"How's your head?"
"Just as fine as it was when you asked five minutes ago, Sam."
"Sorry for being concerned."
"Don't be sorry for being concerned, be sorry for being annoying."
Sam rolled his eye, shaking his head in frustration and looking down at his food.
"If you aren't going to eat the sandwich, why did you order it?"
"Because you said if I didn't order something you would shove a hamburger down my throat."
"I did say that, didn't I?" Dean mused with a smile.
"Did you forget?" Sam questioned seriously, looking over at him in concern.
"Good gawd, dude, my head is fine. There is nothing wrong with my memory. I make hundreds of threats a day. You can't expect him to remember every one of them." He smirked.
"But if you were having trouble remembering things, you would tell me. Right?" Sam inquired, his older brother's comment obviously having done nothing to ease the kid's concern.
"Yes, Sam. But just so you know, if I start calling you Nancy it has nothing to do with my memory. That'll just be me mocking you for being such an annoying girl."
"Thanks for the heads up." The younger man responded dryly.
Dean watched as his brother picked lazily at his sandwich, wishing he'd just eat the damn thing, gawd knows the kid could use some fattening up.
The older boy glanced down at the large slender hands, both bruised and bandaged from last night's boxing session with a brick wall. They were wrapped around a coffee cup, no doubt an attempt to warm them and perhaps put a momentary end to their constant tremble. Dean's gaze wandered up to his brother's face, taking in the deep dark rings beneath the hazel eyes, evidence of the fact he had stayed up the entire night keeping the injured man out of a coma. And suddenly, Dean was feeling a deeper sympathy and less irritation towards the kid.
"We should spend the day in town, go back to the room and grab some shuteye." He suggested casually, taking another big bite of his bacon and cheese hamburger.
"Are you tired?" Sam asked, his voice dripping with such sincerity that there was no doubt in Dean's mind if he had said yes, the worrywart would have made a bed for him right there on the booth.
"I'm fine. I thought you might be tired; seeing as how you were the one up all night."
"You're the one who got hurt, plus it's not like you had a great sleep with me waking you every hour."
"Well your interrogations were far from joyful, but I still got a pretty solid rest."
"They were hardly interrogations, Dean."
"Dude, you asked me to list the last five presidents, I don't even know who the president is now."
Sam rolled his eyes, something he seemed to be doing an awful lot of this morning.
"Well I was going to ask you the names of your last five girlfriends, but I didn't think you would be able recall that information, even without a concussion."
"You'd probably be right about that, but if you'd asked me their phone numbers, I would have had it covered." he smiled ruefully, enjoying the banter.
"Okay, what are their phone numbers?"
Dean stalled, surprised that Sam had called his bluff, and while he knew that he could probably get away with simply reciting a random string of numbers, he just wasn't that committed.
Sam snickered at the lack of reply and finally took a bite of his stupid sandwich.
"Alright fine, you win this round, Sammy." He surrendered, finishing off his burger and starting in on his fries.
"It's Sam. Maybe your memory is jacked."
"All I know is that Sammy is a bitchy kid with long girlie hair, and you fit that description perfectly." He grinned.
Sam huffed out a laugh and shook his head.
Dean ate all his fries and finished off his soda, (little brother declared it was too soon after his concussion for him to have a beer) in the time it took Sam to finish half his meal.
"Dude, how long does it take to eat a sandwich?" He complained.
"I told you I wasn't hungry. You're the one who wanted me to eat."
"Yeah, well I didn't know you would take all day about it, just bring the other half back to the room." He compromised, watching as Sam eyed the rest of his meal with moderate disdain.
"We already checked out of the hotel."
"Funny thing about hotels, Sam, is that you can always check back in."
"It costs money."
"I am aware of that. I just think that maybe you should get some actual rest before we leave town, but if you are going to be a bitch about it we can head out now and you can get some shuteye on the road."
"You're not driving." Sam stated sternly.
"Yes, I am."
"You have a concussion."
"That's where you're wrong, little brother. I had a concussion."
"You have a headache."
"No."
"Yes, you do. I can tell because you have that squinty look."
"I don't have a squinty look."
"If I have a puppy dog look than you have a squinty look."
Dean could hardly argue with the reasoning and decided to let the argument die, sort of.
"So, what's your point?"
"My point is that the squinty look means you have a headache so there is no way you are driving. You just rest and I'll drive."
"A little headache isn't going to affect my driving ability. Besides I got a hell of a lot more sleep than you did last night, so if anybody is resting, it's you, kiddo."
"Well I'm not the one who got knocked unconscious last night or the one who was dizzy this morning."
"Oh please, I was out for like five seconds and I was not dizzy this morning."
"You almost fell over getting out of bed and you had to hold onto my arm all the way to the bathroom."
"Thanks for throwing that in my face." Dean snarled, not enjoying being reminded of his weaknesses.
"That's not- I didn't, shit." Sam ran his hand through his shaggy hair and released a long sigh, before continuing. "What I am trying to say is that you just got injured, you need some time to heal. So please, just let me drive."
Dean looked up at Sam, taking in his pleading expression. The kid sure knew how to end an argument.
"Fine. But I'm telling you now, if you get one scratch on my baby, I will slaughter you." He warned.
"No, you won't." Sam replied with a smirk.
"Don't bet on it, kid." The older man growled, knowing his threats were the only weapon he had, because they both knew that even if Sam completely totalled his car the most he would ever do is maybe clock the guy one…or two, and even then, he would pull the punches.
"Alright, let's get going." Sam announced, apparently filled with a whole new level of vigour now that he was getting to drive.
