Dean pulled away from Sam, continuing contact, but pulling away enough so he could see his little brother's eyes, and those eyes were brimming with tears. Dean had to deflect the sadness, had to get his mind moving. "Sammy, we've got to get you a shower." He finally decided on. It wasn't what he wanted to say, but it would do for the second.
Sam looked down at the clothes that he had been wearing for several days and then back up at his brother. "Yeah. I think that is a good idea." Sam said slowly.
"Come on buddy, let me help you stand up."
"But your hand…." Sam said indicating the fingers that had bled through the make shift bandage.
"It's no big deal. Just lost a couple of fingernails. Not like it hasn't happened before."
"You need to put antibiotic cream on it. You can't let it get infected."
"Sam. We need to worry about you, not me." Dean said and tried not to choke up, this was the first time in almost a year that Sammy had worried about someone other than himself, and it was emotional for Dean.
"If I don't worry about you, who does?" And both of them stared at each other. A flood of memories of the last several months washing over him, moments of Dean in pain, and Sam not caring, even getting impatient with Dean's pain, his suffering, his anything really. And Dean realized in that instant that most of the time, when Sam didn't care, no one cared, and both of them had to swallow past the lump of emotions that were sitting in their throats.
"I'll be fine." Dean managed.
Sam swallowed. His brain was a buzz, there was a constant stream of thoughts and emotions running in a constant parade through his mind and he was desperately trying to organize them enough to speak.
"No." He swallowed. "No, you aren't okay. We need to take care of your hand. Then I'll get a shower." Sam tried. Dean shook his head. Sam closed his eyes, frustration closing in. "No. Damnit Dean. Let me do this. I need to do something….something….." Sam was at a loss for words. It was so hard to construct intelligent sentences.
Dean watched his brother, scrutinized him and understood what was going through his head, he knew what it felt like to come back from Hell, and knew what it felt like to want to do something, anything, to force his mind to focus on something other than the flashes of pain, destruction, smells, all of it. He knew how fast Sam's mind must be running, knew how wrecked the boy had to be. He had been that wrecked, he had been that out of it when he came back, and he hadn't had to spend time inside of Lucifer's cage.
Dean lightly reached out, tried to ignore the flinch, and grabbed a hold of Sam's shoulders, steadied him and then searched for his eyes and grabbed them with his own and said, "I understand Sammy. But, I'm not letting you near any open wound of mine smelling like that. First, a shower, then you can do whatever amateur doctoring you want." He paused and then said, "Okay Sammy?"
Sam nodded and looked away. "Good. Come on buddy; let's get you into the shower." Dean stood and reached out his hand to his brother. Sam looked at the calloused hand, and tentatively reached out his own, took Dean's and allowed Dean to help him up. Dean pushed him towards the bathroom, and along the way took towels out of the hall closet, and every time Sam faltered a little bit, Dean was there with a hand on his back, encouraging Sam forward, and the short distance to the bathroom was accomplished. Dean turned on the water, checked the temperature, and then turned to his brother.
"There you go Sammy. Strip down and get it done. I'll be waiting when you're done."
Dean moved past his brother and out of the room when Sam turned and said, "You won't go far will you?" His eyes were so scared that they pierced right through Dean, and Dean could have sworn that Sam was five years old again, scared that Dean would go out the door and disappear like Dad always did.
"I'll be right outside the door. I won't leave you Sammy. I didn't before, and I won't now." The weight of that statement hung over both brothers and Sam nodded.
It turned out that Sam couldn't handle Dean being so far away that he was outside of the bathroom, so when Bobby heard the water running, and hurried to the bathroom, he found Dean sitting on the closed lid of the toilet starring at the wall while his younger brother took a shower.
Dean turned and looked up at Bobby. "Dean?" Sam called.
"I haven't moved Sammy. I'm right here."
"He's…?" Bobby started in a whisper.
Dean nodded and gave him sad eyes. "He realized that this isn't hell."
"Who is out there Dean?" Sam asked in a fearful voice.
"It's Bobby. Sam." Dean said.
"Are you sure it is really Bobby?"
"Yeah, I'm sure, he called me an idjit not too long ago, so yeah, I don't think even the devil can make someone deliver the word idjit with such a wide range of emotions as the real Bobby Singer."
Dean nodded to Bobby and said, "I'll bring him down after he smells decent." Bobby nodded, relief and tension mixed up on the elder hunter's face.
"I'll make him some supper." Dean nodded and turned his attention back to the shower curtain.
SNSNSNSNSN
After Sam's shower, Sam was shaking violently, and Dean didn't know what it was from, and God knew the possibilities were endless.
"Sammy, I'm going to go get some clean clothes for you. I won't go father than our room. I promise. Just call out whenever you need to. I'll answer, I promise." Sam sucked in his bottom lip, bit down, and nodded.
Sam only needed eleven reassurance calls from Dean in the forty second run for clothes. Sam looked sheepish when Dean came back and handed him his jeans, underclothes and shirts. "I'm sorry." He said. It was words like that that made Dean happy and sad all at the same time. Robosammy was no more, he could feel, he could empathize, but at the same time he had to suffer under the weight of all he had done, and all that his body had done with his soul MIA.
Dean shook his head. "It's not a problem Sammy. It's my job. It's okay." Sam nodded and Dean left the bathroom, leaned against the wall next to it while Sammy hurried and got dressed. "The brush is in there. Use it." Dean said softly. Sam swallowed, he hadn't intended on doing that, he wanted out of the bathroom, he wanted to be next to Dean again, but Dean was right. He had to be a human being again. He took the brush, and like a child flopped the brush over his wet hair, and then when the job was half done he put it down, he wasn't patient enough to brush his entire head full of hair, and suddenly he had so much that it would be impossible to brush all of it. Sam started to leave the bathroom again, and Dean called. "Brush your teeth. You have to brush your teeth Sammy. Bobby's spare toothbrush is in the cabinet. You have to take care of yourself buddy. You have to."
It took all of Sam's remaining patience to brush his teeth for thirty seconds. And he hurried out of the bathroom. "Okay. You need your hands fixed." Sam said, eager to be close to his brother, eager to be doing something that didn't' require looking at his own body, something that required him to focus and concentrate on something other than his own thoughts and himself.
"You sure you're up to that Sammy? Bobby is fixing dinner for you."
"Tell him not to. I'm not hungry."
"But I am buddy." That stopped Sam in his tracks, he wanted to please his brother, wanted to make sure that he ate, make sure that he was okay, but at the same time he didn't want to be sociable to Bobby, he didn't want to look the older man in the eye after all that he had done to him before….
Sam nodded. "Okay. Let me fix your fingers." Dean nodded.
"Okay. Let's get that done."
The first aid kit was found with little difficulty. And Sam delved into it with practices precision, and he pulled Dean's hand to him gently, and unwound the bandages and when Dean flinched even slightly, Sam looked up with empathy and compassion and apologized for hurting him. Dean had to turn away, tears were slipping out of his eyes despite his best efforts, his Sammy was home, after almost two years, he had his brother back, he had his emo, wussy, gently, caring, self-sacrificing, brother back and it was hard to keep the emotions at bay.
Sam tapped the top of Dean's hand when he was done. "Done." Dean took a deep breath trying to clean his voice enough to speak.
He turned to Sam, "Thanks Sammy. It's perfect." And despite the pain, the angst, and the eventual fall out. Right now, everything was perfect.
