All Grace Abounds

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Dean or Sam, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Notes: I am not a doctor, medic or even someone who currently watches a medical television show. Therefore all medical procedures in this tale should be considered hogwash. (I know, if I injure someone I should at least know the best way to fix 'em. I'll work on that…maybe…ah…ok, I'm not gonna work on it. Hurting is my specialty …I'm gonna just focus on that.)

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNNSNSNSN

Chapter 4

With the hospital's men's bathroom door only a few paces away, Dean, drawing upon the strength he had, jerked his arm from Sam's grip. Crossing to the door, he found Sam at his heels. Halting, Dean did a quarter turn so his eyes could meet his brother's. "I got this!" he growled, all acceptance of Sam's help, of his own weakness suddenly vanishing. His brother's words unknowingly reminding him that he had raised Sam, that he was the protector, that he was solely in charge now that there father was gone. He had to stand on his own, didn't have the luxury of being weak, of wanting to lean on someone's strength, on Sam's. That wasn't his role anymore, it wasn't the role his father had assigned him, had ever assigned him really. Turning away from Sam, he entered the bathroom.

The door had barely started to swing shut before Sam was pushing his way into the bathroom, frustration singing through him, his desire moments ago to see some of brother's stubborn spirit forgotten. Nor did he relish facing the flare of anger in Dean's eyes as his brother swung around, took a stance, warning him that he was pressing his luck.

"Sam, I said I got this!" When Sam made no reply but tried to side step him, Dean pressed his right hand against Sam's chest, halting him. Wincing as his cut hand came into contact with Sam's coat zipper, he realized that he was leaving a bloody smear on the fabric. A regretful look crossed his features as he raised his hand.

Looking down at the blood on his coat and then to Dean, Sam tilted his head, his lips pressed together, his eyes lancing into Dean's green eyes, clearly saying 'Yeah? You want to lie to me some more.'

Dean shrugged, smirking before he offhandedly offered in a way of apology, "It'll wash off," playing as if Sam's concern, frustration, was over the state of his coat instead of the state of his brother.

"Yeah, cause that's what I'm worried about," Sam snapped angrily. Slipping by Dean, he crossed to the sink and turned on the water. After a moment, Sam put his hand under the water, testing the temperature.

Knowing that Sam knew as well as he did that cold water worked best on blood stains, Dean didn't tender any instructions. Instead he silently started forward, his destination the next open sink past Sam, surprised to find his brother suddenly blocking his path.

Having taken a step back from the sink, purposely putting himself in the way of Dean's path, Sam steeled himself for the confrontation that always came when he had the audacity to insist on taking care of his older brother. By the look in Dean's eyes, he would have his work cut out for him.

Raising his eyebrows at Sam's actions, Dean exclaimed tiredly, "Dude, I'm sorry about your coat, alright!"

'Stupid jerk! This is not about a coat and you know it!' screamed through Sam, even as he determinedly trapped the words behind his clenched jaw, his blazing eyes. Dean didn't always respect words, but actions, he wasn't as good at denying. Giving a small nod as if he were accepting Dean's stupid apology, Sam waited until Dean's guard dropped slightly before he made his move. Shooting his hands out, Sam trapped both of Dean's wrists in his unyielding but none the less gentle grip.

"Sam…" Dean growled in warning, tensing, his eyes searing into Sam's wholly unrepentant and undeniably determined face. None of it forewarned him that in the next instant, Sam would unleash his formable strength on him.

Having chosen the path of action, Sam didn't hesitate, knew that to hesitate would shut out his chances of success. Tightening his grip on Dean's wrists and quickly setting his stance, Sam yanked his brother to the right, across the two steps to the sink, and plunged his brother's bloody, ice cold hands under the water's warm flow. He was troubled that his actions caused Dean to stumble, his hip impacting none too gently with the side of the sink even as Dean let out a hiss of pain or surprise as the water hit the nearly frostbitten skin of his hands.