"You are not laying one finger on my girl until you finish your lunch, Sam." He instructed, in the most parental tone he could muster.
"Dude, I'm not six." Sam declared incredulously.
"No, but I'm still older. And I am the one with the keys, so eat your fricken sandwich." He ordered, pushing his plate closer towards him.
Sam rolled his eyes, acting exactly like the child he was claiming not to be. Dean smirked as the brat petulantly picked up the sandwich and took a bite, glaring at the hunter while he chewed.
"Good boy." Dean mocked happily.
In reply, the responsible adult across the table from him stuck out his tongue, giving the shorter man a nice view of the half-masticated food littering his mouth. Dean released a bark of laughter, smiling at his ridiculous little brother.
Sam's agreement to eat the rest of his lunch didn't mean that he was going to do it any faster. Dean went between watching Sam nibble away at his sandwich and staring at the waitress with the nice ass.
"Hey. Hey Dean!"
He snapped back to attention as a slice of tomato hit him in the face.
"Oh gross, come on, Sam." He griped, dropping the offending food onto his plate and wiping his face off with a napkin.
"Had to get your attention somehow, you horndog." Sam cackled with a grin.
"Why don't you ever just order your sandwich without the tomatoes?"
"Don't want to be a bother." Sam replied with a shrug.
"Oh yeah, cause chucking them at me isn't bothersome at all."
"Well I don't mind bothering you."
"Should you even be touching them? Won't you get hives or something?"
"No, I only get a reaction if I ingest them."
Dean knew that information of course, because he was the big brother, but he enjoyed messing with the kid. "Well you never had a problem eating spaghettios."
"That's because it has to be in high concentration, there's like no tomatoes in spaghettios." Sam sighed with a role of his eyes. "There's no real food at all in that stuff."
"I know, that's why I could only ever buy one kind of sauce when I made spaghetti. And even then, the first time I made it I was terrified."
"Really?" Sam inquired, sounding genuinely interested.
"Yeah, it was like a year after we found out you were allergic, which makes you about thirteen. Anyways, you were whining about how you couldn't eat anything."
"I couldn't. You were like a tyrant! You wouldn't let me have pizza or ketchup or-
"Yeah Sam, because you were allergic to tomatoes." Dean emphasized. At his brother's smirk, he continued.
"Anyways, I was getting pretty tired of your bitching so I looked into it, think I went to some walk-in-clinic and asked a doc about it."
"Really?"
Dean didn't know why Sam sounded surprised, but he simply nodded.
"And the doc said since your allergy was IgE-mediated-
"What?"
"It's like type one, minimal, I guess."
"I never knew that."
"You were a kid, there's a lot of shit you didn't know." He stated.
Sam quirked his head in what seemed like mild confusion, but he waited for Dean to continue.
"Basically, the doc I talked to said that you would be okay if you were only exposed to low doses of low concentration and then over time you would likely become desensitized. I mean, you wouldn't ever be able to bite into an actual tomato, but you should eventually be able to handle things with cooked tomato in them. So, that night I bought the sauce that had the lowest possible tomato concentration he could find and I made you spaghetti. I watched you like a hawk that entire meal, just waiting for you to go in anaphylactic shock or something."
"But if you knew I'd be fine, what were you so scared of?" Sam wondered in interest.
"I didn't know you'd be fine. The research I did suggested it, but I was only going off that and some random doctor in a clinic."
"You got trust issues, man." The younger man commented with a smile.
"Can you blame me?" He asked.
Sam nodded knowingly, as he finished the last bite of his sandwich. Dean grinned, pleased that story time had encouraged his little brother to eat the entirety of his lunch.
"Alright, your majesty, I'm done with his sandwich. Can we leave now?" He inquired playfully.
Dean was amused at the newest nickname. He and Sam always had to be creative when they were insulting the other for being parental, because when most people would say mom, they never could. Dad never worked out either, because the way he acted was far from parental. So they would say things like nanny, or nurse or find some other word when one of them was mocking the other for being a mother-hen.
"You sure you don't want to stick around for the day? Get some rest?" Dean tried one more time.
"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm good." Sam promised, sliding out of the booth and getting to his feet.
"If you say so, Sammy." Dean relented, dropping some cash on the table to cover their meal and following his little brother out of the diner.
"It's Sam." He mumbled, holding his hand out for the keys.
Dean dug them from his pocket, and just as he was about to drop them into his waiting palm he watched a tremor go through it. "Sam." He sighed, pulling the keys back a little.
"It's just the tremors, I swear. It's not even that bad."
Dean looked at his brother, unsure, worried that holding a cold steering wheel might not help him at all.
"Dean, please."
There was the tone, that stupid little brother tone.
"You'll tell me if it gets worse, and you'll tell me before it gets bad?"
"Yes, I promise." And when Sam Winchester made a promise, he meant it.
"Alright fine, but not a scratch!" He ordered, dropping the keys into the awaiting palm.
"Not a scratch." Sam repeated with a smile, full dimples and all, before walking eagerly towards the Impala.
"Sasquatch." Dean snickered, watching Sam readjusting the seat and mirrors.
"It's not my fault you're so short." He replied putting the key in the ignition, but paused before turning it.
"What's wrong?" Dean questioned, looking immediately at the kid's hands, but seeing nothing more than the usual tremor.
"I just…thanks, Dean." Sam said, turning in his seat to face the passenger side.
"Don't thank me yet kid, not until we get to wherever we are going without a scratch." Dean emphasized the last word more for the sake of annoyance than insistence.
"Not just for letting me drive, but for having my back."
"Um, okay, that's sort of what we do." Dean replied in confusion.
