"Go back to the other page."
"Which other page?"
"The other one."
"Sam, there are like fifty pages here, you are going to have to be a little more specific."
His little brother released an exasperated sigh before clarifying.
"The one with the names of the original builders on it."
"I thought we already agreed the problem wasn't with the first owners, seeing as how people didn't start disappearing until last year." Dean said as he sifted through all the papers spread across the table. Sam's fingers were still too stiff to be of any use, so he towered behind him with his hands shoved in his pockets, dictating his every move. It was annoying as hell, but necessary.
"I just want to see how long they owned it before the next people moved in."
"Okay, ummm, looks like they lived in it for about fourteen years." He declared once he finally found the damn page.
"Does it say why they sold it?" Sam asked, looming over top of the shorter man seated at the library table. Dean had told the kid to just take a seat, but the dork preferred to stand behind him so he could see everything.
Like a hawk.
"Apparently, the owner's wife, a Stephanie Jennings, passed away, so her husband sold the place."
"How'd she die?"
"Well that would be in the obituaries." Dean muttered, searching through all the documents. "Cancer." He announced upon finding the proper page.
Sam hummed in thought.
"I doubt she'd be haunting the place."
His brother grunted in agreement behind him, and Dean could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.
"What about the most recent owners." He suggested.
Dean began the search for the required text.
"You know it'd be easier to find stuff if you actually organized the research." Sam commented.
"Well not everyone is OCD." He replied distractedly.
"I'm not OCD, I'm just organized."
"You're obsessive."
"No, I-
"Here it is. The last people to own it were James and Ellie Barnes and that was...twelve years ago. And before you ask, no, they didn't die mysteriously, they didn't die in the house at all actually. They just moved and couldn't find a buyer, so they sold it to the bank and the place remained empty."
"They didn't report any unusual activity? Noises, flashing lights? Anything like that?" Sam inquired, his chin nearly touching Dean's head as he bent over him.
"That would be in the police reports." He grunted, sifting through the strewn documents for the millionth time.
"Dean, if you were just more-
"If you say the word organized one more time, I will cram this page down your throat." He threatened, finally finding the proper report.
Sam chuckled behind him, before moving to drop down on the chair next to him.
"No strange activity came from the house until a few years ago." Dean stated, placing the paper down in front of his little brother.
Sam instinctively went to reach for it, but stalled, as if suddenly remembering his fingers were too stiff, and shoved the useless limbs back into his pocket. Dean made no comment, the frustration on his brother's face was apparent and he had no desire to make it any worse.
"Alright, so the problem isn't the owners." Sam muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
"Doesn't look like it." Dean agreed.
The younger man looked up from the report he had been studying and cast his eyes over the other pages littered about.
"What are you looking for?" Dean asked, knowing he would have to be the one to find it and pull it out.
"I'm not certain." Sam huffed. "You sure the witness didn't say anything about strange sounds or-
"I'm telling you, man, I called her. All she said was that her two friends went into the house and never came back out. They haven't been seen since. That's all she knows." He explained patiently, like he had multiple times already.
Sam was annoyed that he hadn't been the one to make the call. After all, he was the one who often did the whole witness-coddling-interview thing, but this time they hadn't been able to go see the young woman because she was out of town. Therefor a phone call was necessary. Sam hadn't been unable to properly grasp the cell and had disgustedly refused the older boy's offer to hold it up to his ear. So, Dean had conducted the interview, much to his little brother's disappointment.
"What are you thinking?"
"I don't know okay?! This isn't how I do research. I need to have everything in front of me and be able to flip through pages and re-read things!" His brother's voice rose in irritation.
Dean glanced around the library to be sure they weren't attracting too much attention, but other than the librarian, there really wasn't anyone else in sight. Most people probably didn't think the building had power after the ice-storm last night.
"Look, man, he I that your-
"No, Dean, you don't. You don't get it. Research has always been the one thing I was good at! Even when we were kids. But now I can't even do that much, thanks to my screwed-up hands!" Sam snapped, his voice hushed but tone sharp as he glared in the other hunter's direction.
Dean knew the anger in the hazel eyes was not aimed at him, but rather the situation, so he took no offense.
"I can't hunt, I can't interview witnesses, and now I can't even research. What the hell am I good for?"
"Sam, it'll pass. The stiffness always passes, and the second it does you can interview, hunt, and geek-out all over this shit." Dean promised, sweeping his hand over the covered table-top.