"It is too hot?" Sam instantly asked, though the water seemed warm as it splashed on his own uninjured hands which were still wrapped around Dean's wrists, ensuring that his brother wouldn't evade the healing properties of the water.

"Crap, Brunhilda!" Dean growled, shooting a sharp look to his left where Sam's face lay inches from his own. "Where'd you learn your nursing skills?! From the Nazis!"

Sam felt shame at his tactics but didn't relinquish his hold on Dean, instead he crowded closer to the older man, shouldering Dean to turn fully toward the sink. Pulling Dean's hands further under the water, watching as the water ran red, Sam said nothing, found as always, the sight of Dean's blood made his gut clench and his throat draw close.

An unnatural silence fell between the brothers. Missing were Dean's further protests to his brother's mothering and Sam's lecture about Dean taking better care of himself. Unknowingly they had traveled into new territory, the terrain rocky and unpredictable.

Raising his eyes to the mirror, Sam hoped to obtrusively watch his brother but Dean's eyes suddenly flickered up to the mirror, the murkiness in the green eyes pinning Sam in place. Simultaneously they both said, "Sorry about…" then they both broke off, small smiles emerging on their faces, knowing that whatever words had parted them earlier today were forgiven. One more mountain scaled; another mountain range to go.

Returning his focus to his brother's injured hands, Sam, now certain that his brother's survival skills would outweigh his pride, released his hold on Dean's right wrist, proven right when Dean didn't remove his hand from the flow of warm water. Making no move to set free his brother's left wrist, Sam instead pulled Dean's left hand from under the water and bent down to inspect it. Gently he ran the fingers of his right hand over the damaged skin of his brother's hand, wincing when Dean did.

"So this kid, he was stuck in a trap…" Sam began trying for a lightness he wasn't feeling, not with Dean hurt no matter how marginally, his eyes not straying from his inspection of his brother's ripped flesh.

Not burdened with Sam's piercing gaze, Dean found talking about Kyle wasn't so hard, though his voice was low, rough, hinting at his exhaustion of body and soul. "Yeah, he was walking through a small wooded area about ¼ mile off the road. Some redneck forgot to pack in their traps for the winter."

"And you saw him from the road?! In this weather?!" Sam asked incredulously, his eyes shooting up to Dean's, even as his hands still gently imprisoned Dean's left hand.

"No," came Dean's gruff reply, the underlining text a near shout of 'No trespassing. Violators will be shot.' Then he made an attempt to pull his hand from Sam's hold, to put some distance between he and his brother, to brick up a wall between what Sam wanted to know and what Dean wanted to tell.

Utilizing his quick reflexes, Sam closed his hands around Dean's escaping hand, trapping it. With an aggravated sigh, he shot a glare in his brother's direction. Having been in such enemy territory before to rescue his too stubborn, too self sacrificing, too isolated brother, Sam plunged ahead, landmines beware. "Then how did you find him, Dean?" When Dean dropped his eyes to his right hand and began putting the hand in a fist and releasing it as if testing its strength, Sam pressed, "Dean?!"

Knowing by Sam's tone that this was a bone he wasn't willing to relinquish, Dean looked up, met Sam's piercing gaze and said, "I was walking through the woods…heard…" but broke off. Suddenly he didn't want to mention the music that had guided him to the injured boy. Sure, he was used to people thinking he was crazy. That, however, didn't mean he was keen on the notion of his little brother joining the ranks. Picking up where he left off, he modified, "heard him calling for help."

Sam's eyebrows arched for the sky in incredulous shocked outrage, unconsciously loosening his hold on Dean's hand as he turned to face his brother's profile. "Walking through the woods!? Are you insane Dean! It's like 20 below out there and snowing and …"

"It wasn't like I wanted to!" Dean defensively snapped, stepping back from the sink, turning his full glare on his brother, removing his right hand from the flow of warm water and his left hand from his brother's now inattentive hold.

