Dean walked back to the bedroom and put his hands on his hips, just looking at his brother in bed.

"What?" Sam asked. Dean cinched his mouth to the side and approached him.

"How we gonna to do this, you think?"

Sam nodded with understanding and looked around. He adjusted his position, brows knit in concentration as he got his legs to the floor. He stopped then, breathing heavily. Dean sat on the edge of the bed next to him. Sam leaned in and Dean rubbed his back.

"I, um," Sam swallowed, "I think if you just help me, I can... walk it..."

"Really?" Dean was already sidling up closer though and locked his arm around Sam's back.

"Yeah," Sam said, still a little breathless. He lifted his arm and Dean ducked his head under it. Sam let it hang on Dean's shoulders for a second before tightening his grip and nodding he was ready.

"All right. On three," Dean said, getting ready too. He noticed the bed was still bouncing a little with their combined weight on the same side. "Hey you want to use the bed to help launch you up?" Dean asked, smiling as he pushed down on it and made the two of them spring back up. "We wouldn't break it," Dean added. Sam huffed a laugh.

"No."

"Okay whatever," Dean said lightly, having other plans. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Okay one," Dean pushed down on the bed and let it spring them up, "two..."

"Dean-" Sam whined, feeling the mattress sink again and spring them up higher this time. This was so juvenile.

"Three!" Dean pushed harder down on the mattress with his body and Sam felt the resultant force push them up. He went with it and found he was almost standing when he registered Dean's arms tighten around him to pull him up the rest of the way. Sam held on for dear life and tried to stay up but it quickly became apparent that wasn't going to happen.

"Lock your knees - lock your knees, Sam!"*** Dean yelled.

"I... can't..." Sam heaved, trying to stand but instead slipping inch by inch away from his brother like a rag doll.

"Shit," Dean murmured and heaved Sam up for a second before coming around to Sam's front to wrap both arms around Sam to keep him up. Sam grunted, his head landing on Dean's shoulder, both hands scrabbling for purchase along Dean's back but Dean was holding him securely anyway, one arm around Sam's waist, the other higher up on his back.

"Uh...sorry..." Sam gasped.

"It's okay. Can you stand? Try to stand, Sammy," Dean suggested, still holding him up.

He knew it was unlikely but it was worth it to keep trying.

Sam's breathing was heavy against Dean as he strained, pushing on the floor with his legs as hard as he could.

"C'mon, c'mon," Dean urged carefully, feeling Sam's whole body tensing in effort. Sam gripped the back of his brother's shirt, grunting with frustration and breaking into a sweat.

"All right, okay. Sam. It's okay," Dean gave up, rubbing Sam's back as he held him. Sam didn't want to though; he wanted to be able to do this. Just because Dean had given up didn't mean he had to so he kept working at it, huffing and red-faced with exertion trying to coordinate his legs and knees to take his weight. Sensing his brother's defiance, Dean stopped talking, stopped rubbing his back to let him focus.

Eventually Sam started to slow down, hope draining out of him along with the rest of the energy he'd had. Tired, Sam drooped limply against Dean, sullen over after having failed. As much as he wanted to wash up, he didn't want to be dragged to the bathroom to do it.

"I... I can't," Sam finally said, his voice trembling. He licked his lips and closed his eyes, ducking his head against the back of Dean's neck. He felt Dean hug him and he had to bite back a sob. Dean hugged him tighter.

"All right. It's okay," Dean whispered calmly, making Sam give a watery laugh. Dean's voice had that quality to it that he hadn't heard in ages. The one he would use when he was a kid.

"Okay. Yeah... um... can you put me down? This... isn't gonna work," Sam said shakily, upset this was a no-go. He'd just have to deal with getting a fresh change of clothes and wait until his strength came back.

Sam hated this. He just wanted to feel clean and not like he was consistently stewing in his own germs and dirt and dead skin. It wasn't much to ask but the universe seemed determined.

He felt Dean rub his back again. Despite everything, it was soothing.

"Okay Sammy," he said again, consoling. He stepped forward and suddenly shoved Sam off him onto the bed. Alarmed, Sam yelped loudly in the air before landing on the soft surface. The springs made themselves known, Sam bouncing gently up and down as he looked up to stare daggers at his chuckling older brother. "What the hell, Dean?!"

