Sam didn't sleep very well that night. He didn't even get into bed. He just sat on top of the blankets and read a book, glancing over at Dean and checking on him occasionally to make sure he was still breathing. Around 3 AM, he finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep, book still open on his chest.

In the morning, he woke to the sound of a pained yelp. He sat up and looked over just in time to see Dean trying to get out of bed.

"Son of a bitch," He gasped, clutching his thigh as he tried to put weight on it.

"Woah, what do you think you're doing?" Sam quickly rolled out of bed and ran to Dean's side, letting his brother lean on him.

"Bathroom," Dean mumbled.

Sam helped him limp over to the bathroom. "How did you even drive home last night?" He shook his head.

"Dunno. Toss me some clothes, might as well get dressed."

Sam reluctantly let go of his brother, who gripped the doorway tightly to stay upright.

He rummaged around in his own bag for a minute, and handed Dean two white pills after setting his clothes on the bathroom counter. "Here, take these."

"What are they?" Dean squinted. "Dude, is that Oxy?"

"It's from when I got my wisdom teeth out. Just take it, you'll feel better."

"When did you-"

"First year at Stanford. I didn't take the pills 'cause they made me sick, so if you need more later, I have them." Sam explained, handing him a cup of water.

"Thanks." Dean took the pills and shut the door.

After a few minutes, Sam heard the shower running. He frowned, getting up to bang on the door. "Hey, be careful in there! You're gonna rip your stitches open!"

"Relax, I know what I'm doing." Dean replied, irritation in his strained voice.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. He'd forgotten what a horrible patient Dean could be.

Just when he was about to pick the lock and make sure his brother hadn't drowned in the shower, Dean opened the door. He glared at Sam. "Dude, why'd you give me the basketball shorts? I can't go out in public like this."

Sam rolled his eyes, and helped Dean back to the bed. "So I can keep an eye on those stitches. You're not going anywhere for a little while."

"What if Dad sends us a new case?"

"Then we'll just have to call another hunter to take care of it." Sam answered, lifting Dean's T-shirt to take a look at the stitches in his side.

Dean unsuccessfully tried to swat his brother's hands away. "Dammit, that's not how this works!"

"Maybe if you'd actually tried to defend yourself, you wouldn't be so torn up! You can barely walk, Dean. I'm not gonna let you hunt like this." Sam finally stepped away after making sure all his stitches were still intact.

"I'm fine, you don't have to take care of me, you know."

Sam scoffed. "Dude, you're like the complete opposite of 'fine'."

"Whatever." Dean scowled. "You know what, why don't you drive to California? Go find Dad."

"W-what?" Sam blinked.

"You heard me. You wanna find him so bad, leave me here. Go after this demon with him."

"Hold on, you're the one that said-"

"That it might be dangerous, and there was a reason Dad was keepin' us out of the loop? Yeah, well...maybe he was just trying to protect me. You've always been the better hunter, Sammy. You'll be alright. Without me to slow me down, you two will find the thing that killed Mom and Jess. When this is all over, go back to school, have a normal life. A safe life. God knows you deserve it, after all the shit you've been through." Dean's glare had faded to a tired frown.

Sam stared at his brother in shock. Where the hell did that come from? "Dean, you're wrong."

He chuckled dryly. "Seriously? You've been bitching at me to go find Dad in Cali for weeks now."

"No, about everything else! You're not slowing anyone down! I don't know what you're talking about, 'cause you have always been the better hunter. I may be bigger, but you're faster. You're always teasing me about being the geek, but you actually know more about the creatures we hunt. Because it's more than just a job to you. It's about more than surviving, it's your life!"

"Yeah, well, maybe it used to be." Dean looked away.

"What is going on with you?" Sam asked with a concerned frown.

"Nothing. Concussion is just fucking with my head." He sighed. "Can we drop it?"

Sam didn't want to. He was worried, this wasn't like Dean. But his brother looked exhausted. They could talk more later.

"Alright." He said quietly.