"Dean, keep your hands in the water," Sam sighed as if he were talking to a stubborn child, reaching again for Dean's wrists. But Dean pulled his hands out of Sam's reach and took a step back, his eyes conveying a warning. A warning Sam had the good sense to not discount. "Fine, let your hands turn black and fall off!" Sam scornfully surrendered, his eyes angry and concerned. "It's not like you use your hands in our line of work or anything?!" he shrugged with the words, the gesture unnatural on such tense shoulders.

Without a word, Dean turned to the sink and slid his hands under the water, not so much a concession as a defiant way to shut his brother up. Knowing that it wasn't time to gloat at his victory, Sam crossed over to the paper towel dispenser and cranked out some of the paper and tore it free. With the paper in hand, he went to the middle sink and turned on the water, adjusting it to cold water before wetting the towel, shooting a look to Dean but was not met with the green eyes, or seemingly any of his brother's attention.

Striving to wring his tone free of judgment even as he wrung out some of the water from the paper towel, Sam levelly inquired, "So what happened? Why were you walking through the woods, Dean?" forcing himself to keep his eyes from Dean, to allow the other man some breathing room.

Shooting a quick look to Sam, seeing that his brother was purposefully not going to look at him, Dean fought down a sigh. Truly he wasn't mad at Sam, hated that he tended to take out his frustrations on his brother because (a) Sam was there and (b) Sam allowed him to. Because he cares about you, stupid. Could almost hear Sam's words again, 'You want to hit me again? Go ahead if it will make you feel better.' 'As if hurting him ever made me feel better?! Crap, as if hurting him now is making me feel better, is going to ensure that Kyle makes it.'

Callously rubbing his fingers from his left hand over the cuts on his right hand, angry at the cuts, at his weakness, at hurting Sam, Dean confessed, "I had a little fender bender.." At Sam's sharp intake of breath, Dean looked to Sam, saw his brother's raised eyebrows of concern, the way he opened his mouth, poised to deluge Dean with even more questions. Heading Sam off, Dean reassured, "It was no big deal, Sam. I just got stuck in the snow, was walking for help when I came upon the kid."

"That's how you got this cut," Sam quietly interjected, turning to Dean and using his wet towel to dab at the dried blood on Dean's temple.

Jerking his head back from Sam's touch, Dean glared at his brother. "Dude, its fine! And we were talking about the kid…"

"Right, cause you getting hurt shouldn't matter, to anyone, right?!" Sam muttered lowly, his frustration slipping past his guard, making his fist close around the paper towel, squeezing the water out to run down his hands and drip unto the floor.

Seeing the frustration spark in Sam's eyes, reading the worry echoing off his brother's essence, Dean relented. Shame came over him, hating that he always made Sam pay a high price for caring about him. His tone gentle, he soothed, "Hey, I'm alright, Sammy. Took a header into the steering wheel, cut my hands getting the trap open but I'm Ok. But the kid…" he faltered, saw the sympathy and strength Sam offered him with just one glance, "… the trap it went pretty deep, he lost a lot of blood…was going into shock…".

Sam nodded his head, understanding and hurting for his brother who strove to be everyone's savior. "Ok, we'll stay here as long as it takes for him to wake up," Sam said steadily, offering up his unwavering support and optimism. "But Dean, man, if he sees you like this…bleeding.." raising his hand to gesture to Dean's blood stained face, "…it's not the most confident, reassuring look you could go with."

Turning to look at the mirror, to take in his own appearance, Dean smirked, "I think it's got a war hero look about it."

"Yeah, like you're part of the living dead," Sam clarified, stepping up behind Dean to look at the reflection his brother saw. "I thought you hated zombies…"

"Your bedside manner sucks, Sammy!" Dean groused, sending his elbow into Sam's gut, smirking at his brother's grunt.

Rubbing his abused rib cage, Sam countered, "You're not in a bed Dean, you're in a bathroom."