"I know, it's just, you've always looked out for me, taken care of me. Even when..." Sam faded off, searching for his words.
"Even when, what?" Dean prompted, not really sure where this conversation was headed.
"When my hands got all messed up…"
He watched Sam wringing his hands as he spoke, curious about what he was trying to tell say, but patiently waiting for him to get his thoughts organized.
"When my hands got all messed up you watched out for me, you did so much research. Dude, you knew more about what was wrong and what to do than I did." Sam said; his eyes wide and expression serious. "You always knew what to do to help and you were so- you were always…you were just there."
Dean nodded, showing he understood, but waiting to see if there was more to be said.
"I mean, you have always looked after me, but I think I noticed it the most with my hands. And I guess, a part of me knew it was just you being big brother, but also another part of me thought that maybe you were doing some of it out of guilt."
"Sam-
"Just- just let me say this, okay?"
Dean reluctantly agreed.
"I know that it's not your fault, but I also know you, and I know that even though you couldn't have prevented it - you have still found a way to blame yourself."
Dean shook his head instinctively, wanting to correct Sam and tell him that he could have and should have prevented it, but the younger man continued before he had the chance to interrupt again.
"So, I always thought that part of the reason you were so careful and so protective was because you felt that the damage done was somehow partially your doing. But with what you told me about my allergy, and how you researched and went to all that effort to make it better and take care of me. I just, I know that it wasn't out of guilt. Because even you, someone who can always seem to find a way to blame yourself for anything bad that happens - especially anything bad that happens to me - even you can't cook up a way to feel guilty about an allergy. What I am trying to say is thank you for always looking out for me, even when you don't have to and even when I don't deserve it." Sam finished, timidly hiding behind his hair as he continued to awkwardly wring his hands.
"You finished?" Dean asked bluntly.
"Yes." Sam said, glancing up with a questioning look.
"Alright kid, let me set you straight. I take care of you no matter what. Whether what happened to you was my fault, or dad's, or your own, or some fugly monster. Because you are my little brother. And hell yeah, I could have done more to save your hands from getting frostbitten-
"No, Dean-
"My turn." He stated, putting his hand up to stop his little brother's predictable speech of how he was not to blame for anything ever. "But whether I am to blame or not, that has nothing to do with me taking care of you. And Sam, you are the most deserving person I know. You are my kid brother, and that alone gives you every right to be protected."
Sam rolled his eyes, but stopped when his hazel eyes met the green pair.
"It's not a one-way street, Sammy. I watch your back and you watch mine. We are brother's, that is what we do. I don't need you to thank me for doing my job and I sure as hell don't want you thinking that you don't deserve to have someone looking out for you, because that's bullshit."
"That's not how I see it." Sam muttered, staring absently out the front windshield.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Dean was frustrated. It was all so simple, so clear to him, but with Sam everything was difficult and complicated. He knew this kid, practically raised him; some days he felt like he knew Sam better than himself, and on others, well on others he found himself fighting to understand the boy at all; wishing he could climb inside that big complex mind and figure out what was going on.
"It's nothing, don't worry about it." Sam dismissed, turning the key.
"Sam-
"Dean, it's fine. Just get some rest."
Dean shook his head at the role reversal. Since when did his little brother avoid chick-flick moments and give him orders, all while driving his car? He let it slide though – just for today, because his head was pounding and he didn't feel like having an argument, but he had no intention of dropping the matter permanently.
"We are going to talk about what's got your panties in a wad later." He declared, making sure Sam knew he was not letting this slide.
The brat ignored him, diligently watching the road.
"I mean it." He shook his head when he still didn't receive any response, turning to face the window and reluctantly closing his eyes, allowing his exhaustion and the pounding in his skull to take over.
When he woke, it was dark and they were driving down the interstate.
"Dean." Sam called, the reason he had awoken in the first place.
"What Sammy?" He asked groggily, sitting up and looking toward his brother.
"Can you take the wheel?" The question had him confused.
"What?" He muttered.
"I need you to take the wheel." The tone was level and controlled, and to most people it would not have been the least bit concerning, but it was too Dean; because the control was being used to mask the panic he could sense hiding beneath.
"What's going on?" Dean was instantly alert, looking for the danger.
"Just please take the wheel?" The panic was breaking through to the surface now, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes flashed to the passenger side in fear.
"I got it, little brother." Dean assured, reaching over and getting a firm grip on the steering wheel, looking at Sam, searching for some hint that would explain what was happening.
"You got it?" The younger man asked, voice wavering.
"Yeah, buddy, I got it." Dean soothed.
Sam waited a moment before releasing the wheel, slowly detaching his hands and dropping them to his lap, releasing a long shaky breath.
"What's going on?" Dean asked, awkwardly manoeuvring the Impala into the right lane, preparing to take the next exit.
"It's the numbness." Sam stated miserably.
"Okay." The older man replied, directing them off the highway and pulling into the first parking lot he saw.
The numbness wasn't new, but it was the rarest of the frostbite aftereffects.
Dean had been worried back when he learned that Sam might have permanently lost the feeling in parts of his hands. The doctors had mentioned they thought it was likely the majority of his fingers would be completely numb due to the nerve damage. So, when Sam woke up and they found out that he wasn't experiencing any numbness at all, the older boy was so happy that he never really cared when they warned them about the likelihood that Sam's hands would lose feeling from time to time.
It didn't happen often, probably less than twelve times since the incident. But when it did occur, it was often without warning. One second the kid would be fine, and the next he couldn't feel most of his fingers. Usually it wasn't a big deal. Sam would just have to put the book down for a couple hours, or get out of digging up a grave, but sometimes - one occasion in particular - the numbness arrived at the worst possible moment.
