"Where the hell are we going?"
Sam looked over at his brother, likely surprised by the abrupt question after a couple hours of relative silence.
"Uhh, well you're the one driving, Dean."
"Yeah, I'm driving the way you were heading before we pulled off." He stated accusingly.
Dean was met with nothing but silence. He sent a side-long glance towards Sam and the image of his little brother chewing on his bottom lip was a blatant sign of guilt.
"You want to let me know why the hell I'm driving north, little brother?!" He asked, his voice rising by the minute, as he cursed himself for not noticing sooner.
"You are driving to a hunt, because we are hunters and that's what we do." Sam explained sarcastically.
"Cut the bullshit, kid." Dean snapped.
"You're driving to Minnesota."
"Like hell, we are." The second the words were muttered the Impala was directed onto the side of the road.
"What the hell, Dean?" Sam hollered, hearing the car horn blaring behind them, someone expressing their displeasure towards the less-than-cautious driving.
Dean guided his girl to a stop and spun around to look at his stupid little brother.
"Missouri wasn't far north enough for you, Sam? You want to go to Minnesota now? How about even further? How about Canada? I'm sure there are some of possessed beavers we can hunt, and then maybe you can get hypothermia again. Or how about Alaska? We've never been to that state before! You can get frostbite again and maybe if you're lucky you'll have to get every single one of your fucking fingers amputated. Would you be happy then?"
Sam stared at him with wide eyes and a small smile slowly spreading across his face.
"Possessed beavers?" He questioned, trying to hold back a laugh.
"You think this is funny? You think this is fucking joke?" Dean shouted, seeing no humour in the situation.
Sam's smile faded. "No, Dean, just listen—
"No, Sam. You listen. I have had it. This is not a joke. Your hands, your health, that is not a joke."
"Dean—
"No, shut up. I'm sick of being the only one who takes this seriously –
"Dean, I—
"Shut up! I mean, it's like you don't care. You don't care if you permanently destroy your hands or end up in the hospital with hypothermia. And I'm tired of being the only one who gives a shit."
"It's not—
"Shut. Up. Sam." Dean bit out as he climbed from the Impala, not wanting to sit through some lame-ass excuse and knowing he needed some space, before he throttled the stupid kid.
The air was cold and it was pitch black out, the only light coming from the stars and headlights of the vehicles that passed by every now and then. Dean took a handful of steps up the road and paced around angrily.
How could Sam not understand how serious this was? Why was it so bloody difficult for him to take care of himself? And it wasn't like this was new. The little brat was never careful when it came to his frostbite. Dean had always had to nag and harass him, forcing him into taking precautions.
And what did he get for it?
He got bitched at.
The older boy would like nothing more than to say screw-it, if the kid wanted to fuck up his hands that was his business; but he was a big brother and no matter how aggravating Sam got, he knew that he would always do whatever necessary to keep that kid safe and healthy, even if that meant having to turn into a naggy, bossy, nursemaid.
He didn't know why Sam didn't seem to give a shit about his health, but if he thought Dean was going to let him get away with being so careless, that brat had another thing coming. He never allowed it before, and he didn't care how much Sam thought he had grown-up, he wouldn't be allowing it now.
As he continued pacing back and forth in the dark on the side of the road, he thought of another time he had been brought to this same level of frustration due to his little brother's disregard for his own well-being.
It was late December and they were in a small town somewhere in Colorado. Dean had been pushing for them to head further south, but Sam insisted they have snow for Christmas. He wasn't thrilled, only caving when Sam had promised to take extra care of his hands - and the kid had pulled out those damn puppy dog eyes so of course his big brother had caved.
Their dad was off on a hunt, like usual. He promised to be home by Christmas, but by now both boys knew to take those types of promises very lightly. For Sammy's sake, though, Dean really hoped John got his ass home on time. He knew the realistic part of his brother didn't expect it, but he also knew that secretly the teen was hoping for all three of them to spend the day together as a 'normal' family.