"You're always such a stickler for details," Dean grumbled good-naturedly. "Fine, I'll clean up a bit, go a little lighter on the blood and gore look."

"Yeah, it's so last October…" Sam smirked, his shining eyes meeting Dean's in the mirror.

"Tell me when you say something funny. I don't want to miss my cue to laugh," Dean snarked back, raising his left hand to trace the cut on his temple.

"Here, let me see it," Sam insisted, slipping again to Dean's side and knocking his brother's hand away from the wound. Dabbing at the wound again with the now drastically less wet towel, Sam bit his lip as his ministrations uncovered the wound that the blood had concealed. "Doesn't need stitches…"

"Told you…" Dean boasted.

Sam continued, his tone unflinching as he again looked to Dean, "But it needs to be disinfected and pulled together with some butterfly bandages. Less you changed your mind and now think ladies like scars on your face?"

Instead of making a reply to Sam's question, Dean conceded grumpily, "Fine, when we get back to the hotel I'll disinfect it, throw some dumb bandages over it." Wincing as Sam swiped the now rewet towel down his cheek, taking off the blood like it were paint. "Easy, dude! There's my skin under there!"

"Sorry," Sam instantly said, gentling his efforts to remove the blood from his brother's cheek. "So how'd you get to the hospital?" Surprised when Dean's eyes flew to his in surprise and hesitation. "You said the Impala was stuck," he clarified, seeing a question in his brother's gaze.

"It got unstuck," Dean gruffly replied, again dropping his eyes to his hands that still resided under the water, flexing his hands and relieved that they weren't as dumb as before.

Taking the answer at face value, Sam rewet the towel and ran it down his brother's cheek, scowling at the blood that refused to be dislodged. "Hold still," he ordered as Dean jerked away. Then his hand came out to seize Dean's jaw, locking his brother's head in his hold. Pressing the towel on the most residential of the blood stains and squeezing the towel, he let the water soak the skin and run down Dean's face. "You still feel cold," he quietly assessed, unable to ignore the frigid feel of Dean's face in his hands.

"Maybe because I am still cold," Dean shot back as if that was a no brainer.

'Yeah, Sam, course he's still cold! He's standing here in his nearly frozen clothing while you're wearing six layers of clothing!' "Crap, sorry.." he said, pulling back he dropped the wet towel in the trash, crossed over to the towel dispenser and dried his hands, conscious of Dean's eyes on him the whole time. Shrugging out of his coat, Sam tossed it over the trash can before he undid the buttons of the top shirt he wore took that shirt off and laid it on top of the jacket before he pulled a sweatshirt off over his head.

"Who are you? Mr. Rogers?!" Dean quirked, his eyebrows creased together as he watched Sam take off three layers of clothing.

"Yeah, dumbbehind, won't you be my neighbor," Sam retorted without missing a beat, shoving his sweatshirt and his button-down shirt at Dean. "Here. Take off your wet clothing and put my stuff on before you get pneumonia and become more of a cranky jerk than you already are."

A moment passed as Dean's eyes met Sam's, the elder Winchester not making a move. Seeing that Sam wasn't passing judgment on his weakness, that his brother just wanted to help, needed to help him, Dean smirked, "So you're not doing this for me but for you, right?"

Glad for the opening Dean allowed him, Sam snorted, "Well, yeah. Absolutely."

"And get it straight, you're the dumbbehind, not me," Dean informed, carefully drying his hands on the paper towel his brother handed to him.

Turning off the water, Sam stood a moment, switching from one foot to the other as he watched Dean slide off his stiff, frozen leather coat, wanting so badly to offer his aid even as he knew Dean would resent further mothering. Certain that he wouldn't hold out for another minute as he saw a wince mar Dean's face as his hands set to their task, Sam hurriedly promised, "I'll be right back," unknowingly, wearing that 'I'm in charge now' look as he exited the bathroom.