"Everybody know the plan?"
"Yes Dad, for the eighteenth time, we've got the plan."
"A simple 'yes sir' would do, Sam. I don't need the attitude." John responded gruffly, climbing into his truck.
"Whatever." The teen muttered, dropping into the passenger seat of the Impala.
"Alright, good talk." Dean said to himself, watching their dad pull out of the motel parking lot and head in the direction of the hunt. With a long sigh, he climbed into the Impala, glancing over at his shaggy headed little brother as he followed the truck.
"You alright?" he asked casually.
"I'm fine." Sam replied simply, without removing his gaze from the side window.
Not being able to see his face made it nearly impossible for Dean to confirm the truth of that statement.
"Your hands okay?"
"Yeah." The teen replied, glancing down at his gloved appendages.
"Just let me know if they get worse. The wind is pretty chilly and it's only going to get colder the later it gets." He reminded, frustrated that the weather had gotten so cool so quickly.
Dean had hoped to be out of Ohio before the fall weather hit, he thought he had some time, but October had crept up on them too quickly. He had already told John that this was the last hunt before they left town and headed further south. He knew the elder hunter had been itching to argue, but he wasn't having it. It had been less than a year since Sam got frostbite and Dean sure as hell wasn't taking any risks.
"I'm going to have to take these off to make the shot." Sam thought aloud.
"Yeah, I know." Dean sighed reluctantly; wishing he had been more prepared and had time to get Sam gloves that had a good grip.
"I'll be fine, Dean. It's not even that cold."
The older boy glanced over at Sam and rolled his eyes, because of course the kid was trying to reassure him.
"It's the wind I'm worried about." He announced, listening to it whistling outside of the car.
"They aren't even shaking yet." Sam reasoned.
"I'm just trying to keep it that way."
"I'll be fine." His little brother sounded as though he was trying to convince both of them with that one short declaration.
"I know you will, Sammy." Dean confirmed with false confidence.
The teen nodded distractedly, not even bothering to correct the version of his name he now seemed to detest.
When they arrived at the latest hunting ground, which of course was a sketchy forested area, they climbed from the car. It was almost dark, which was good because that is the only time that werewolves made their appearance, but the wind was already much chillier than it had been just a short while ago.
The plan had already been set out, Dad and Dean would lure the creature into the trap. He would play bait and bring the werewolf out of his hiding place, where Dad was positioned to take it out. Sam was back up, in the case that the creature got past John, the young teen would be in the perfect position to take it out with nothing more than one silver bullet.
Dean never minded playing bait. It made sense. John was the best shot and the best fighter, so it was always better for him to be on the attack. And there was no way in hell he was ever going to allow Sammy to play bait, plus the kid was great backup.
Dean was standing in position, ready to run when he heard the slightest sound. Werewolves may not be the fastest of the supernatural fuglies, but they were still a hell of a lot quicker than humans. Dad had it pinned to be coming at them from the north. That's where he was positioned, so he could put a bullet in it before it came after his eldest son. In the case that one wasn't enough Dean would have time to run and then Sam, who was positioned to the south, would be able to take the son of a bitch down.
Dean waited, facing the direction the monster was predicted to emerge from, hoping that their dad would be able to take it out before it made a run for him, but ready to book it if need be. In the event that something went wrong he had a gun tucked away, but it was a small caliber and he doubted silver bullets of that size would do more than injure the monster. He heard it before he saw it, but he knew instantly that it was already way closer to him then it was ever supposed to get. He looked over his shoulder, the bastard had come from the south and Dean was instantly worried about his little brother because there's no way the kid wouldn't have seen it and yet no shot had been heard.
Dean knew he was screwed, this thing was too close and too fast, he wouldn't make it more than ten feet before the creature was on top of him. So, he did the only thing he could do, and slowly reached for the glock tucked into the back of his jeans. The second he moved, he heard the werewolf's snarl and watched as it came closer, taking its time, as though it knew precisely how fucked he was.
"Hey!"
Both the Dean and the creature were surprised by the holler and instantly looked to see where it originated from. He was horrified to see Sammy standing less than fifteen feet behind the werewolf. He was waving his arms and calling out to the supernatural animal.
"Come get me! I'm right here! Come on!" Sam shouted at the top of his lungs, kicking and jumping, flailing around and making a scene. Before Dean could do anything other than stare in shock, the werewolf took the bait and ran for his baby brother.
"No!" He cried out, running after it. Pulling the weapon from his back and firing it, watching it hit the animal and yet it kept running without missing a step.
It caught up to Sam in a second, its claws digging into the back of his leg and bringing him screaming to the ground. Dean unloaded the silver bullets into its supernatural being and watched as it fell heavily on top of the teen, Sam's small body disappearing beneath the massive creature.
"Sam!" He yelled; kicking the monster off his kid, making sure it was dead before dropping to his knees beside the still form.
"Sam."
He couldn't seem to get anything else out, just saying his name over and over as he looked down at him. The back of the teen's right leg was torn to shreds, but Dean had to make sure there was no other damage, paralysed at the thought that his little brother might have been bitten.
"Sam."
It was a mantra that didn't end until he turned the kid over. The strangled cry of agony Sam released when Dean got him onto his back was a sound that he knew would haunt his dreams for years.
"You're okay, buddy. I got you." He reassured softly, trying to convey a confidence he did not feel in the slightest.
"Did you get it?" The question was bit out through gritted teeth.
"Yeah Sammy, I got it." He responded, carefully checking his little brother over.
"Just the leg."
"What?"
"He didn't bite, just got my leg." Sam groaned, staring up with eyes full of pain.
