask why, but when he saw Sam's face, he didn't need to. "Hm. I'll have to keep that in mind." With a wink, he walked out the door and headed down the hall toward the bathroom.
Sam blinked a few times, attempting to clear his mind and keep from thinking about Dean using those words in a slightly more compromising situation, before heading back down to the kitchen to see if Bobby needed any help.
About thirty minutes later, there were bowls of potatoes and corn on the table along with a large platter of fried chicken. And Dean must have smelled it from upstairs, because he was standing beside Sam before Sam had time to yell for him to come down. "Feel like I haven't eaten in a year," he commented, picking up a piece of chicken and stuffing it into his mouth.
Sam smacked his hand away as he reached for another. "Quit. Sit down."
Dean huffed but didn't argue and took a seat at the table as Bobby handed him a plate. "Thanks," he muttered, loading it down with food and digging in.
The three men ate in comfortable silence for the most part, Sam inconspicuously rubbing Dean's bare foot with his sock-clad one under the table, Dean's eyes lingering on Sam's mouth for a little too long every time he took a bite, and then... then Sam started coughing. Not coughing like he was choking, coughing like he just couldn't breathe correctly. Like his chest was tight or his throat was swollen. Like he was having some type of allergic reaction, except that he wasn't allergic to anything that they were eating, or anything in the house, as far as they knew. "Sammy," Dean addressed him, taking both his hands. "You alright, squirt? Can you talk to me?"
"'M alright," Sam managed between coughs. "Jus'... gimme a minute."
Bobby reached across the table for Sam's empty glass and filled it with water, handing it to Dean, who lifted it to Sam's mouth. "Can you take a drink for me?" Dean asked soothingly.
Sam allowed Dean to pour the water into his mouth, and at first he thought trying to swallow it would choke him, but he managed to get it down, which helped the coughing subside.
"What was that all about?" Bobby questioned, clapping a hand on Sam's back.
"Dunno," Sam answered breathlessly. "Just... felt like there wasn't enough air all of a sudden. I'm good now, though. I think."
"You think?" Dean realized that he was still holding Sam's hand and let go, not wanting Bobby to notice.
"I'm kinda dizzy now," Sam admitted.
"D'you need to go lay down?"
"Maybe." Sam stood, but had to brace himself on the table to keep from falling. "Whoa."
Dean didn't hesitate, didn't ask questions, just hoisted Sam into his arms. "We might be back down in a bit," he told Bobby.
"I'll be here," Bobby stated. "You just get some rest, Sam."
Sam weakly saluted him.
Dean was surprised and frightened by the fact that Sam wasn't arguing with being carried. It generally took a lot for him to allow such treatment, and he hadn't even begun to protest.
When they finally got upstairs and settled onto the bed, Dean kissed his left eyelid. I'm worried about you, baby boy. His right. I need to protect you. His nose. Make you better. His cheek. Make you okay. His forehead. Tell me how. His dry, cracking lips. I love you.
Sam kissed him back. I love you. Long. This is how. Determined. Please. Wholly open to Dean. Need you.
And Dean, as always, gave his Sammy exactly what he needed.