As the jacket left his frame, Dean couldn't fight down a shiver as he stood there in his t-shirt, making him glad that Sam wasn't there to nail him with his worried, lip biting expression. Pulling the t-shirt over his head, Dean almost sighed in contentment as he settled the dry cotton of his brother's sweatshirt onto his chest. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be dry, to not have wet fabric coiling around him, making the cold pierce straight through to his bones.

But the relief at donning the dry sweatshirt began to fade as he struggled to get his still uncoordinated fingers to complete the task of buttoning up the outer shirt. Sharply, it reminded him too forcibly of kneeling in the snow beside Kyle, struggling to undo the buttons of his own shirt, the boy's blood soiling the pristine whiteness, the boy's pained but trusting eyes fastened on him.

"Hey, you alright?" Sam's voice startled Dean, sent his head flying up to note that his brother was back, was hovering at his side, ripped his mind from its recriminations and worries.

"Yeah, fine," Dean replied, hating the rough quality of his voice, knowing it revealed something to Sam he would rather have kept to himself, was confirmed of that fact when Sam's brows drew together.

To Sam, reading Dean was like trying to predict where you'd strike oil, a task as hard as it came yet worth everything you risked when you hit the mark. Groping for the right path to navigate his brother's emotions, Sam opted for the long way around. He could wait for Dean, would always wait for Dean. "Here, let me do that," he quietly scoffed, pushing Dean's trembling hands aside from the buttons, making quick work of the task, anticipating Dean's refusal of his aid.

Instead of an out and out refusal, Dean offered up a string of grumblings. "I don't need your help to dress myself, Sam! Been doing it before you were born..been dressing you since before you knew what clothing was.. forced you into clothing after you did your standard streak outside in the buff."

"I did not streak outside in the buff!" Sam denied heatedly, the light in his eyes revealing the fractures in his mask of annoyance. "You're the streaker Dean, then and now!"

A smirk tilted Dean's lips and a sparkle gleamed in his eyes. "Why deprive the world of this beauty!" he gloated, pointing to his chest with both hands. "Dude, even I'm not that heartless."

"Yeah, you're quite the humanitarian, Dean," Sam muttered, finishing up the last button. He had to fight to keep the smirk off his face at the sight of only Dean's finger tips peeking out from the sleeves of his shirt. 'Don't say anything, don't say anything!' he coached himself, knowing that the cotton fabric cocooning his brothers cold hands was the best thing.

Catching his brother's look but unable to interpret it, Dean demanded, "What?"

"Nothing," Sam innocently answered as he turned his focus on the bottle, bandages and sterile pads he had balanced onto the rim of the sink when he first reentered the bathroom. "I tracked down some antiseptic and some butterfly bandages." Dousing a cotton pad with liquid from the bottle, Sam turned to Dean but found his wrist gripped in Dean's iron grasp, effectively halting his hand midway to his brother's head wound.

"I can do it," Dean protested.

"Yeah, you could but you don't have to. I got this Dean," Sam gently stated but his eyes held a plea. 'Let me do this for you, Dean.'

Only too familiar with seeing someone he loved hurt, to feel like he had failed them, Dean sympathized with Sam now that the shoe was on the other foot. He understood that Sam felt the burning need to help him, to ease his pain, to erase some of his own misplaced guilt. Nodding his head in consent, Dean released Sam's wrist. He didn't flinch as the antiseptic burned when it made contact with his head wound nor did he allow a wince to crease his features when his brother's deft fingers pulled the torn skin together with butterfly bandages. But he didn't miss his chance to quirk sourly, "There are rules about practicing medicine in hospital bathrooms without a license, Sammy. I'm keeping my options open to sue."

"Yeah, 'cause I've got so many possessions you'd want," Sam drawled back, putting the last bandage on the cut.

Dean lips pursed in thought before a cocky smile lit up his face that, Sam noted with relief, was regaining some color. "I would take your cell phone," Dean announced, proud of himself. "Certainly not that stupid shirt with the big horse looking dog on it. I mean, please, have some taste, dude! I have a reputation to maintain but with you standing there wearing …well most of your wardrobe, it's been a trying time for me, Sammy."