"Alright good, that's good." he answered distractedly, shifting his attention to the kid's right leg. He carefully rolled the thin frame on its side, so he could get a better look, doing his best to ignore the pained gasps that filled the air. There was blood everywhere. Dean couldn't even tell where the wounds were because everything upwards of that boney knee was dark seeping red.
"Dean."
He glanced up for only a second to see John's hurried approach.
"The bastard's dead, but it got Sam." Dean updated in a tone as calm as he could manage.
"Shit." John swore as he caught sight of his youngest son's leg. "He get bit?" He questioned in concern.
"No, just this." He responded, carefully bulling back the strips of pant leg to get a better view of the damage beneath.
"I need to get to him to a hospital, Dad." He declared after a quick examination.
"That bad?" John asked quietly.
"I can hardly see the damage past all the blood, but from what I can tell these wounds are deep." He whispered, careful to not let Sam hear.
"Alright, you take him. I will clean this up. I'll meet you there."
Dean nodded in agreement with the plan, giving up on his examination of the bloody mangled mess. He ripped off his plaid shirt, hastily tying it around what seemed to be the source of most of the blood and cinched it as tight as possible, cringing when he heard Sam cry out.
"Sorry, little brother." He apologized, moving up closer and putting a hand on the pale forehead, looking down at his kid, doing the best that he could to make Sam believe he wasn't completely terrified.
"I'm going to carry you back to the Impala and we are going to get you all patched up." He conveyed the game plan to Sam, remembering all the times he had been injured and hated not knowing what was going on.
Sam nodded, the trust Dean could see in his eyes as he stared up at him had his heart clenching.
"I won't let anything happen to you, Sammy. You're going to be fine." He promised.
"I know, De." The voice was soft and so trusting that it had the older boy choking back tears as he gently slid a hand underneath Sam's knee and another one around his back; as he carefully lifted the teen, he felt Sam shudder in pain.
"Sorry." Dean whispered; pulling his kid into his chest, feeling the shaggy head fall to rest against his collarbone as the slim body slowly relaxed in his arms.
He nodded at John, who was dragging the werewolf further away, before heading quickly back to the car. He was careful to jostle Sam as little as possible as he raced to the Impala, desperate to get to safety; but no matter how gentle he tried to be, he knew that he was causing his baby brother an immense amount of pain and he could hear the soft cries and feel the tears soaking through his shirt. The older boy whispered meaningless promises and reassurances to the teen the entire journey. When they arrived at the Impala, he slid Sam cautiously onto the front seat, muttering apologies as the kid moaned in pain. Dean dropped into his seat, placing Sam's shaggy head carefully onto his lap before shoving the keys into the ignition and ripping down the road. Sam moaned as the speed made him lurch on the seat, Dean locked an arm around the thing chest to keep his little brother from moving.
"I got you." He vowed, pressing the pedal to the floor and maintaining a firm grip on the small kid in his arms.
"Why the hell did you do that?" He snapped a few moments later, not expecting a response.
"My hands- hands went numb. Couldn't shoot…had to distract it…had to save you." Sam mumbled sleepily, his body clenching up in agony as they hit a bump in the road.
"You shouldn't have done it." Dean choked out around the lump in his throat, tears streaming down his face; grateful that his little brother couldn't see them.
"Had to." The wounded teen muttered.
"Stay with me, Sammy." Dean ordered, smoothing hair away from the young face, checking to make sure the hazel eyes were still open.
Dean felt Sam's response in the form of a nod against his leg.
"That's my boy." He praised, knowing how much it was taking the kid to stay awake.
By the time they pulled into the hospital, Sam's eyes were closed and the upholstery beneath him was soaked with blood. Dean desperately threw open the door and gently pulled the teen out behind him, lifting the thin frame into his arms and racing through the hospital doors.
The hunter's voice cracked as he begged for help, laying Sam softly on the gurney that was rolled in front of him and unable to control his tears as he watched his kid being rushed away. He was ushered into an uncomfortable plastic chair with a clipboard and a pen shoved into his bloodied hands. He shakily filled out all the information required, describing the event as a wolf attack and having to rack his brain to remember their fraudulent insurance information. After he had handed back the clipboard and scrubbed his brother's blood from his hands, he began pacing around the waiting room. Dean was at the mercy of his imagination, thinking of everything he could have done to stop what happened, until John made a rushed entrance.
"How is he?"
"I don't know. They wheeled him away a while ago and no one has come out to tell me what the hell is going on." He yelled in frustration.
"We'll figure this out, Dean. Your brother is going to be okay."
It shouldn't have meant anything, the younger man knew it was as desperate and as meaningless as all the promises he had made to Sammy in the past couple hours, but damn if it didn't make him feel a little better, a little more confident.
He simply nodded in agreement and went on pacing, as John sat heavily into a chair and they waited.
They waited for what felt like hours, until finally someone called for the family of Sam Richardson.
The report was a relief. The lacerations were deep, but there was no severe interior damage. Sam received a lot of stitches, both in the torn muscle as well as the skin and lost a lot of blood, but he would heal. The only lasting damage would be a few scars on the back of his right thigh.
Dean was finally able to breathe when he was taken to Sam's room and saw him lying awake in his bed.
"Hey there, squirt." He greeted, walking to stand by his head, combing his hair to the side with his fingers.
"How you feeling, son?" Their dad questioned, walking to the other side of the bed.
"I'm fine."
Dean knew it was a lie, but he let it slide; because he knew there was no way he was going to get the truth out of the kid while their old man was in the room. Sam was always pretending to be unbreakable around their father, and Dean wished John would realize that, but he knew that would probably never happen.