"Yeah, I know. I just feel so useless." His brother confessed softly, dropping his gaze to the ground, his hair falling before his face.
Dean paused, thinking of a way to correct Sam without turning this into a Hallmark moment.
How do you go about casually telling someone that just by breathing they made your life better?
That they couldn't possibly be useless because they were the reason you got out of bed every damn day?
How do you tell someone that even if they weren't a brilliant researcher or a skilled hunter, that they would still matter more to you than anyone else on the planet?
"Hey, you remember right after your frostbite? When your hands were all wrapped up for a couple of weeks?" He questioned, ducking down to try and get into his brother's lowered line of sight.
Sam glanced up at him from underneath all those bangs, a look of interest painted across his face.
"Yeah, what about it?" He asked.
"You remember how I had to help you with everything? How you couldn't really do much?"
"Yes, Dean, I remember." Sam spat out bitterly, his gaze returning to the floor.
"You remember what I told you?" He continued.
A questioning expression met Dean as his little brother looked back up.
"Not really, that was like ten years ago."
"Eight." He corrected thoughtlessly. Dean got a small dimply smirk for that, not sure why, but his heart warmed just a little at the sight.
"So, what'd you say that was so important?" Sam encouraged, knocking his knee against his brother's after a moment of silence.
"Well if you don't remember, clearly it wasn't that significant." Dean remarked teasingly, regretting the playful barb at the fall of his brother's face.
"I don't remember everything, dude, but that doesn't mean that it didn't matter or that-
"I was joking. You were young and still on pain meds, I'd be surprised if you could remember anything I said." He reflected with a grin.
The young man shook his head, but maintained an expectant stare.
As Dean recalled the words he had spoken, he thought back to the situation that made them necessary.
By the time they arrived in Florida, Dean was exhausted. He had driven non-stop the entire way from Michigan, twenty-one hours of travel divided only by short stops to fill up the tank and coax soup into his little brother. Sam needed warmth and his big brother was desperate to provide that for him. Even wrapped in his sweater and his new winter coat and the blanket Dean jacked from the motel, the teen's body still shook with cold on occasion.
Dean pulled up beside the first nice hotel he came across upon entering the warmer state. Sam would need some time to heal-up and he should be able to do that in comfort. He glanced over to his right and smiled fondly at the young teen sleeping slumped against the door.
"Be right back, Sammy." He promised as he quietly climbed from the vehicle and went to get them a room.
Dean cursed the cool night air as he made his way inside, it didn't affect him much, but he knew that it would feel down right freezing to the hypothermic kid in the car. Florida may not be as frigid as Michigan, but it was still the middle of January.
Hotels, nice ones, were very different from the motels they normally frequented. They didn't smell of smoke and sex, they had elevators and room service, indoor pools and free towels; they were luxury by comparison. Dean got them a room on the bottom floor, it had a kitchenette, large bathroom, two queen beds, and there was a window that looked out on the parking lot so that he could keep an eye on his baby.
He grabbed both their bags from the trunk and placed them inside the room before going to get Sam. The older boy cautiously opened the door, sliding his hand in its place to prevent the lanky body from toppling out onto the tarmac. The shift jarred his little brother and two bleary, hazel eyes peaked out at him.
"Dean?" The kid rasped softly.
"Yeah, kiddo. I'm right here. I'm just going to get you inside."
Sam nodded, compliantly leaning against the broad chest as Dean scooped him up. The fact that the kid made no effort to get to his feet and travel the distance on his own was an attest to how truly exhausted he was.
Dean hefted the boy up into his arms, getting a firm hold on him, being sure not to dislodge the blanket wrapped around the thin frame. The second he pulled him fully from the Impala, Sam scrunched up and nuzzled closer to his brother, somehow still able to feel the cool air under all those layers.
Dean held his kid protectively against his chest as he walked into the hotel. The receptionist gave them a curious look, but smiled once she saw the shaggy head resting on his collarbone. Sam looked so much younger than his fourteen years, swaddled in a large blanket and cradled in the older boy's arms. Looking down at the young teen, Dean couldn't see much, the long brown hair curtaining the young face, but he was able to catch of glimpse of his discoloured nose; it was pale with shades of green at the tip and the skin was dry and peeling. Sam's hands were far worse off, but the frostbite on his nose was still third degree and it looked painful. A flow of guilt surged through him at the sight of the injury, but he swallowed it down, because that was not what his little brother needed right now.
Dean entered the room and placed Sam gently on the bed furthest from the door, smiling down once his eyes cracked open and he stared up at his big brother.