"Excuse me Mr. GQ but you aren't looking your best right now," Sam sallied, unable to let the means to retaliate slip from him. He tugged on one of the cuffs of Dean's arm sleeve which rested just above Dean's fingertips.

Yanking the sleeve from his brother's hold, Dean huffed, "It's not my fault you've got ape arms that drag on the ground." With frustration, he started rolling up the sleeves so he didn't look like a kid playing dress up in his father's clothing.

"Here, you need some help, shorty!" Sam teased, making a fake reach for the sleeves.

Brutally slapping his brother's hand away, Dean growled, "Get off me!" When this only provoked laughter from Sam, Dean shoved Sam's shoulder, making the taller man stumble back a step but did nothing to dampen his mirth. "You're such a loser!"

"Takes one to know one," Sam sing songed, dousing another sterile pad with antiseptic. "Ok, let me put some of this on your hands," surprised and grateful when Dean obediently positioned his hands out over the sink, offering his hands up to his ministrations. Bracing Dean's hand within his own hand, Sam dabbed the antiseptic into his brother's ravaged flesh. His eyes narrowed as he felt the hand in his grip tense but not withdrawal, revealing the trust Dean had in him better than a thousand chick flick moments ever could. Releasing Dean's left hand, Sam repeated the procedure with his brother's right hand. "I should wrap your hands but…"

"That ain't gonna happen.." Dean cut him off, defiant.

Sam looked up to Dean a moment before returning to his task, "Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say. It'll just have to wait until we get back to the motel. Least they seem warmer," he breathed in relief. His task done, he released Dean's hands and watched Dean clench his hands into fist and release them a few times. "Are you hands numb at all? How bad is the pain?" his concerned tone matching the look he used to gauge the reaction that might reflect in his brother's face.

"The numbness is nearly gone. Just stings now," Dean answered truthfully, feeling that he owed it to Sam, to his brother who had hitched a ride in a snow storm to get to him and was taking great pains to patch him up. He almost smiled at Sam's startled look, his tactics catching the younger man off guard. "Let's get outta the bathroom, Sam or people will start to talk," he quirked heading for the door, more amused than angry when Sam blew by him and got to the door first, opening it easily with his fully functional hands. "After you Speedy Gonzalas," he muttered, raising his hand indicating that Sam should precede him out of the bathroom though his audience was already out of the bathroom and patiently holding the door open for him.

Passing "doorman Sam" while shaking his head at his little brother's mother hen routine, Dean turned left to head back to the waiting room and promptly froze. The next instant he stumbled forward two steps as Sam ran into his back.

"Dean why'd you…" Sam began to protest before he looked over his brother's shoulder and felt his muscles freeze up. Breaking from his stupor he quickly gripped Dean's shoulder, yanking him backwards even as he stepped in directly in front of him, his arm bent backwards around Dean, preventing him from stepping out of his shadow. He knew it was a vain hope that he had acted quickly enough, that he had successfully obscured Dean from the view of the police officer that stood just down the hall talking to an intern, an intern that was pointing their way.

Sam cursed lowly as the cop began to bear down on them. "He's coming this way," he hissed under his breath. In synchronized motion, both Winchesters swiveled around only to be greeted by the sight of another cop closing in the distance from the other end of the hallway, his eyes on them as he talked into his radio.

As he stood side by side with his brother, Sam's hand latched onto Dean's bicep in a death grip, his heart pounding in his chest as his mind raced. They were caught midway down the hall between two cops, a hallway where no exits lurked and beside a bathroom without windows. A glance behind him confirmed that the other police officer was closing in as determinedly as the officer in front of them. It occurred to him then and there that Dean's Good Samaritan routine that day was going to come at a high cost, Dean's freedom, maybe even his life.

TBC

Ah…because no fic is complete without a cliffie…

Thanks for reading!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.

33