"That's my boy."
Sam gave a wan smile.
"Now does one of you want to tell me what the hell happened back there?"
Sam bit his lip and looked up at his big brother with a nervous expression.
"The werewolf snuck up on us, it came from the south." Dean reported as he sent a frustrated glare toward the eldest Winchester. "You said you were sure it was going to come from the North." He accused.
"That's where I had it pinned, but these sort of things are never guaranteed, Dean. You know that."
Dean hated the way his dad brushed it all off, as if it was no big deal. As if this one mistake didn't almost cost him one, or possibly both, of his sons.
John watched him expectantly, waiting for him to continue relaying the course of events that lead them here.
"It came up behind me. I was waiting for it to come out in front of me, so I didn't even notice that s.o.b. until it was practically breathing down my neck."
"It would have gone right passed you, why didn't you shoot it?" Their father asked, his attention turned to Sam now.
"I, uh, I tried." The young teen responded timidly.
"No, you didn't, I never heard a rifle shot." John said in a tone full of condemnation.
"He couldn't, Dad. His hands went numb."
The hunter took in the new information, his expression thoughtful.
"If it was breathing down your neck, how'd it end up getting your brother?" He asked quizzically.
"I couldn't shoot it, couldn't get my hands to co-operate. So I followed it, and when I saw it going for Dean I knew that it was too close. He was reaching for his gun, but he wouldn't have been able to kill it before…" Sam faded off, likely not interested in describing exactly what would have happened to his big brother had he not taken action.
"So, I distracted it. I was further from the wolf than Dean and I knew that if I could get it to come after me that would give him enough time to fire at it." Sam reasoned, looking nervously at the man staring down at him.
"It turned and ran after him. I unloaded silver bullets into it at the exact moment it caught Sam with its claws." Dean finished; eager for this recap to be over so that he could stop reliving one of the most terrifying moments of his life.
John looked between the two of us, his expression unreadable as he digested the information, and then he turned to look at his youngest child.
"You did good, son. I'm proud of you."
Sam smiled with pride and Dean shook with rage.
What the fuck did his dad think he was doing? He though it was acceptable that his little brother offered his life up on a fucking silver platter? He was encouraging that kind of moronic behaviour?
Dean was not having it.
"Get out." He ordered darkly.
The older hunter looked up at him with a face of confusion, but he was not going to elaborate in front of Sammy.
"Get out now." Dean seethed.
"Dean?" Sam asked; bewilderment evident on his face.
"Now." The older boy demanded, not bothering to look at Sam.
Their father stood abruptly and walked out of the room, stopping in the hall. Dean glanced over at his younger brother, looking up at him with a face full of questions.
"Get some rest, Sammy. I'm just going to talk to Dad for a minute." He explained simply, hiding the anger he was saving for the man in the hallway.
"What's going on?" The teen queried, always the inquisitive one.
"Everything's fine." He dismissed, heading to the door.
"Dean, come on."
"Not now, Sam." He barked, giving him a look that clearly said this matter was not up for discussion.
He felt momentarily guilty as he watched his little brother sink back into the bed and he sent the kid an apologetic smile before exiting the room, closing the door firmly behind him and turning to the real object of his furry.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dean's voice was low, but wrathful.
"What are you talking about?" John asked.
"You're proud of him? He did good? You think it's okay that the kid was going to sacrifice himself?" He questioned in outrage.
"He did what was necessary to watch your back." His dad reasoned.
"Are you kidding me? How can you be okay with him offering himself up like that?" Dean was shocked.
His entire life was a mantra of 'watch out for Sammy' and 'look after your little brother'. Placing Sam in any sort of danger was going against everything Dean had ever been told, going against the very core of his being, the purpose of his life.
"Dean, calm down. Sam is fine. He saved his brother. We killed the werewolf. Just take the win and let it go, son."
Each word the hunter spoke was like another shovel of dirt burying Dean alive. He could not even begin to compute or understand how Sam behaving so recklessly was even the slightest bit okay, and there was no way in hell he could ever chalk this hunt up to being a 'success'. One look through the window at the young teen lying injured in that hospital bed was all the proof he needed to know that this hunt was pretty fucking far from a win.
"You're losing it, man." Dean declared, turning back to face his father, who raised an eyebrow at the comment.
"Watch what you say to me." Came the warning.
"What happened tonight was not okay, and it sure as shit wasn't a win. And don't you dare make Sam think that in order to get your approval he has to behave like a reckless idiot, or a sacrifice." He stated irately.
"You're the one always saying that I'm too hard on the kid, never giving him enough praise."
"You are. You're supposed to praise him on the good stuff. When he makes the shot, or does well in training, or nails his research, or does well in school. You do not give him your approval for almost getting himself killed."
It baffled him that the older hunter did not understand the gravity of the situation. Sam spent his entire life striving for John's stamp of approval, and if this was how he got it…well Dean didn't even want to know what he would do to keep it.
"What was I supposed to do, Dean? Lecture the boy?"
"No, you were supposed to tell him you're glad he is okay and you're sorry you fucked up. You are supposed to tell him that he should never behave so carelessly."
"He did what he had to do. He kept you alive. I can't reprimand him for that."
"Why not? What if next time the monster kills him? We are supposed to protect him, Dad. It's not supposed to be the other way around."
"We all look out for each other, Dean. That is how we survive. He didn't do anything you or I wouldn't have done."
Dean hated the calm way his father was explaining things. He hated how reasonable the hunter was being about this whole event, because there was not one smidge of reason in this shitstorm. He hated that John was right; that had the positions been switched both he and his Dad would do exactly what Sam did, or worse. He hated that his little brother was turning into them – a self-sacrificial, reckless, hunter with no sense of self-preservation. And he vowed right then to never ever let that happen.