"Hey buddy." He greeted softly, not entirely sure how lucid the injured teenager was.
"Hi." Sam croaked tiredly, a shadow of a smile crossing his pale face.
"How you feeling?" Dean questioned, plopping next to him on the bed.
"Good." Sam lied, two dimples coming through in an effort to be reassuring.
"Sam." He admonished not unkindly, waiting for the truth.
"I'm tired and cold, and a little hungry." He admitted.
"I'll bet, you slept through lunch. I'm going to order some soup, what kind do you want?" He asked, grabbing the room-service menu and looking at their options.
"Soup again?" Sam asked, his nose scrunched up. "I had that for breakfast and dinner last night, and that's all they'd let me eat at the hospital.
"That's because it warms you up and it's easy on your stomach. We can try some more interesting food tomorrow, but for now we are sticking with soup."
"Why?" Sam whined petulantly.
"Because the doc said to stick with liquids for a couple days." Dean stated simply, having no interest in elaborating on the reason for that decision.
Malnourishment.
Sam's lack of food intake over the last week messed with his body and the doctor informed him that he couldn't go from eating nothing for days to return to his regular eating habits, they would have to take it easy.
So, that was what they would do.
"They've got chicken noodle, broccoli cheese, and mixed vegetable." Dean left out the tomato, because neither of them needed that reminder.
"Chicken noodle, I guess." Sam sulked as he wormed around the bed, struggling to sit up.
"Here, let me help." Dean offered, gripping the boney shoulders and pulling Sam into a seated position.
"I could have done it." His brother grouched.
Dean made no comment, understanding how a fourteen-year-old with a massive independent streak would be frustrated at requiring help to perform such a simple task.
"Chicken noodle it is." Dean stood up and grabbed the phone, punching in the room service number and ordering soup and an orange juice.
"Aren't you having anything?" The teen questioned once the call was ended.
"Nah, I picked up a sandwich an hour ago when we stopped for gas. I tried to see if you wanted anything, but you wouldn't keep your eyes open long enough." Dean joked.
"I think the meds make me tired." Sam explained, yawning halfway through his sentence as if to prove his point.
"You think?" The taller boy chuckled.
"Shut up." The kid grumbled as he untangled himself from the blanket.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?"
"Dean, I can't eat if I'm wrapped up like a burrito." Sam reasoned, pushing the comforter down to his legs.
"You just said you were cold."
"I am, but according to the doctor you keep quoting, I'm going to be cold for the next few weeks no matter how many layers I have on." Sam argued.
Dean rolled his eyes at the stubborn little brat, his irritated reply halted by the sound of a knock at the door. Dean accepted the food and made his way back to his little brother, who was now working on ridding of his winter coat. Without a word, he set the steaming bowl and glass of juice onto the bedside table and gently helped Sam pull his arms free from the jacket sleeves.
"Careful." He warned, wincing as the bandaged hands snagged against the material.
"It's fine." Sam ground out. His tone indicating that it was, in fact, not fine.
"Alright, there you go." Dean tossed the coat off to the side and walked over to the thermostat, cranking it up. Sam may not have to wear four layers, but he needed to stay warm.
A pained hiss sounding from behind him had Dean turning quickly. The young teen sitting against the headboard was struggling to maintain a hold of the bowl of soup, dropping it with a loud clatter onto the side-table.
"Sam, what the hell?" Dean barked, rushing back over to the bed.
"What?! I was just trying to pick it up." He defended, staring down furiously at the bandages that were now damp and tinged yellow.
"Yeah, well that didn't really work out, did it?" Dean commented offhandedly.
His little brother glared up at him, clearly not appreciative of him pointing out the obvious.
"It's too hot." San mumbled, allowing Dean to pull his hands closer and start unwinding the layers of medical gauze. He was doing it quickly, knowing that if the hot liquid soaked through it was going to hurt like hell.
"I know. I was going to help you eat it, if you had just waited a second." He explained calmly as one injured limb came into view. He made an effort not to physically cringe at the site of the discoloured fingers and visibly damaged skin.
"So you could spoon feed me." Sam stated bitterly.
"You didn't seem to mind this morning, or last night for that matter." He pointed out, starting in on unwrapping the other hand.
"I was half-asleep, I barely remember that."
"And at the hospital."
"Same thing, I was on so many drugs I could hardly keep my eyes open. But I'm awake now, and I can feed myself."
