As they wheeled into the bathroom, Sam squinted at the mirror.

"Sam's... funny... and... a pig?" Sam read. The condensation had dripped and warped the letters. Dean cuffed him and Sam snickered as he pulled them to a stop and put the brakes on.

"All right," he murmured, stepping forward and grabbing a towel to wipe the mirror down. He pulled a few items off the counter too.

"Hey," Sam broke into a couple light coughs, "I need some water," he said, hoarse. Dean glanced at him before grabbing a small basin and handing it to Sam. Sam took it weakly along with the toothbrush and toothpaste Dean held out for him.

"Feeling okay?"

Sam nodded.

"Just a little dehydrated."

"Okay. Wash up. I'll get you a glass," Dean replied and took off.

When he left, Sam was free to stare at himself in the mirror. He couldn't even recognize his own face. Hollow and gaunt, with several days' stubble, dirty dark hair sticking in clumps against his face. Sam looked dead. No wonder Dean wanted to get him cleaned up.

Sam cupped a hand over his mouth and took a whiff after exhaling. He let out a breath of disgust and couldn't help but chuckle. He bared his teeth in the mirror and couldn't move fast enough to shakily push the toothpaste onto his toothbrush. This was going to be an exercise in breath management. He vaguely wished Dean was with him to make sure nothing went wrong but he'd be right back.

He started brushing, carefully and slowly rocking the utensil against his front teeth and back, trying to get every angle even though the focused effort was sucking a surprising amount of energy out of him. Eventually he had to switch hands, using his left to get the last of the plaque and stale taste out of his mouth. For a second he gagged, then decided he needed to spit anyway and used the basin.

Dean returned just then. "Here," he said lightly, offering the plastic cup of lukewarm water. Sam breathed a 'thanks' and took hold of it. It was a tentative grip. Dean kept holding it.

"You got it?" he asked. Sam coughed and shook his head. "Take your time."
"Okay. I got it now," Sam murmured, gripping tighter now. Dean let go and Sam's hand dipped for a second, the full weight of the glass still too heavy. Dean's reflexes shot out to grab it before it spilled.

"What the hell, dude," he bent down to level with his brother. Sam sighed and threw his hand up.

"Sorry," was all he could muster.

"Your strength is coming and going."

"Yeah it's shifting like every few minutes. I swear I was fine brushing my teeth," Sam promised, head hanging low. He wasn't sleepy exactly, just... weak and downtrodden about it. It felt like he was using the last of his reserves every time he made a concerted effort to do anything.

Sam felt Dean palm the back of his head comfortingly.

"Okay, it's okay," he whispered, "just stay like this for a sec," he squeezed the back of Sam's neck before he got up and took the basin off his lap.

"Wait, I need to-" Sam didn't finish his sentence, the basin back in front of him and he managed to spit out residual toothpaste into it.

"Here," Dean said, placing the glass against Sam's lips and tilting it a fraction upwards. Dean was good about not giving him too much. Sam swished the water around his mouth.

"Good?"

Sam spit lamely and nodded. Dean pulled the basin away again, then the toothbrush and toothpaste. He rustled around more as Sam just focused on his breath, getting his heart back to normal. One of the sink faucets turned on then off and Sam felt Dean's hand on his head again.

"Kay, tilt your head back?" Dean asked and Sam tried, finding that Dean was actually just doing it for him. Sam blinked his eyes open for a second before feeling a warm wash cloth cover his face.

"Ah, Dean-" Sam sputtered, feeling the warm water trickle into his eyes and mouth.

"Shut up and just let me do this," Dean replied, pushing the cloth up against Sam's forehead and trailing it down his face, eventually down to his neck.

"I'm," Sam coughed, "not... five, Dean!" Sam protested again, raising his hands to bat Dean away but he was so zapped of energy he just ended up clawing at air.

"Calm down, Sammy," Dean said softly, cutting through Sam's griping. Sam huffed and relented, letting Dean have his way. After a minute or two, as much as Sam wanted to sulk he had to acknowledge Dean was being clinical. His expression was neutral and focused and it put Sam at ease.