"I need to talk to my brother." He bit out, turning to the door.
"Fine, I'll go grab a coffee."
Dean nodded in appreciation and entered the small hospital room. Sam was looking up at him, both curiosity and exhaustion in control of his features. At least the kid waited for him to pull up a chair beside his bed and drop into it before bombarding him with his questions.
"What's wrong? Why were you so pissed? Where's Dad? What'd you talk about? Why did you-"
Dean put a hand up to end the constant stream of inquiries. "I need you to understand something." he started slowly, looking directly Sam, imploring him to listen and pay attention. "What you did tonight was unacceptable."
"But Dean-
"Listen, Sam. It's not that I'm not grateful. You saved my ass, little brother, and I know that."
Sam smiled in pride.
"But what you did was reckless and stupid."
His face fell.
"No matter what happens, not matter how much deep shit Dad or I am in, you don't ever, ever offer yourself up like that."
"I didn't have a choice, if I didn't do something it would have gotten you." The teen explained with the horror of the possibility displayed in his eyes.
"Maybe, but it did get you." Dean stated, glancing down at the kid's heavily bandaged leg.
"It nicked me, it would have killed you."
"Nicked you? Have you seen how much of your blood is in my car?" Dean choked out incredulously.
"Sorry about the Impala I…"
"The Impala? This isn't about the fucking car, Sam!"
The teen looked up at him, eyes wide with shock, in response to either what he said or at the volume of which he said it, or maybe a combination of the two.
"You could have died, Sammy. You could have been impaled through the chest, or been bit, or bled out in my car…which is what almost happened."
"What was I supposed to do, Dean?" Sam tested, his tone frustrated.
"You were supposed to let us handle it."
"Dad wasn't there! And anything you would have tried would have gotten you killed." He argued.
"And what you did almost got you killed. I can't focus on the hunt if I'm worried about you doing something stupid."
"Saving your ass is stupid?"
"No, offering your life up on a silver platter is stupid." Dean yelled.
"So, what you're saying is that it's perfectly fine if you get killed saving me, but I'm not allowed to get killed saving you?" Sam pointed out.
"No, that's not what I'm saying."
"That is exactly what you're saying! You have gotten injured a hell of a lot worse saving my life, but that's okay because it's your job. But I get hurt saving yours, and that's unacceptable?" Sam's voice and face full of disbelief.
"I'm older." Dean responded lamely.
"Why do you think that you need me more than I need you?"
The question caught the older boy off guard, and his eyebrows climbed as he stared at his little brother.
"Dean, I know that you're angry because I got hurt, and it makes you think about the worst-case scenario and what would happen if I had died."
Dean bit his lip, looking away, not understanding how the kid could read him so well.
"I know that that scares you because you know you couldn't live without me."
He looked back at Sam, the younger voice was so quiet and understanding and the truth of his statement catching Dean's full attention.
"I know that because that is exactly how I feel every single time you get hurt. And, Dean, I couldn't survive without you anymore than you could without me."
Dean glanced away, the emotion of the moment becoming too much.
"You raised me, and you protect me, and you know me better than anyone. I couldn't make it without you." Tears were freely sliding down his little brother's face as he continued to speak through the catch in his voice. "I need you to understand that I need you with me, so if that means I have to fight to keep you here, then that's what I'm going to do."
Dean wiped the tears from his Sam's cheeks with his thumb, smoothing the unruly hair to the side and resting his hand on the pale forehead.
"Got it?" Sam rasped softly.
"Yeah Sammy, I got it." Dean replied around the lump in his throat. "Just please don't ever do anything like that again."
"I won't if I don't have to. Believe it or not, I would really rather not get eaten by a werewolf."
It was meant to be said with humour, but Dean found nothing funny in the scenario.
"Besides, you're always there to save me." Sam replied simply, looking up at his brother with the trust, love, and the innocence of a child.
"Damn straight." Dean croaked, not noticing the tears escaping from his eyes until Sam reached up and wiped them away gently with the tips of his fingers.
"I don't like the numbness."
Dean realized Sam was talking about his hands as he stared down at them.
"Still no feeling?" He asked in concern, knowing that it shouldn't last that long.
"No, I can feel them now. I just hate that I never know when it's going to happen. The shaking I'm used to, and I know the pain comes when they get too cold, but I never know when I'm just going to lose the feeling in most of my fingers." Sam worried.
"We'll deal with it, kiddo. This is only the second time it's ever happened, so at least they know it's not common."
Sam nodded in agreement, returning to Dean's. He looked tired, no doubt the emotional outburst costing him the little energy he had had left.
"Get some rest, kiddo." Dean encouraged, pulling the blue hospital blanket up to the boy's chest.
"You don't need to tuck me in, Dean. I'm not five." Sam whined petulantly.
"No, you're not five. You're just a girl." He teased.
"Hey, you cried too."
"You started it."
"I saved your ass." Sam reminded him, smirking as he closed his eyes.
"You sure did, little brother. You sure did." Dean whispered softly, watching as Sam smiled before his breath evened out and he finally surrendered to the pull of sleep.
"Never again, Sammy, never again." Dean swore quietly as he watched his kid sleeping peacefully.
A part of him knew that it would probably happen again, was resigned to the reality of their lives, but the big brother in him refused to ever accept the idea that the most important person in his life could get hurt protecting him.
Dean didn't deserve it.
Didn't deserve to have a little brother like Sam.
A little brother who depended on him, trusted him, and loved him with everything he had.