Dean bit his tongue to withhold the sarcastic comment he wanted to release, the kid was just being flat-out unreasonable, but the last thing he wanted to do was add fuel to his already simmering fire.
"I'll help you, it's not a big deal." He replied instead.
"To be fed like a baby!? That is a big deal, because I'm not a baby and I can feed myself." The teen declared, wincing as he pulled his hands away.
Dean stood up, tossed the old bandages into the trashcan, and rifled through his duffel to grab a roll of fresh gauze and the ointment given to them at the hospital. He returned to sit on the bed next to his little brother's blanket clad legs.
"Hands." He requested when they weren't presented to him.
"I'm not an invalid." Sam bit out.
"I know. Give me your hands." Dean repeated, his tone level and relaxed even as his irritation grew.
Why couldn't this kid just let his big brother take care of him?
The teenager didn't move, his limbs remaining on his left side, the one furthest from the older boy. Dean was tempted to just reach out and grab them, but he was worried that Sam would fight him on it and end up hurting himself.
"Just let me re-wrap them okay? Sam, please." He knew the last word would get his kid, Dean rarely said it, saving it for occasions such as this. As he had predicted, his little brother's hard expression softened and he moved his hands back over. Dean's touch was feather-light as he spread the lotion over the damaged skin. Sam hissed a couple times, his fingers twitching in discomfort as they were coated in the medicinal gel.
"Sorry." He apologized honestly, hearing a light chuckle in response. "What's so funny?" He asked, not bothering to remove his attention from his careful ministrations.
"Nothing, it's just that I'm being a jerk and you're the one apologizing."
"You're not being a jerk, Sam. You're just frustrated, and I get it. Really, I do, but you just- you've got to let me help you out for awhile. Alright? Just until you're healed." He stated, careful to sound gentle and not authoritative.
"Who knows how long that could take." His brother muttered.
"It'll take however long it takes. we won't rush it. The last thing we want to do is make this worse. You might have to be patient, but you'll heal." He assured the young boy gently smearing the ointment on his frostbitten nose before he began to encircle his hands in layers of gauze.
"But it's not fair to you." The whisper was so soft Dean almost couldn't make it out, but his head shot up at what it was he thought he heard.
"What?" He questioned, his hands stalling momentarily as he stared into the puppy dog eyes aimed his way.
"Nothing. It's nothing." Sam declared with a dismissive shake of his head. "Can you hurry up? I'm kinda starving here."
Dean wanted to interrogate the kid, figure out what the hell he was getting at, because something about his statement irked the older boy. However, he couldn't help but react to Sam's announcement of a physical need. Especially since, Sam had - in fact - been starving just a few days ago.
"I'm nearly finished." He reported, returning his concentration to bandaging the teen's hands.
Once Sam was properly mummified, Dean set the medical supplies off to the side and focused his attention on tackling the next problem.
Food.
"Okay, so I've got a straw for the juice and if we place it near the end of the side-table you can just lean over and take a sip whenever. No need to pick it up."
Sam nodded at his observations and waited for him to continue as he stared warily at the still steaming bowl.
"The soup we can tackle one of two ways. Either I could use the spoon and...uuhh... do what they did before."
Dean watched as the young boy's face morphed into displeasure at the idea of being spoon-fed.
"Or I could hold the bowl and you could sip it out."
"Can't I just hold it myself, I mean I could probably-
"No, Sam. The bowl is hot and you really shouldn't be holding anything right now, especially not anything of an extreme temperature." Dean stated assertively, recalling what the doc had told him about the nerves in his brother's hands being all out of whack.
"We could just wait until it cools." Sam suggested.
"You want cold soup? Besides gripping the bowl at all will still be too difficult with the gauze."
Sam looked like he wanted to argue. Dean could practically hear the wheels in the dork's giant head turning as he thought up something to say, but he remained silent, nodding curtly in reluctant agreement.
"Fine. How about you just hold it and I'll sip it."
"Sure." Dean agreed, trying not to sound as thankful as he felt.
Taking care of Sam was always a hell of a lot easier when the kid allowed Dean to do it.
It took some time, but eventually the bowl of soup was empty, Sam's bandages were still clean, and he had managed to maintain a small degree of dignity throughout the whole process; the teen even smiled at a couple of his brother's attempts at humour. Dean gave Sam his next does of meds and collected the dishes, setting them on the tray they came in right outside the door as he placed the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the handle.
"You ready to turn in?" He asked.
"Yeah, I just need to go to the bathroom first." Sam said, climbing from the bed.