"Turn your head to the side," Dean murmured and before Sam knew what he was doing he obeyed and Dean was scrubbing the side of his face along his hairline, his ear and on to the back of his neck.

"Ugh," Dean murmured comically, looking at the once-white cloth. Oblivious, Sam blinked up at his brother.

"What?"

"Nothing," Dean replied immediately but Sam had already seen the washcloth. He winced.

"Sorry," Sam muttered as Dean gently nudged his head to the other side.

"Don't worry about it," Dean reassured, finishing up by scraping the cloth along Sam's neck. Sam swallowed nervously and Dean put an affectionate hand on Sam's head. "You're good, you're good, Sammy," he murmured and Sam closed his eyes, giving a feeble nod and sighing.

"I'm not strong enough..." Sam swallowed and looked longingly at the bathtub. Dean glanced to follow his sight before unlatching the brakes on the wheelchair and settling behind it once more.

"Nah I'll get you there, bud," he said, swivelling the wheelchair around to face the toilet seat.

"What?" Sam asked, surprised, his eyes widening as Dean came back to crouch in front of him, arms extended.

"On three we're gonna get you on the toilet seat," he said. He glanced at the tub and decided to twist the faucet on.

"Dean... What?" Sam said again blankly, watching his brother testing the temperature before turning back to him.

"What?" Dean asked, looking at Sam as he extended his arms again. "C'mon." The tub's running water was loud, echoing around the muggy, warmly-lit bathroom. "I'm not going to pull you into the tub from the wheelchair, Sammy," Dean said, a little louder to be heard. "It'd tip over."

"You're not going to pull me into the tub at all, Dean," Sam argued, flustered.

"What? Why?"

"Because!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam, c'mon, you're sick as a dog, you smell, and you're sweating and sloughing more dead skin than a fucking skinwalker."

"I... so?!" Sam sputtered, mortified.

"So it's fucking bath time, man! You're right here! C'mon!" Dean almost whined, gesturing to the bathtub which was filling up slowly, the water radiating tempting curls of smoke from its heat.

Sam looked at his brother plaintively but Dean didn't fold. If Sam didn't bathe he'd end up getting even more sick off his poor level of hygiene alone.

"C'mon," he nodded, putting his arms out for Sam to take, "it's go time, let's go. C'mere," he gestured for Sam to come forward.

Sam's jaw set and he folded his arms across his chest, looking like he did when he was a toddler refusing a bath.

"No," Sam said levelly, fixing his brother a determined stare.

"Why not?" Dean huffed.

"You're not giving me a bath."

"This is not a big deal, Sam. I used to give you baths all the time! "

"Yeah, when I was four!" Sam replied angrily. "I'm not doing this with you."

"You can't even stand up, Sam," Dean fired back. Sam held his pain in his eyes most and for a fleeting moment Dean felt acutely sorry for what he'd said. Then Sam puffed back up with indignant fury. Before he could reply, Dean kept going. "You've been bedridden for days now, Sam. You need a wheelchair. You need to get clean." After a second's pause, he added, "and I mean, how do you think other people in your situation take baths? They need help and they get it from family. From their brothers. And so do you now. It's nothing to be ashamed of," Dean finished sharply, realizing this speech had gone on a little longer than he'd intended. He just felt strongly that Sam needed to get over himself about this and let Dean do his thing.

Halfway through his little diatribe Sam had broken eye contact to stare unseeing at the wall, his breath getting more irregular, sulky anger building as he was forced to listen to every word out of Dean's mouth because he couldn't walk away. When Dean was done, Sam remained stock still, refusing to address his brother's tirade.

"Sam?!" Dean snapped, riled by Sam's silent treatment. Sam flinched and much to his dismay realized his eyes start to water at the injustice of it all. Was Dean really yelling at him to let him give him a bath? When did this warrant Dean's outrage? Dean wasn't the one suffering; Dean wasn't at anyone's absolute mercy. Dean wasn't getting bullied to relinquish every ounce of autonomy he'd ever held dear much less the sense of privacy typical adults exactly like him had grown to appreciate.

