Disclaimer: Supernatural, the Winchesters, and any other characters and/or places which may appear do not belong to me.

Whumptober 2020, Day #20

Prompt(s): Alt prompt #3: comfort

Author's Note: Takes place shortly after 11x17 Red Meat

Season 11 is my favorite season and I love writing stories set during that period. I love this ep, even though it stresses me tf out. But anyways, I hope ya'll enjoy this fic! It's definitely one of my favorite of Whumptober so far.

And yes I know I'm a few days behind again. Don't worry I'll get caught up.

Today's Whumpee: Sam Winchester

"How you doing?" Dean asked, glancing up at Sam over his computer.

"I'm fine," Sam said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. This was the third time Dean had asked him in as many hours, but he didn't mind it too much. He knew Dean was just being protective. It had been almost a week since he'd gotten shot and nearly choked to death by that wolf. Dean had been mother-henning him ever since, still feeling guilty about believing Sam to be dead and leaving him back at that cabin.

Sam knew that Dean would've come back for him, and he wasn't angry or irritated with his brother at all. He just wished Dean could feel the same way about himself.

Dean nodded approvingly at Sam's answer. In truth, Sam was feeling alright. His stomach twinged every now and then, but if he sat in certain positions and didn't strain too much, he could almost ignore the consistent aching. Of course, that was just slightly impossible what with his brother's constant questioning and reminders to drink lots of water and take his antibiotics. Sam laughed affectionately to himself as he thought about it. Just a couple of years ago, Sam would've been irritated as hell by Dean's behavior, but now he was able to accept it and take it in stride.

He also knew that, if Dean were the one who'd gotten shot and nearly choked to death, he'd be acting the same way. Mothering him, making sure he was okay, it was just something him and Dean had grown up doing. But it was also something they'd forgotten along the way. Recently, though, they were back in sync. Neither commented on it, but they both knew it. They didn't bother shoving each other away anymore, because they knew it wouldn't stick. And it felt good. It felt right.

After nearly losing Dean again last year, Sam had come to realize that hunting was his life. He didn't want to go back to school, he didn't want a normal life.

His normal, their normal, was being with each other, on a hunt for some monster or spirit or witch. It didn't matter if they were here at home in the Bunker, or in the Impala, or in some shitty motel room that just barely passed inspection. They'd be okay… just as long as they had each other.

Sam smiled slightly as he returned to his own computer. He was leaning back in a chair, somewhat of an awkward position for his back, but it relieved the strain on his wounds so he dealt with it.

Him and Dean hadn't seen any sign of a case since the wolf hunt, so they had been able to stay home for the most part. Usually, a week at home would be too much for Dean, making him tense and snappy, but Sam theorized that taking care of a hurt brother was enough to keep Dean occupied and distracted from his need to hunt.

Sam cleared his throat. It felt scratchy. Had been feeling that way for a couple days now, but he'd brushed it off, thinking it was just some side affect of the antibiotics he was taking. It seemed to be worse today though, which didn't make sense because he'd been slowly ebbing off the pills, only taking two a day now instead of four like he had been.

Dean had caught on too. He'd left it alone, probably thinking the same thing Sam had, but now he looked up seriously. "Sammy," he began. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

Sam pressed his lips together. His wound felt fine, a quiet and constant aching but nothing more than what was normal after getting shot.

"You've cleared your throat nine times in the last —" Dean checked his watch "— forty-five minutes."

"Are you seriously keeping track of how many times I clear my throat?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Dean said simply.

Sam rolled his eyes slightly. "Yes, 'm fine. My throat's been scratchy for a couple days but it's just a little worse today, that's all."

"Does it hurt?" Dean asked.

Sam gave him a "sort-of-maybe" shrug that answered the question.

His brother nodded. "Alright, I got just the thing." He stood up.

"Dee, what're you doing?" Sam said, turning slightly to watch his brother leave the library and head towards the kitchen.

"Just hang on a sec," Dean called back to him.

Sam shook his head, cleared his throat again, and looked back at his computer. A couple minutes later he heard Dean's returning footsteps and a spoon appeared in front of his face, filled with a gold liquid.

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"A tablespoon of honey and a couple drops of whiskey," Dean said. "It's what I always gave you when your asthma flared up when you were a kid. Worked like a charm."

"I had asthma?" Sam said surprised.

"Yeah, you don't remember?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head.

"Yeah, it started up when you were about six. Your first attack was… was right after the Shtriga got to you."

Sam frowned. It was obvious that Dean still blamed himself for that, even after having killed the thing almost ten years ago.

"Anyways," Dean continued. "You would have a scratchy throat or allergy attacks and stuff every now and then for a few years after that, and this is what always helped."

Sam reached out to take the spoon.

"Ah, ah." Dean pulled the spoon out of his brother's reach. "Big brother privileges."

Sam laughed and rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that day.

"C'mon," Dean teased. "Or do I need to pretend to be a train like I did when you were four?"

"You're such an idiot," Sam teased with another laugh, but then he was caught by surprise as his mouth was suddenly filled with heavy and thick sweetness of honey and whiskey. It seemed Dean had snuck it in while he was laughing.

He spluttered for a second before swallowing.

"Good?" Dean asked.

"Good," Sam said with a smile. "Thanks."

"No problem," Dean said, dropping the spoon onto the table. "Now how're your stitches?"

"They're fine, Dean," Sam said.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Dean, I promise," Sam said. He lifted up his shirts to show Dean that the threads were still in tact. "They're medical-grade stitches, Dean, they're not gonna break like your dental floss stitches do."

"Hey, I've gotten pretty good at making those things tough," Dean said in mock defense. He grabbed the spoon off the table and made to take it back to the kitchen. "Just…" he began seriously. "Just be careful, okay? I know I've said it a hundred times this week but please…"

Sam looked up at his brother then watched him as he patted his brother's shoulder and went to take the spoon back to the kitchen.

Dean. The man who hated chick-flick moments, the badass hunter who could take out a whole vampire nest on his own. That was who everybody else saw. Everybody but Sam.

All Sam saw was his big brother. The giant softie who laughed at the stupidest pranks. The man who did everything he did out of love for his family. The dork who could go from being the most hysterical child ever to being a serious hunter within a half-second. The man who thought of himself as a grunt but who Sam actually knew to be a genius. The man who had taken care of him all his life. Taken care of him, helped him with school, inspired him at every turn.

Sam knew Dean felt guilty about all the things that happened to Sam, knew that he wished those things had happened to him instead of his little brother.

Sam felt that way too, about everything in Dean's past. Sam also knew that he'd failed Dean before. There were plenty of things he regretted, things he wished he could change.

But as it was, they both had to deal with their respective struggles alone. But at least they were always alone together.