Sam deserved a great Christmas, and that was what he was going to get, with or without John.
"You sure you want to go to the library?" Dean asked the boy seated next to him as he drove the Impala across town.
"Yes, Dean. For the third time." Sam responded with a long dramatic my-big-brother-is-so-damn-exhausting sigh.
"But its Christmas break. School won't start up again for at least a couple weeks." And by then they will have moved on to another town – but Dean didn't vocalize that last part, knowing how much Sam hated moving around all the time and not wanting to remind him of it.
"Yeah, well, it's not like I have anything better to do." The kid muttered, looking out the passenger side window and watching the snowflakes land on the glass. It was cold enough to snow, but not so cold that there would be any accumulation, thankfully.
"Anything is better than spending all evening at the library."
"Like what? Spending the night just sitting around in the hotel?" Sam asked with a roll of his eyes.
"Hey man, at least it's not a dump like the ones we normally stay at." Dean pointed out.
He had talked their father into checking them into a nicer place, partly because he needed to know for sure that the heater would work so Sam didn't end up with hypothermia and partly because he wanted a decent place for his kid to spend Christmas.
"Yeah, I know." Sam admitted softly, and Dean could feel the gratitude in the gentle look sent his way. "It's just nice to get out." The teen elaborated.
"I get that. I just don't know why you want to 'get out' to the library of all places." He stated, and by the huff Sam released, Dean knew that his comment was taken as an insult rather than the simple confusion it was intended it to be.
"Well, I'm not old enough to go to the bar." Sam bit out.
"You could use—
"Those fake id's suck and they don't change the fact that I look like I'm twelve."
Dean snickered at the truth of the remark, because his entire life Sam had always looked young for his age, which was in great contrast to his elevated level of maturity.
"So, you go hang out at the bar and I'll be at the library."
Dean glanced over at his little brother, not loving the edge he heard in his tone. It wasn't accusation necessarily, but there was something biting about it.
"Hey man, you know I would take you if he could." He placated.
Sam released another long sigh, this one with a little less attitude. "I know."
"Your poker skills would put all those old men to shame."
Sam smiled, two small dimples making a brief appearance on his young face.
"Seriously, dude, you sure that you want to go to the library?" Dean repeated, thinking there must be something better to do on a Friday night than go hang out at that stuffy place.
"You got a better idea?" Sam grumbled.
"I can take you back to the hotel, you can just relax, watch tv. It's warm and the room is pretty big—
"The hotel its great, Dean. Really, it's nice. Thanks for making Dad put us up there."
It was the older boy's turn to roll his eyes. He wasn't looking for a thank you, just an explanation.
"If it's so great, why would you rather hang out at this crummy place." He argued, pulling the Impala up in front of the old building.
"I…it gets lonely." Sam confessed, almost inaudibly.
Dean didn't have an answer for that, nothing he could think to stay. He wanted to offer to stay in with the kid, but he needed the cash he would win tonight.
The hotel was nice, which also made it more expensive. That and Christmas was coming and Dean needed money for a decent dinner and the present he wanted to get Sam. A new laptop, the kid needed it for school. The one they used for research was old and slow and sometimes their father would be on it or would take it with him on a hunt, which left Sam spending hours at the library trying to get all his homework done on computer even older and crappier. And while Dean was totally pumped to watch Sam's face when he opened his present, it was not a cheap gift.
"Well maybe when we get home tonight we can see if there's some sort of cheesy Christmas movie on TV." He offered, trying to put a smile on the little nerd's face.
"Really?" Sam queried, hazel eyes growing wide in anticipation.
"Yeah, sure. Just give me a call when you're all finished geeking out over here and I'll come pick you up. I don't need to play more than a couple games tonight."
"You don't have to, I can—
"If you say the word 'walk' I will shave your head." Dean threatened.
Sam sent him a smirk as he grabbed the backpack at his feet and made to open the door – the motion bringing Dean's attention to the teen's hands.
"Where are your gloves?" He asked, watching as his brother's hand trembled when he placed it on the door handle.
Sam froze, but made no move to look Dean's way or give any sort of reply.
"Sam, where the hell are your gloves?" He questioned louder, grabbing the boney shoulder and pulling the smaller frame towards him.
"Hotel room." He muttered.
"Why?"
"Because I'm just going to the library, Dean. It's not like I can wear them when I read anyways." Sam whined in that aggravating teenager tone.
"Come on man, you promised me that you'd be more careful."
"Dean, relax! It's fine! I'm going straight into the nice big warm library, I'm not going hiking." Sam argued.
"Sam." He sighed, his frustration rising.
"I don't need gloves to go inside to read." His little brother replied, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
"I don't give a shit, Sam! It's snowing outside. Wear your fucking gloves!"
"You're being completely unreasonable!"
"You're being a moron!"
"No, I'm just not being a spaz!"
"A spaz? You got frostbite, I'm trying to make sure you don't lose your damn fingers."
"You are so dramatic."
"You heard what the doctor said. Your are more sensitive to the cold, your circulation sucks, it's easy for you to get hypothermia and if you're not careful you are going to permanently damage your hands!"
"I know!" Sam hollered.
"Then why don't you have your fucking gloves on?" Dean asked, matching the young teen's volume.
"Because I'm going to spend the night inside, reading!" Sam repeated.
"It's snowing!"
"Outside! Not in the library."
Dean stared at the stubborn young man sitting across from him. He wasn't a moron, he knew that his kid had a point, knew that he was probably being overprotective, but he couldn't help it.
"I'm not going back on my promise. I will be more careful."
Dean assessed Sam, watching as his face eased from anger to reassurance.
"I'll be okay, Dean. I can take care of myself."
It wasn't stated petulantly, but rather gently, as a promise instead of an argument.
"You go straight in there. You stay in there. You call me when you're done. And you wait in that building until I show up. You got that?" He instructed evenly.
"Yes." Sam relented.
The driver nodded his head, which the teen took as permission to get out of the Impala. Sam leaned back in and caught the green gaze a small dimply smile still on his face.
"Stop worrying, Dean." He ordered softly before standing straight and closing the door.
"Fat chance of that." He snorted, watching the skinny boy enter the library, trying to ignore the urge he had to drive back across town to get the gloves. He knew that even if he went to all the extra effort there was no way Sam would put them on, not after he went to such lengths to prove his point and gain some independence.
He would have to trust that Sam could take care of himself, which he found difficult. Don't get Dean wrong, Sam was smart and capable, and he would trust to take care of his big brother in a second, but the kid was not so good at looking after himself
Dean gritted his teeth as he drove over to the bar, attempting to quell the protective surge rising through me.
A couple hours later he had won a decent chunk of cash - finally enough for that laptop - and he pulled out his phone. Unnerved that Sam hadn't called yet. It was going on 10:00 pm. He doubted that the library was still open and if it was it wouldn't be for much longer. He dialed Sammy as he made his way to the Impala. The phone rang more times than he was comfortable with, but to his relief his little brother picked up.
"Dean."
"Hey Sammy, they kick you out of nerd-land yet?"
The lack of response caused his discomfort to return.
"Sammy?" He asked.
"I need you to come get me." The request was far from demanding, but soft…too soft.
"Yeah, buddy. I'm on my way."
"I'm not at the library."
Dean stilled.
"What?" He growled, anger sliding into his tone.
"I…uhh, it closed an hour ago." Sam stuttered nervously.
"So, where the hell are you?"
"I'm on main street, where the shops and stuff are. I'm in the corner store."
Dean bit back the urge to bark out the number of questions he had bouncing around in his head. "I'm coming." Was all he said.
"Thanks." Sam replied quietly before hanging up.
Almost ten minutes later he was pulling up to the convenience store, he barely put the Impala in park before Sam was sliding into the passenger seat.
"What the hell, man?" He blurted out in a mixture of anger, relief, and frustration.
"I'm sorry."
If Dean hadn't been so aggravated, he would have immediately heard the slight tremble in the young man's voice.
"How does promising to be careful involve a forty-five minute walk outside in the snow?"
"Dean, I'm sorry."
"And don't try and tell me it didn't take that long, because you walked half-way across town. You walked half-way back to the hotel, Sam."
This time he waited for a response and not getting one did nothing to ease his anger.
"Nothing to say for yourself? No lame excuse for your late-night stroll?" He questioned bitterly, staring at the teen who refused to even glance his way.
"Look at me, Sam!" He ordered.
Dean was expecting a glare or a bitch-face, with maybe a little bit of guilt. The look he received was much more disturbing. Sam raised his head, his eyes downcast and his face wet with tears.
"Sammy? What's wrong?" He asked, grasping his brother's chin and angling it up so he could see him more clearly. Dean thumbed the falling tears from his cold face, sliding his bangs out of the way and staring intently into those big watery hazel eyes, his entire body coursing with the need to fix whatever was broken.
Sam said nothing in return, but he dropped his gaze back down and slowly pulled his hands out of his coat-sleeves, where they had been hiding since he got into the car.
Dean looked down.
"Shit." He cursed, gently cradling the discoloured appendages in his hands.
They were chalk white with a tinge of blue in spots, shaking violently, with the thin fingers curled in a claw-like position.
"Jesus, Sammy." He swore as he gently attempted to relax his brother's hand and straighten his fingers.
The strangled gasp that came from Sam stopped his actions immediately. And when he looked at his kid's face and saw the tears and pain, Dean made an instant decision.
"Alright just don't move them." He instructed, hoping that Sam missed the small catch in his voice, fear and worry trying to take over.
He pulled the Impala out of park and sped down the street.
"Where are we going?" Sam asked shakily.
"Clinic down the street."
"No! Dean, it's okay. I—
"No, Sam. We let you do it your way, and look what happened." He answered harshly, his fear pouring out of him as anger. "Now we are doing this my way. And I'm taking you to the damn clinic."
A few short minutes later they were pulling into the parking lot of the small clinic that was all there was to pass for medical care in this town. There had been no further conversation on the way there, only the sound of Sam trying desperately to hold back his tears and Dean grinding his teeth in concern.
"Alright we're here, buddy." He announced softly, climbing from the car and rushing over to his brother's side, pulling open his door.
Sam stared up at him from his seat, eyes shining with tears yet to be shed. He looked so small, so young, and so vulnerable.
"Come on, kiddo." He encouraged.
Sam bit his lip as he shook his head and stared down at his lap. Dean squatted down to try and get into the kid's line of sight.
"Sam, we have to get your hands checked out." He reasoned, nodding towards the shaking, discoloured appendages resting in his brother's lap. "I can't fix those."
"It's going to hurt." Sam stuttered.
"It might, but I'll be there. And the longer we wait the worse it will be." He reasoned cautiously, not wanting to frighten the hurting teen, but needing him to understand that time was of the essence.
"You'll stay with me?" Sam asked timidly, his head rising, his gaze meeting Dean's for a quick second, before diverting in embarrassment.
"I promise, Sammy." He reassured.
Sam studied his brother's face for the truth, before climbing from the vehicle with a long sigh. Sam held his hands out in front of him, clenched and trembling as they walked into the clinic. Dean kept a comforting hand resting on the back of his brother's neck as he led him to the front desk.
"What can I- oh dear." The middle-aged woman exclaimed, popping up out her chair and rushing around the desk. "Oh, goodness, young man. That looks bad. I'm taking you to the exam room right away. Come with me, sweetheart." She rambled, ushering them to one of the back rooms.
Damn, Dean loved small-town clinical service.
"Now you just sit up here on the bed and Dr. Murphy should be in here any minute." The woman instructed, patting the bed and indicating that Sam should sit.