This was bullshit of the highest caliber. Sam took a breath and looked at his brother, stubborn refusal in his eyes.

"No," he stated, shocked to hear the tremble in his voice for just one single syllable. Hearing his own voice crack rattled him more than anything Dean had said; the fact that he was getting emotional about this instead of standing his ground more scary than anything. His resolve was crumbling. It took an even worse turn as he watched Dean react. His brother just softened, his earlier sharp eyes losing their edge and slipping into pure compassion. Sam pressed his lips together, felt his chest constrict, his heart breaking further and his own wrath and resentment turning into worry and fear. It was all he could do not to beg Dean to just let it go. Wheel him back to the bed so Sam could cry himself to sleep.

Dean sighed and moved to sit on the toilet seat in front of his little brother.

"Sam, Sammy, c'mon, man. This is not the end of the world, okay, bud?" He said, trying to coax the rational side of Sam's mind out.

Seriously, Sam needed a reality check. This really wasn't a big deal. Dean just wanted to get Sam clean, get him in some nice pajamas, help him feel better about himself. He knew Sam would look in the mirror afterwards and treasure the improvements. He'd probably be able to pass as a healthy adult, even.

For all that Dean wanted that moment, he knew he wouldn't get it if Sam continued to angst all over himself in his own little self-deprecating bubble of sweat, tears, and smeared leftovers on his clothes and skin.

Seriously the kid was so gross. Dean hid his smile. He reined himself in so he wouldn't think about Sam's filthiness though. Sam was in a vulnerable place right now and Dean's comical revulsion of him would go down like a lead balloon.

Lightening the mood could work though. Somehow...

"Sammy," Dean started. Sam looked over to glare at him. Dean huffed. "Sam, c'mon you can't seriously think this is a big deal. Think about it-" Dean wheedled, trying to get Sam to smile.

"I am thinking about it, Dean, and the answer is no," Sam replied, sounding and looking much too much like the mulish sourpuss of a child he once was, the one Dean (kinda sorta totally) adored and liked to remember. Dean couldn't help but snort at his brother's juvenile obstinacy. It slowly built into genuine laughter.

"This is ridiculous, Sam. C'mon, dude," Dean said, smiling at Sam's glowering face. "Just let me give you a bath!" Dean laughed. Sam's cheeks reddened. Dean couldn't tell whether it was out of anger or embarrassment. He suspected both though and wanted to roll his eyes at it. He didn't though; he remained steadfast on the general light-hearted laughter he was trying to make infectious.

"No!" Sam shouted, not having any of it.

"C'mon," Dean leaned forward, grasping Sam under the armpits, still chuckling, "I'm so done with this conversation-"

"Dean, no, stop it!" Sam yelled back. He hit Dean but Dean barely felt it. Still, he stopped trying to pick Sam up and instead started messing with where he knew Sam was ticklish, a last ditch attempt to get Sam to lighten up and laugh.

Sam gave a feeble whine, writhing and huffing angrily, moving around in the chair, grunting with the effort of getting his brother off while Dean continued his goofy antics.

"Dean, stop! STOP!" Sam bellowed, trying to drown out Dean's insensitive, grating laughter that just made him feel like this was a joke and his sick, little cripple of a brother was the punchline. God, this was too much...

"Stop laughing Dean, it's not funny!" He cried, his voice breaking into pieces, his body giving an unmistakable shudder and Sam suddenly realized with horror that he was on the verge of tears.

Unable to battle his brother any longer, Sam just caved. He let go of getting his brother off him and slumped over to cover his face with his hands.

He bitterly realized Dean had stopped and pulled away. A second later the tub's faucet turned off and it was quiet, just the sounds of the water lapping at its porcelain sides.

A/N: Revised 6/27/19! Ohhhh the angst. Please do comment/review if you can spare the time. Thank you so much for reading!