A little brother who forgave all his failures, even when they came at the kid's own expense.
A little brother who would lay down his life to save Dean's.
It was both amazing and horrifying.
There was no way in hell Dean was ever going to allow Sammy to sacrifice himself for him. He didn't care if that made him a hypocrite.
He would do everything and anything to keep Sam safe, even if his brother would end up hating him for it. Because being hated by his kid was the second worst possible thing that could ever happen, beat only by losing Sam completely.
"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm really sorry."
The shorter man shook his head, attempting to physically shake the memory that had grabbed hold of him. They were parked in an empty parking lot, and it took less than a second for him to remember why.
"It's not your fault, Sam. You know that." He chided, angling to face his little brother.
"I could have gotten us both killed. I could have destroyed the Impala."
"Buddy, you can't control it. It's okay." Dean soothed.
"Two-way street my ass." Sam muttered.
"What?" He asked, eyebrows raised.
"Nothing." The younger man mumbled as he fumbled with the door, struggling to open it with the couple fingers he could actually still feel.
"No, not nothing. What do you mean?"
"It's nothing." He growled in frustration, escaping from the vehicle the moment he managed to get the door open.
Dean released an irritated sigh and followed the long body out, coming to stand beside it at the hood. He waited patiently for Sam to tell him what he knew he wanted to hear.
The truth.
"You said it wasn't a one-way street." The young man started, making an effort to breathe calmly.
"Yeah." He recalled the previous conversation.
"But it is."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is!" He yelled out in aggravation, pushing off the car and moving to stand in front of his brother.
"You save my life constantly and what do I do? I get you knocked out and then I almost get us killed on the highway." He hollered, waving his arms around in anger. "Even when I'm trying to do something nice for you I almost get you killed."
He looked expectantly at Dean, waiting for his response and the older man knew his kid was hoping to be reprimanded.
Well, Sam was shit out of luck.
"October 15th, 1998."
Sam looked at him quizzically.
"You saved my ass by playing impromptu bait for a werewolf."
Comprehension dawned on Sam's face, but he still didn't seem to understand what Dean was getting at.
"Sam, we have both made mistakes and both almost gotten each other and ourselves killed, but we have both saved each other's backsides a hell of a lot more often."
"Oh please, you've saved mine way more than I've saved yours"
"Yeah, Sam, because I've had more opportunities. You're a trouble magnet, kiddo."
Sam snorted at the truth in the joking explanation.
"But whenever you have had the opportunity to save my ass, you have always done it, even when I didn't want you to."
Sam gave Dean a soft smile, moving to stand beside him and lean against his baby.
"You were pretty pissed."
Dean smirked in response.
"That was the first time I ever saw you order Dad around."
"Pfft. I didn't order him."
"Uh yeah ,Dean, you did. You ordered him right out of the room." Sam recalled with wonder.
"Yeah well, I had some things to say to him."
"Like what?" His brother inquired innocently.
"Wouldn't you love to know." Dean laughed.
The younger man rolled his eyes.
"I'm serious though, Sam." He stated, planting himself directly before his little brother, just as he had done a moment before.
"You save me plenty. And this shit with your hands, you can't help it. It's not your fault and I don't blame you, so don't blame yourself." He implored.
Sam looked at his brother from under his bangs, gratefulness shining out of his eyes as he examined his face. After a few seconds, he nodded in shy agreement and ducked his head back down again.
"How are your hands?" Dean asked, reaching for one.
"Can't feel most of my fingers." He sighed.
Dean could only imagine how aggravating that would be. Losing the feeling in your fingers without any warning whatsoever; temporary or not, that would suck.
"How long has it been since the last time this happened?" He asked as he casually felt around his little brother's hand, knowing that there was nothing he could do to bring the feeling back faster, but hating to be useless. So instead he checked over the cuts and scrapes around the boney knuckles, put there the night before.
"Over a year. Last time it happened I was trying to type up a paper." He muttered.
Dean nodded and letting the long fingers gently fall uselessly back down to Sam's side, before moving to stand hip to hip with the kid.
"I bet that pissed you off." He commented, knowing from experience that Sam despised it when his hands' refusal to co-operate affected his school work.
"Yeah, I probably would have chucked the entire computer if I had been able to." He replied with a hint of a smile.
"Instead you just sat there glaring at it." Dean described knowingly.
"Yeah, I remember Jess…uhh, she said I looked like I was pouting." He finished quietly.
With each snippet of information Dean was receiving about the young lady who had captured his brother's heart, his fondness for her was growing.
"Well, she was right. That's exactly what you were doing." He concurred, feeling satisfied at Sam's soft smile, but allowing the conversation to drop when he made no effort to reply.
They stood there for a few more moments, until he felt the cold wind biting through his jeans. He knew Sam's hands were still numb because he was making no effort to warm them up, but he also knew that that did not mean no damage was being done.
"Let's get going, sasquatch." He instructed, making his way to the passenger side door and opening it for his beanpole of a little brother.
"I can do it myself." Sam grumbled, marching past him and dropping into the seat.
"I know, buddy, but we don't have all night." Dean teased, laughing at the bitch face he received as he shut the door. He knew that if the brat could get his hands to work he would have thrown up a middle finger for added effect.
It amazed him that Sammy didn't realize how much he saved Dean.
How he saved him from living a life without meaning and without light.
How there were so many days Dean wouldn't have gotten out of bed if it wasn't for his kid.
How Sam saved him from the bitterness that took over their father.
How, just by needing him, the younger boy saved Dean from the all-encompassing grief of their mother's death.
How he saved him from the pain and fear of loneliness.
How Sam saved his sanity.
How he saved his soul.