"Ah!" Dean mimicked Sam's yelp, his chuckles turning into full-fledged laughs as he walked out the door.

"You're an asshole!" Sam yelled after him.

"Shut up. I'll be right back," Dean waved dismissively.

"Where are you going?!" Sam called back. Dean didn't answer, having already vanished down the hall.

Sam huffed but figured Dean was grabbing him a clean set of clothes. He slumped back to lie down. Having expended all his energy trying to stand, he was exhausted. He focused on his breathing as he stared up at the ceiling.

He thought about the third trial and wondered what the hell they were going to do about it. Hopefully Cas would be able to save Kevin so he could translate it. That was out of both his and his brother's control at the moment though. All they could do right now was just languish in these trials-related symptoms that disturbingly mirrored those of a bizarre terminal illness. Sam was alive though and Dean was working on keeping him that way.

How long was this really going to last though?

Sam rubbed his eyes. He wasn't tearing up anymore which was good but then again he suspected he needed to hydrate. He made a mental note to ask Dean for water when he got back.

...

Okay so it was miserable to have made Sam go through that but it was a necessary evil in order to build ammunition against Sam for when the kid would get all antsy about receiving his help to the bathroom.

Not to mention if Dean had brought the wheelchair around before letting Sam try to walk he never would have heard the end of it. Sam could be a contrary little beast if he felt like he was being robbed of agency. Of course he was*** but not by Dean.

So yeah, sure: Dean knew the odds were incredibly low that Sam would've been able to make it all the way to the bathroom... but damn. The kid couldn't even take his own weight.

Dean reached the bathroom and opened the door. Warm, humid air hit him as he passed by the long double-sink counter and the fogged mirror above it. Vanity bulbs above the mirror radiated warm yellow light and cast comfortable shadows around the spotless white-tiled floor and porcelain. A tower of large terry-cloth towels were folded and stacked on top of one another on the counter's edge closest to the tub. They were worn-in, threads hanging and the colors dulled but they were soft and clean, ready for Sam.

The toilet was situated between the counter and the tub, the tub embedded along the side wall of the room. Dean had decided on this bathroom because it was close and the tub was long enough to fit most of his sasquatch-sized little brother. Also most of the other tubs in this joint were the ones that weren't part of the floor. Those huge clawed-feet antiques were cool but not suitable for the weakened and less dextrous. Not to mention those things had deep bottoms; if Dean opted for that kind of tub he wouldn't be able to leave the room considering Sam couldn't muster the strength to stand up.

Dean bent over the tub and felt the bathwater's temperature. He grunted his disapproval: it'd gone too cold. He removed the plug to let it drain, unconcerned about the wasted water. The bunker's power source was magical. They weren't going to run out of hot water.

Dean wiped his hands along his shirt as he stood back up. Just before opening the door to go, he stopped to look at the condensation on the mirror. Not one to waste a perfectly good opportunity, Dean reached out and drew "Sam's ugly and stupid" with his finger. He grinned at his handiwork as he closed the door and moved down the hallway. He passed by his room and Sam called for him sounding peeved.

"Yeah, yeah I'll be there in a second, dude!" He called back without altering his pace, heading for the storage room.

"What are you even doing?" Sam whined.

"So needy," Dean chuckled to himself as he entered the supply room. The wheelchair was up against a wall behind a few other odds and ends. He pulled it out, making the rest of the stuff against it crash to the floor loudly. Dean swore as he maneuvered his way out of the fallen pieces.

"Dean!? Are you okay?!" Sam's croaky yell filtered through.

"Yeah! All good!" Dean returned. Last thing he needed was Sam crawling out to get to him.

Dean wrenched the wheelchair away from the debris and swore again at the sheer weight of it. This thing was vintage steel; none of that lightweight aluminium they used these days. This was an antique.

Dean tried to pry it open and grunted with the effort. This was a rusty, sharp*** antique. It creaked and squealed open, the seat's leather cracked straight down the middle to reveal dusty, horizontal straps. Dean sneezed and grunted his disgust as he wrangled with it. Finished with opening it all the way, he started pushing it back and forth, trying to make the wheels steadier but they were out of alignment, squeaking and jumbling the movement of the chair seat.