Dean steadied the teen as he went to take a seat on the small hospital bed, seemingly simple things always more difficult without the use of your hands.
"You good?" Dean inquired, as the slim frame shifted around uneasily on the stiff mattress. Sam nodded back at him, his face still creased in pain, but his eyes dry for the time being.
"Alright, good. Now you just wait here, sweetie." The woman instructed smiling kindly at Sam. "I need you to come back with him and fill out some paperwork." She said, turning to the taller boy.
Dean watched as Sam's head shot up, his wide gaze meeting the green one. Dean knew that if his brother could have, he probably would have wrapped those bony fingers around his wrist already. He gave Sam a reassuring smile, before turning his attention to the nurse.
"If you could bring the paperwork in here, I'll fill it out no problem." He stated with a smile, returning his hand to rest on the back of his kid's neck, reassuring Sam that he wasn't going anywhere.
"I'd prefer if you filled it out at my desk, it will only take a second."
Dean could feel Sam tensing under his hand, and he gently squeezed the nape of his neck, rubbing his thumb back and forth at the base of his skull.
"I'm not leaving my brother." He stated strongly.
The nurse looked between them for a couple seconds before nodding her head with an understanding smile.
"I'll bring it right in."
Dean nodded in appreciation and watched her hurry from the room. Then he looked back at his little brother in time to see his grateful expression before he stared back down at his hands. He wanted to ask if the teen was in pain, but his posture, clenched jaw, and the lines littering his face, were all the answer he needed. Thankfully, he didn't have to come up with any sort of conversation, because the nurse returned with the paperwork.
"Here you are…"
"Dean." He filled in for her, grabbing the clipboard and pen.
"And you are?"
"That's Sam." He answered distractedly, trying to recall their latest insurance information.
"How old are you, Sam?"
"Fifteen." He mumbled out before Dean could answer for him.
"I am going to need a phone number for your guardian, sweetie. I have some things I need them to sign off on."
"I'm his guardian." Dean informed her, looking up from the endless amount of questions that he was answering.
"I mean his legal guardian."
"Yeah, I'm his legal guardian." He insisted. He wasn't lying. The day he turned eighteen he had his Dad sign forms that he had drawn up, giving him shared custody of his little brother and it was moments just like this that he was glad he had done that.
The nurse glanced from him to Sam and back again, seemingly unsure, and deciding whether she believed him or not.
"Oh…okay." She said hesitantly, placing another paper on Dean's pile before leaving the room.
"I don't think she believed you." Sam muttered, staring down at his hands.
"She can believe whatever the hell she wants. I just wish that doc would get his ass in here." He declared, sparing a glance at his little brother's hands, before proceeding to sign all the forms.
As if he heard him, the doctor entered the room.
"Sam and Dean?" He asked, looking between them as he opened the door.
"Yeah. You gotta take a look at the kid's hands, Doc." He insisted.
The doctor clearly sensed the urgency in his tone and made his way immediately to his baby brother.
"Alright, young man. Let's see what has got your big brother so worried."
Sam looked at the doctor quizzically, which he noticed.
"I'm a big brother. And I know that look, and that tone, I've actually perfected it over the years." The older man stated kindly, while carefully examining the discoloured fingers that were still in a stiff claw-like position.
Sam smirked slightly at the doctor's comment, but any amusement was quickly wiped from his face as the man began straightening his fingers. Dean watched Sam's entire body go tense, the kid's jaw clenching as pain and fear filled his eyes; and the older boy's protective instincts surged.
"What the hell, Doc? You're hurting him!" He snapped, stepping in between the two, forcing the man to take a couple steps away from his little brother.
"It's okay, Dean." He heard Sam sigh behind him. He was about to tell Sam how very far from okay the entire situation was, but the doc spoke-up before he had the chance.
"Dean, I was just trying to gauge how stiff his fingers were, but I can tell that they are very stiff and there is a lack of circulation."
"Frostbite?" He barked, needing answers.
"No, but close."
Dean didn't know if he was relieved that frostbite was avoided, or terrified that they had come so close.
"He's had it before?" The doc asked. Dean could tell that the other man was in fact an older brother by the fact that he addressed the question to him instead of Sam, and by the concern he saw on his face.
"Yeah, last year. Third degree. it was bad. Almost had to get them amputated." He bit out, shuttering at the memory.
"It wasn't that bad." Sam mumbled behind him.
"Shut up, Sam." He ordered off-handedly. "So, how can you treat it?" He questioned, his full attention back on the doc…well most of his attention on the doc. Dean didn't think he'd ever been able to focus full attention on anything or anyone other than his little brother. Even when he tried concentrating on something different, Sam was occupying at least part of his mind. It had been that way since the little squirt was born.
"I'm going to go grab some ointment and some heating pads, and we are going to use them to slowly bring Sam's hands back to temperature. He'll need to stay the night so I can be sure there's no further damage." The doctor explained.
Dean nodded in understanding and watched as the older man left the room.
"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam whispered, causing him to turn around and look at the young teen, his long hair hanging down in his face.
"Sorry for what, Sam?" He questioned bluntly, but not unkindly.
Sam chewed on his bottom lip – a nervous tick he had picked up when he was eight and never dropped -as he looked up at Dean, deep hazel eyes peeking through his bangs.
"For making you spend your night in the hospital." He admitted softly.
"I don't give a shit that we are spending the night here. I give a shit that my little brother lied to me."
Sam hung his head in shame, making no further attempt at conversation.
Dean felt a stab of guilt watching the kid look so defeated, but he needed him to understand that what he did was not okay - putting himself in such a dire situation was never okay.
The doc returned a moment later and got to work fixing the wounded teenager. Dean maintained an affirming hand on the back of Sam's neck, biting his tongue to keep from reaming the older man out every time his kid flinched in pain.
Once Sam's hands were at a 'reasonable' temperature, Dr. Murphy applied some sort of ointment and wrapped them up for the night.
Dean helped the kid change – glad he found a pair of Sam's sweatpants and one of his own hoodies in the backseat - as his mummified hands didn't do much for him, and then literally tucked him into bed.
The doctor brought Dean in a chair, giving him a knowing look as he placed it right next to Sam's bed. That man was most definitely an older brother.
Sam fell asleep shortly after he laid down, his wrapped-up hands laying on his stomach as his breathing evened out. The kid was emotionally and physically exhausted. Dean watched him rest, carding his hands through the shaggy hair whenever the kid started to get restless, and smiling when Sam calmed immediately at his touch.
"Why'd you do it, Sammy? Huh? Why'd you lie to me, little brother?" He queried softly.
Dean never got an answer. Had no desire to bring it up the next day after hearing that Sam's hands would be alright. They just went back to the hotel and he spent most of the day sleeping while Sam watched some TV, his hands still too shaky for him to do any reading or schoolwork.
They spent Christmas alone in the hotel room that year. But it was good. Dean made sure to get some nice girly-Hawaiian pizza for his little brother and he watched the dork's face light up when he unwrapped his new laptop.
Sam practically vibrated with excitement when he watched Dean open his gift, a set of Metallica cassette tapes that he had been trying to get his hands on for years.
It was awesome.
"What are you thinking about?"
Dean hid his surprise at Sam's sudden appearance, not having noticed that the kid had left the car and gotten so close.
"About that night when you were fifteen and you went for a forty-five minute walk in the Colorado winter without wearing your fucking gloves."
Sam was momentarily stunned by the honestly, if his silence was anything to go by.
"Guess nothing changes." Dean muttered as he turned and continued to pace.
"I don't think you really know what happened that night." Sam announced quietly, making the older man stop and turn to face him.
"What?"
"Do you remember what I got you for Christmas that year?" Sam questioned softly, hiding underneath all that hair.
"Hell yeah, man, Metallica! Still got those tapes." Dean replied with a grin.
Sam looked up at him, a small smile crossing his face. "You know how hard those were to find?"
"Yeah, I'd been trying to get a hold of them for years. You never told me how you snagged them."
"You remember the music store in Colorado? You went in there looking for them the first day we got to … whatever that little town was called."
Dean nodded his head.
"Well I went there the next day after school and talked to the guy working there. He said he knew a guy and could order the tapes, but it was going to take a few weeks for them to arrive."
"Is that why you were so adamant we stay for Christmas?" Dean wondered, things beginning to click.
Sam nodded. "I was worried they wouldn't get there in time, but that night at the library I got an email from the guy who worked at the store. He told me that the tapes came in and if I wanted them I had to get there before he closed up for the holidays." Sam explained.
Understanding dawned as the pieces fell into place. They stood there in silence, Sam shifting back and forth uneasily as the older man mulled over the new information, trying to decide between decking or hugging his stupid little brother.
"Why didn't you just ask me to drive you there?" He asked, breaking the silence.
"Come on, Dean. You would have wanted to know why. I wanted it to be a surprise." Sam sighed.
There was another long moment of silence, Dean's mind racing a hundred different directions, all leading back to the young man standing before him.
Shockingly enough, Sam actually had his gloves on. Dean smirked, knowing that the brat had only put them on so his big brother wouldn't bitch about it. He watched a hard shiver scatter through his little brother's tall body, registering how cold the air was as another vehicle raced past them.
"Well both of us standing out here freezing our asses off isn't going to help anything." He pointed out, turning his brother to face the Impala and nudging him in the direction of the car.
They climbed into the vehicle and Dean pulled the blanket out from under the back seat, tossing it on the kid's lap. Sam rolled his eyes, but unfolded the blanket and draped it over himself just the same.
"I loved the tapes. Still do." Dean began, staring intently at his little brother. "But you keeping all of your fingers is a hell of a lot more important to me."
Sam nodded in understanding, not necessarily agreement.
Dean pulled his baby back onto the road, heading in his least favourite direction. He could feel Sam's eyes on him as he drove, the unspoken question of why he was headed north, written clearly in his expression.
"I am trusting you to take your health more seriously. I'm trusting you to take better care of yourself." He stated clearly.
Sam nodded fervently in response.
"And Sam." He said, looking over at him. "You've got to tell me if it gets bad, alright? I don't care if that means we have to drop the hunt, we'll find someone else to take care of it. I'm not risking you. You got that?"
"I promise, Dean." Sam declared confidently.
"Good. Cause we've got work to do." He affirmed, turning his attention back to the road.
He saw Sam smiling in his peripherals.
"What?" He asked.
"Guess those possessed beavers in Canada will have to wait then, eh?"
Dean barked out an amused laugh. "Shut up, Bitch."
"Whatever, Jerk." Sam grinned, leaning back against the passenger door, pulling the blanket up further around him and directing his stare out the front windshield.
They drove in silence; Dean was hoping that Sam would fall asleep and get some much needed, nightmare-free rest.
He kept thinking about his stupid kid.
How he quite literally risked his fingers to pick Dean up a Christmas present.
Sometimes he was so focused on making things better for Sammy that he didn't realize how the kid worked just as hard to make things better for him.
Dean dug around in the tape box on the floor, finally finding what he was looking for and popping it in the player. Metallica played on a low volume, and he sent a side-long glance his little brother's way in time to see a small smile and two dimples appear on the young face.
The music relaxed the driver, eased the tension he was feeling as he drove north, but a small part of him still wanted to turn around, something had him feeling as though he was driving directly into danger.
Dean tried to ignore that feeling, assuring himself that Sam had promised to be more careful and be honest with him, and that he could take care of the kid.
He let Metallica calm his nerves as he stared out at the road ahead, knowing that Sammy and he could handle whatever came, because if Winchesters were anything, they were survivors.