Dean had to stop myself from helping him. The kid needed some level of independence and there was very little he could do on his own. It was important to allow him to do the things that he was capable of.
The lanky teenager plodded to the bathroom, stepping inside and closing the door part way, not able to grip the doorknob to tug it fully closed. Dean took the opportunity to change into sleep-clothes, eager to fall in to bed and get some much needed shut-eye. Twenty or so straight hours of driving made laying back on a comfy mattress and resting sound like heaven.
"Dean?" The timid call sounded from the bathroom, and had he not grown up attuned to the owner of that voice, the older boy wouldn't have even heard it.
"What do you need, Sam?"
The door inched open and a red-faced teenager stood on the other side.
"It's my pants, you tied them up and I can't..." His brother faded off, looking down at the tiled floor.
"Alright, it's no problem, buddy." Dean replied casually.
Sweatpants had been the obvious option when he helped his brother change at the hospital. They were comfy, warm, easy to maneuver, and perfect for travelling in. Dean had to tie them on earlier because Sam had lost too much weight and they no longer stayed in place without being secured.
Dean had untied them when they stopped to fill up one tank and empty the other, but the teenager had been half asleep that time; therefor shame and embarrassment hadn't come into play. It would seem that they had made their return now, though, and they had done so with a vengeance.
He tugged the sweater up and quickly untied the knot, trying desperately not to notice for the hundredth time in the past few days how damn skinny his kid had gotten. He retied it loose enough the Sam should be able to push them down and pull them up without having to undo them or having to hold them in place.
"There you go. Need anything else?"
"No, I can manage it from here, thanks." Sam mumbled, his gaze avoiding the watchful green one as he waited for Dean to make his exit.
"Okay." The big brother nodded his head and left, pulling the door partially closed behind him.
He flicked off the lights, checked the locks, and laid the salt lines before falling into bed. It took effort not to hover, but he knew it was best to allow Sam some independence. So, he reclined back and pretended that he wasn't calculating his little brother's every move as he made his way out of the bathroom and slid into bed, clumsily pulling the covers up with his bandaged hands.
"Night Dean." He yawned, rolling onto his side, eyelids half-mast as he peaked over at the other boy.
"Night Sammy."
The kid was sleeping before he could correct the version of his name he seemed to despise. He smiled at the young face across from him and closed his eyes, letting his exhaustion take over.
Dean was startled from a peaceful sleep at the sound of glass shattering. Instantly pulling his hunting knife from under the pillow, he scanned the room for danger. Instead of any sort of threat, all there was to see was his little brother crouched down on the kitchen floor.
"Sam? What the hell are you doing?" Dean croaked, voice rough with sleep as he rolled out of the bed.
"It's nothing. I just dropped a cup. It's fine. Go back to bed." Sam stated, not bothering to raise his gaze from the floor as he struggled to pick up small shards of glass.
"Here, I got it." He assured, placing his hands on the young teen's shoulders and attempting to move him away from the sharp pieces.
"No! It's my mess and I'll clean it up." Sam declared defiantly.
"It's not a big deal, Sam. I got it." He insisted, bending down and grabbing hold of the broken glass that his little brother was fighting to pick up with his wrapped appendages.
"Leave it! I can do it." Sam snapped, swatting the older boy away.
"You're being ridiculous." Dean announced, ignoring Sam's attempts to push him off as he proceeded to gather the shattered pieces.
"No! I'm not. I'm fourteen fucking years old, I can clean up my own mess!" His brother hollered, his temper lost as he stood abruptly to face the taller Winchester.
"Oh really?! How do you plan on doing that? You going to pick the glass up with your teeth? Because you and I both know that there is no way you can get a grip on it with your mummified hands." Dean regretted his challenging tone the second he heard it. He had practically just told the most stubborn kid he knew that he couldn't do something.
There was no better way to get Sam fired up then telling him he wasn't capable of something.
Just as he figured, a defiant expression came over his little brother's face as he glared up at him.
"I'll figure it out! Just back the hell off!" Sam ordered.
Dean counted out slowly to five in his head, to calm himself before releasing a heavy sigh, and reluctantly taking a few steps away.
Sam nodded curtly and stooped back down to proceed with his fruitless efforts.
Watching the kid repeatedly trying and failing to pick the bits of glass off the floor would have been entertaining, humorous even, if it hadn't been for his growing frustration and evident distress. Dean pondered whether or not to step in and help out, but he was held back by the vicious reaction he felt his little brother would deliver if he were to intervene at all. The question was whether helping him was worth the anger that would be hurled his way. However, all consideration was thrown out the window the second he saw a teardrop drip off the end of the kid's nose.
"Sammy." He sighed, crouching next to the struggling teenager.
The teen ducked his head down further, his hair hiding his expression as he continued what he was doing. Dean reached out slowly, so that Sam could see what he was about to do. His fingers encircled the too-thin wrists, effectively stilling his brother's movements.
"Hey." He called softly, waiting for eye-contact, which he did not receive. "Look at me kiddo."
Dean slid the tips of his fingers under the stubborn boy's chin and tipped his face up. Two watery hazel eyes met his gaze, skittering away only to return again a short moment later.
"What's going on, Sammy? I've seen you stubborn, and I get the whole independence thing, but this- this is different."
The teen's mouth opened and closed a couple times before he seemingly gave up on any verbal reply and shook his head.
Okay, so they needed to start with a simpler question.
"What were you doing out of bed at two in the morning?" Dean asked after glancing at the time lit up on the microwave.
"Getting a drink of water." Sam answered flatly.
The hunter had figured as much. He glanced down to ensure that his bandages weren't wet, discovering them to be dry he concluded that the kid must have dropped the cup prior to filling it up.
"The gauze has no traction. The glass just slipped right through it." His brother muttered, confirming his assumption.
"Why didn't you just ask me to get it?"
"Dean, I can get my own-
"Oh, come on, man. I thought we went through this already. You are injured, Sam. You need to let me help you out until you're better." He stated, assertive but not pushy, not wanting it to sound as though he didn't have a choice in the matter.
"I know. You said that already." Sam replied with that exasperated teenage tone of his.
"Then what's the deal? Why won't you let me help you?"
"Because you shouldn't have to, okay?! Because you're exhausted from driving for almost twenty-four hours! Because you hardly got any sleep at the hospital. Because you shouldn't have to feed me and clean up after me and help him go to the freakin bathroom! Because it isn't your fault that I got frostbite or that I'm totally useless, and you shouldn't have to deal with it." Sam hollered, getting to his feet and waving his bandaged hands around as he ranted.
Dean was speechless, not believing what he was hearing and not even knowing where to begin his contradiction. How could his kid be worried about him? Sam had been neglected by both Dean and their father. He nearly lost his fucking fingers. He ended up with hypothermia and signs of malnutrition, for godsake. Now the teen was stuck in a constant state of cold, exhaustion, and dependence. Why the hell would he waste time worrying about his big brother?
And useless? How could he even think of such a word? Sam was a lot of things, stubborn, argumentative, irritating, but never ever useless.
"Come here." Was all Dean managed to get out, gripping his brother's bony elbow and pulling him out of the glass shards littered across the kitchen floor and over to the beds. He pushed him gently down onto the mattress.
"Dean, wha-
"Shut up, Sam. I've got some things to say and I need you to be paying attention." He instructed, sitting on the edge of his own bed so he was facing the kid, their knees touching. He could clearly see the temptation to speak written across his little brother's face, but he managed to swallow it down and nodded in reply.
"I have no problem helping you out, little brother-
"But you-
"Sam. My turn." He insisted authoritatively.
The teenager rolled his eyes, but shut his mouth obediently.
"I have never and will never have a problem with taking care of you. No matter how tired I am or how many things you might need help with, I have absolutely no issue with helping you out."
"Yeah but, Dean, you literally have to help be do everything."
"So what? It's not forever, it's just until you get better."
Sam looked unconvinced.
It was time for a different strategy.
"If it were me, wouldn't you do the same?" He asked, already fully aware of the exact response he was about to receive.
His brother's eyes went wide as he nodded dramatically.
"Of course, I would." Sam assured in a tone so earnest it had Dean's heart clenching.
"So, can't I do the same for you?"
The older boy could practically see Sam turning the argument over in his mind, mixing it with logic and emotion. Eventually he nodded, a shy dimply smile crossing his face.
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Good." He was glad that they finally seemed to be on the same page.
However, the sight of the teen chewing on his bottom lip told him another story entirely.
"What is it, Sam?" He questioned patiently, biting back the yawn that wanted to escape from his mouth. The last thing the kid needed was a reminder of his lack of sleep, because apparently it would be Sam's own fault in some twisted way.
"Nothing, I just-I hate being so useless." He confessed in a whisper.
This stupid kid.
Dean would love to get inside that geek head of his one day and find out how he comes up with such crazy shit.
"Well that's just moronic."
Sam raised an eyebrow at the insult.
"Dude, messed up hands or not, aside from Dad, there is no one I would trust to have his back more than you." If he was being honest, Dean trusted Sam more than he did his father – John's priorities and headspace could be questionable on the best of days, but when it came to hunting he'd always rather Sam safe elsewhere and him and his father out facing the danger.
His little brother let out a humorless laugh.
"Yeah, I'd be great back up. I can't stop shivering, I can't shoot straight, I couldn't even hold a weapon if I wanted to."
"But you would find a way, Sam. If I was really in trouble, you would find a way to back me up no matter what. Because you're smart and you think on your feet. You'd get the job done, Sammy, hands or not." He stated with complete confidence, meaning every damn word and letting the kid see that through his tone and expression.
Two hazel eyes squinted up at the taller Winchester.
"You mean it?"
"Hell, yeah I mean it. You are not useless. You could never be useless, you are too intelligent and too skilled, and just way too damn stubborn to ever be useless. It's your brain and your determination that make you such a great asset, Sammy, not just all the stuff you are able to do physically. You got that? Or do I have to keep going, because I'm not sure how much more chick-flick shit I can handle tonight, dude."
His little brother sent him a shy smile, evidently moved by something he had said, which he didn't get.
Because how was any of that news to him?
Didn't Sam already know how important he was?
How valuable?
"Thanks, Dean." Sam whispered, staring up at him with those freakin puppy dog eyes that were oozing all sorts of girlie emotions.
"Sure thing, buddy." Dean mumbled gruffly, clearing his throat as he stood.
"You should get some sleep." Sam announced, staring up at Dean as he shimmied further back on his bed, slight shivers making him tremble as he moved up toward his pillow.
"I will." He declared, carefully stepping over the glass and grabbing a new cup.
He brought the glass full of water over to his brother, setting it on the side-table with a straw dropped inside of it. He returned to the kitchen without ordering Sam to take a drink or supervising the process, even though a part of him had desired to do both. The kid needed to feel capable, so Dean would do the best he could to help him with that, without allowing him to hurt himself in the process.
"Seriously, Dean. You look exhausted."
"Yeah, kiddo, I know. I'm heading right back to bed after I clean this up."
"Sorry about that."
Dean looked up from what he was doing, glaring over at the thin boy swallowed under the comforter and leaning against the headboard. "Are you kidding me? Did we not just cover this? Sam, it's not your-
"No, I just meant sorry for making a mess, that's all. I'm not sorry that you have to clean it up. You don't need to go all Oprah on me again." Sam replied, his lips pulling into a cheeky smile.
Dean was shocked. Did his angsty little brother just crack a joke? And an insulting one at that. Maybe there was hope for this kid yet.
"Go to sleep, you little bitch." He replied with a smirk.
"You first, jerk." Sam said right before releasing a large yawn.
Dean shook his head, a fond smile crossing his face as he finished picking the pieces of glass up off the tiled floor.
Sam laid on there in the dark fighting sleep, Dean watched his eyelids dip shut, but they always popped back up. Only when Dean finally crawled under his own covers did the stubborn little brat allow his eyes to close as he sunk back into his pillow.
"Can I have pancakes for breakfast tomorrow?" Sam slurred sleepily.
A surprised laugh came out of Dean at the simple request.
"Sure Sammy, whatever you want."
He watched as dimples lit his face, before fading as sleep took over.
Sam needed some serious fattening up and if he wanted pancakes everyday for the next month, that's what he would get. The request was a good sign, it meant that Sam was done feeling guilty, at least for now.
Dean had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time they would deal with Sam's frostbite and all the emotional crap that came with it, but for now the kid seemed to be at peace.
And he'd take the win wherever he could get it.
"I remember being on cloud nine after you told me that."
Sam's announcement had Dean's eyebrows raising.
"I thought you didn't remember what I said."
A mischievous grin lit his brother's face as he shrugged in response.
"You little shit, you just wanted me to say it again." He pieced together.
"No, I just wanted to see if you remembered it right. Because what you said to me, about how I was smart and determined and how that made me an asset - gawd, Dean - that meant the world. It was like everything I'd ever wanted to hear. Everything I had always wanted Dad to tell me."
The honest confession was full of such raw emotion it caught Dean off guard. And the wistful smile on his little brother's face made his heart ache.