Dean gave up and sighed. "Guess it'll have to do," he muttered aloud before turning it around and pushing it through the door.

...

Hearing the sounds of his brother approaching matched with the grating sound of metal rollers of some kind, Sam called out again.

"Dean what the hell are you-"

Sam stopped speaking, the ancient wheelchair coming into view just before Dean. Sam watched, mouth agape, as his brother angled it into the room.

"Okay so," Dean said as he struggled to make the wheelchair take a nuanced veer to align along Sam's bed. Failing, he lifted and kicked it over until it was. He tried to put the brakes on the wheels but the hinges were rusted. He used his palms to slam the things home anyway.

Watching Dean mistreating the contraption, Sam snorted with skeptical amusement. Slightly out of breath, Dean got up and gave an expectant smile to his brother. Sam blinked owlishly at his brother in return.

Dean's brows furrowed and gestured to the wheelchair's seat. "Get in."

Sam snorted again and shook his head.

"I'm not getting in that thing."

"Why not?"

"It looks like a medieval torture device."

"It's a wheelchair!"

"-For the damned?"

Dean covered his mouth so Sam wouldn't see him smile. Sam knew Dean found it funny anyway though. He grinned at his brother, pleased.

Dean collected himself. "Look, you can't stand up but you're fine otherwise. You just need to be in it for two seconds to get to the bathroom," Dean tried.

Sam held his gaze for a second, thinking it through. Silence filled the room, the rusted piece of metal standing between them.

"You're gross, Sam," Dean added helplessly, gesturing at him. Sam's eyes flared in anger for a second but then he found himself suppressing a smile. He shook his head and sighed deeply in defeat, looking at the wheelchair.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, looking for verbal confirmation.

"Yeah," Sam offered tiredly.

"Okay good," Dean replied, jumping over to a shelf with blankets on it and grabbing one.

"What're you doing?"

"Well," Dean flipped open the blanket and draped it over the chair, covering up various rusted metal. "While this thing's not a torture device, I feel like it wants to give you tetanus."

Sam snickered his agreement and let Dean get on with it, adding several blankets to cover the invention's weak spots. When he was done the thing looked a lot less scary and more like an actual wheelchair, its edges and dirty rails and handles covered by the topmost blanket, a cozy green cotton. Dean tried the brakes on the wheelchair to test how much he could expect it to move while transferring Sam's weight from the bed to the chair. He hummed, moved around and fell into the chair. It didn't budge and Sam laughed.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm pretending to be you."

Sam chuckled as Dean got up and pulled the sheets off his little brother.

"Okay c'mere," he murmured. Sam sighed and shuffled forward weakly, moving down on the bed and reaching for his brother. Dean leaned in and wrapped his arms under Sam's to get a good hold around his back.

"Okay good? Ready?" Dean asked, rubbing Sam's back in anticipation.

"Yeah."

"Okay - try this again on three. One, two," Sam tightened his grip around Dean's shoulders. "Three!" Dean lifted Sam up to slide him across the mattress before lifting him all the way up. Sam gripped him harder but after a second he realized he'd stopped moving, hanging in the air between the mattress edge and chair seat.

"Sammy what if I dropped you like, right now," Dean asked teasingly. Sam writhed and squeezed Dean closer for fear his brother would follow through on the threat.

"Dean! Put me down!***" Sam yelled through gritted teeth, furious.

Sam could feel Dean's laughter in his chest just as well as he could hear it right in his ear. Dean hitched Sam closer as a tacit sign that he wasn't going to go through with it and resumed his little brother's transfer onto the chair seat.

Dean put him down easily and withdrew, still chuckling as he crouched to battle with the brakes again, this time to release them.

"You're a... jerk, y'know that?" Sam said, out of breath. Dean laughed and grinned up at his brother, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He slammed the second brake open and got behind the chair.

"Yeah whatever bitch," he replied, wheeling them out.

A/N: Edited 6/26/19! This chapter was originally published on FFnet 11/7/2013. Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex