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Sam had fallen asleep in the backseat, his head resting on Dean's shoulder. He had been exhausted. It felt as though his mind had floated afar, neither wanting nor capable of getting it back. He let himself drift into unconsciousness, feeling the warmth radiating from his brother.
Dean continued to smooth Sam's hair as he heard his breathing even out. He gave Sam a once-over, anger gathering deep inside of him as he looked at Sam's deep welts, bruises and scratches colored all over his thin frame.
Who had been Sam's attacker? It had to have been a supernatural bitch. Sam was more than capable of fighting a low-life human. Sam had always been one of the most graceful fighters he had known. He had always preferred knives, while Dean went with the guns and explosives. Dean smiled wryly, the thought of Sam against a human and losing nearly baffling him completely. The way Sam handled himself, there was no way he could lose to an average human.
Dean, with no concrete evidence to accept either half-concocted theory, let his mind turn away from them. His thoughts drifted to Sammy. Whether it be cheesy or stupid, he didn't know, nor did he care, but his brother had always been his whole world. Sam's self-esteem had always been meager; Sam never allowed himself enough confidence that, if he were rejected in any manner, he would ever give a damn.
John was always tough on Sammy, ever since he had been a little boy, always comparing him to Dean. But he knew John didn't mean for it to hurt Sam, though the look in Sam's eyes should have been more than enough. He was just trying to make a point. John had always been the impassive one, never aware of the hurt or disappoint in his son's eyes when he did something excessively un-called for. John wasn't an expert in emotions, which was probably the reason why John had been straying away from Sam ever since they found him in the forest. John's love for them both was overriding, but any emotions were unacceptable to his name.
Dean looked at the window, watching the wilting maple trees pass by with a blur. They were heading back to the motel room, with John driving 20MPH over the speed limit, screeching past other cars and, in return, being given loud honks from the cars and an occasional shout. John didn't seem to notice in the least, his youngest son engulfing his mind like a tidal wave, flushing his mind of everything but Sam.
They arrived at the shabby motel. It looked as though the slightest draft would knock the whole thing down with a loud shebang, but it was surprisingly firm. John got out of the driver's seat, heading over to the back door. Dean opened the door, careful not to rouse Sammy. Dean slowly got out of the Impala, now propping Sam's head on his hand.
Dean carefully scooped Sam into his arms, surprised at how light the kid felt. He'd always been small for his age, but damn, he was anorexic or something. Dean headed over to the not-so-flimsy motel, John walking ahead of them. He opened the door, allowing Dean passage as he lugged his brother in the direction of their room.
John, once again, ran in front of them, stopping in front of their room. He unlocked their room, jabbing his key into the keyhole, then jerking it open. Dean quickly, yet extremely wary of the frail kid in his arms, walked into the room, shutting the door with his foot, then allowing John to lock it behind him. He set Sam down on the bed they shared, carefully positioning a pillow to rest under his head.
Dean looked over Sam again, a smile appearing on his lips. He looked so much younger than 15 when he slept, being the inheritor of innocence and youth ever since birth. His face had always had a babyish look to it, making a lot of girls fight for his acknowledgement in them. Sam, however, was always too naïve to ever notice the attention he got, all the while sticking his nose in some book.
The thought abruptly stopped when he heard himself laugh. His baby brother was in pain, lying unconscious on the bed, and he was laughing. He did allow himself a small smile as he looked at Sam's form. He had grown up nicely, despite their perfectly fucked up life.
He broke his gaze on Sam, turning to face his father, whom was digging in his bag for the first-aid kit. He achieved the kit, and tossed it to Dean, who hadn't really been paying attention. He bottled it for a few moments before getting a firm grip on it.
"Patch him up. I'll get us some food."
Without another word, John was out the door. Wordlessly, Dean sat down on the bed, being cautious not to abruptly plop on the bed from his exhaustion and wake up Sam. He slowly undressed Sam, unbuttoning Sam's shirt than sliding off his jeans. Sam winced but conscious had not come back, leaving him in the alternate world he was now floating in.
Left in only boxers, Sam began to shiver, a chill running down his spine. Dean muttered his apologies to his baby brother, and began getting out ointment for the scratches. He dug for the gauze wrap, which will be used for Sam's broken and/or cracked bones. He looked Sam over, evaluating his condition thoughtfully.
First, Dean added ointment to the four long scratches on Sam's left cheek. He began to check for internal injuries. Dean placed the four finger on each hand in the center of his chest, his thumbs sticking outward, toward Sam's armpits. Carefully, he began adding pressure to the ribs, feeling what he would call "holes" in Sam's chest. He sighed loudly when he had finished, realizing the bastard had done a good bit of harm to Sam's ribs. He wrapped Sam's ribs, extremely vigilant, constantly gazing back to Sam, watching for any reaction.
Once he was done wrapping Sam's ribs, he headed into the kitchen. He opened one of the few cabinets in the small area, pulling out Heinz vinegar. Before leaving he grabbed a few cotton balls, then headed back to the living room.
When he got back he was stunned to see Sam, fully conscious, making the attempt to get off the bed. Dean hurried to Sam's side, placing the Heinz vinegar and cotton balls on John's bed.
"Hey, kiddo, try not to move, all right?" Dean eased a reluctant Sam back onto the bed, his head once again resting on the pillow.
He watched Sam look down at his chest, gasping at the pain that had been inflicting his weary body. Dean washed with guilt as Sam looked away from the bruises, willing himself to concentrate on something other than the pain.
He went back to get the vinegar and cotton balls, then sat down on the bed beside Sammy. He dipped the cotton ball in the Heinz vinegar, then began padding it across Sam's chest, covering every inch of his multiple bruises.
"Sorry, Sammy" Dean said immediately when Sam hissed from a particularly large bruise being brushed too hard on.
Dean had finished up with Sam nearly fifteen minutes later, seeing that all the wounds in the universe had accumulated on his small body. About the time Dean finished up, John was coming in the room, food in hand.
"Hope Chinese is okay" John said, placing the food on the small dinner table. Dean watched warily as Sam urged himself up. He swatted Dean's hand away lightly when he tried to help, making it a known fact he wanted to get up by himself.
Dean, though never making physical contact, never strayed far away from Sam as he walked over to the table. Once he was settled, Dean allowed himself the pleasure of seating himself next to Sam.
All at the dinner table, they sat in silence as they ate their food. Both John and Dean had contemplated discussing what had happened today with Sam, but voted against it. Once he got some rest, then they could talk. Until then, Dean just sat there, throwing food in his mouth, with Sammy at his side.
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HOPE U LIKED IT!!!!! I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I hope u enjoyed reading it!!!!! No cliffy, thought I would end on a good note!! =)
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