"Sam, Dad just doesn't know how to say things like that, but that doesn't mean he doesn't think it." Dean had inwardly - and sometimes outwardly - cursed their father for his inability to say the things Sammy needed to hear. Dean knew their old man did the best he could. But sometimes, sometimes that just wasn't enough.
"Honestly, Dean, it meant a lot more coming from you." The young man declared softly, those damn puppy eyes making an appearance as he stared over at his big brother.
Dean had no response to that, his throat closing in emotion as he diverted his gaze, no longer able stare into the soulful hazel eyes without losing his composure.
"You still think I'm smart?"
The soft question brought his gaze back to Sam, who was looking at him uncertainly from underneath all of his ridiculous hair.
Did the kid really not know he was a bloody genius?
Didn't he know that he was the brains of this operation?
"Dude, does getting a free ride to Stanford ring a bell?" Dean asked in disbelief, because it was pretty damn obvious that the kid was massively intelligent.
And for the first time since they had been reunited, the mention of Sam's school brought a smile to his face, instead of a frown.
"Between that and you always knowing all the answers on Jeopardy, I'd say that makes it clear that you are pretty fucking smart, also a massive dork, but smart." Dean declared, a hint of a smile on his face.
Sam's lips traveled up into a wide grin as he rolled his eyes. "And you knowing all the answers to the Price is Right, what does that make you? A geek?"
"No, that makes me financially conscious." Dean defended playfully. Although the truth was, when you grow up constantly budgeting and figuring out how far you could stretch the cash every week, you become pretty damn good at guessing prices.
"When was the first disappearance?"
The abrupt change in topic had the older man curious until he saw the glimmer in his brother's eyes, the same look the kid got every time he figured something out.
Dean rifled through the research until he found the required piece of information.
"Uuh a little over a year ago."
"And all the other incidences happened after that."
"Yeah, but not on any sort of scheduled basis." He remarked as he looked at the dates of all the disappearances.
"What's it say about the first one." He asked, not even bothering to read the paper, just sitting enraptured in thought.
"Madeline Reid, age eighteen, went into the house on a dare. Her friends are claiming she never came back out. She hasn't been seen since. That's pretty much all it says."
Sam nodded along as he read, absorbing the info, frowning as he took it in.
"What?" Dean's patience was thinning.
"I thought it might have to do with the first vic. Maybe a case of a pissed off spirit that's attached to the place she died and then whenever someone comes snooping around she takes them out."
"Like a victim of opportunity situation? Makes sense, that explains the differences in the missing people and the lack of any sort of pattern. She must be attached to the house." Dean agreed.
"Yeah but, you said that she went in on a dare, indicating that people already thought the house was haunted."
"Maybe, but we checked out the history of the house, man, it's clean. There's nothing supernatural about that place."
"That's why I thought it had to do with the owners, or the Madeline girl, but that wouldn't explain why people already had suspicions about the property." Sam stated with a puzzled expression.
"It was an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. Of course people would think it was haunted, isn't that what they assume about every building that's been boarded up? We come across this kind of thing all the time, people see what they want to see. You've got a whole community that drives by this house on a country road and it's all closed down and empty, do they stop to wonder why? No, they just assume it's haunted, they start reading into things. All of the sudden every sound and glimmer of light is supernatural activity."
"Yeah? You think that's what happened?"
Dean shrugged. "I think you're right about it being something to do with the first disappearance. I think we should check out this Madeline chic. Go talk to her family and friends, see if we can find anything suspicious."
Sam nodded in fervent agreement. "Sounds like a plan."
Sam watched as Dean re-stacked all the papers and returned them to the librarian in some form of order.
"You know, Dean, you are pretty bright yourself." Sam commented, nudging him with his elbow as they made their way out to the car.
"Yeah, accept I'm cool smart, like James Bond. Not dorky smart like you and all those old guys with giant glasses and crazy hair." He quipped.
His little brother released a genuine laugh, not even griping when Dean had to open the passenger door for him.
Dean made his way around the Impala, shaking his head in sheer disbelief.
Useless.
How the hell could Sam every think he was useless. How could he not know how smart he was? Or what a great hunter he was? How could he not know how valuable he was? How much he brought to the table? How could such a smart kid be so incredibly stupid?
Maybe that was why Dean was around, so he could assure his big brained little brother that he had more use and value than could be calculated. That Sam mattered more to him than anyone else on the entire fucking planet, regardless of any imperfections.
Dean was going to have to find more manly ways to do that, though. Because he had broken no chick-flick rule way too many times in the past few days.
Then again, Sammy had always been the exception to every rule.