Sam lunges for Dean, catching him, but not before Dean hits his head on the edge of the toilet bowl. "Dean!" He yells as his brother cries out in pain. Blood drips on the seat from a gash, staining Dean's dark blond hair.
"Shit, shit, shit!" Sam is practically chanting as he cradles his brother, grabbing the towel and carrying him over to the table. He spreads the towel one-handed and sets his brother on it. "Lie down on your stomach, Dean. I need to look at this." Sam rummages in his duffel, bringing out the first aid kit.
Dean groans, rolls onto his stomach, then gets his knees under him and starts retching. That movement makes his head swim, and he groans more in misery before he falls unconscious. Sam's crying and his hands are trembling as he gently moves his brother into a prone position. He uses medical preps to wipe away blood so he can get a good look at the gash on his brother's head.
"How the hell am I supposed to stitch this? C'mon, Dean. Don't leave me here on my own. I need my big brother." The teenager snuffles and uses the back of his hand to wipe his face. "Okay. Think, Sam. What would Dean do?"
Sam walks into the bathroom, cleans up the roach and blood spatter, and runs the water as hot as he can stand it, scrubbing them with soap. He takes a clean washcloth and wets it. Then he gathers the last clean towel before he hurries back to his brother. Dean is still out cold, but groans when Sam goes to move him and change the towel under him. Then because Dean has blood and vomit all over him, Sam tries to remove his shirt.
There's a reason Barbie clothes are made with few fasteners – and Sam learns that quickly. He gives up for a moment, Stops to think. Then he takes out the surgical scissors and cuts off Dean's shirt and tee shirt. He bundles them and tosses them into the trash. That figured, Sam rewashes his hands and sets to work cleaning his brother's head, gently washing it and wiping it with the antibacterial cloth.
It is still bleeding, so Sam holds the edges together carefully and applies liquid bandage and a small square of medical gauze. Then he takes more gauze and cuts a strip lengthwise before using it to wrap around Dean's head. That done, Sam sits back and breaths a minute. He gathers up his supplies and moves them off the table.
"Dean?" Sam calls gently as he uses the wash cloth to clean away the rest of the blood and vomit on his brother. His brother makes a pained whine and shivers, but he's starting to come around. Sam shuffles through his bag, finding his last clean white tee shirt. He folds it carefully and lays it over his brother like a blanket.
Without much more he can do right now, Sam pulls the takeout container over and starts eating his almost cold breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast. He sets aside portions for his brother, wondering when Dean will wake up again. Sam has thought about what his brother will need, and sets a bottle cap of water near Dean's food. As he's finishing up the last of his breakfast, Dean starts to stir.
"Sit up carefully, Dean. You were knocked out." Sam pitches his voice low and soft, trying to sound comforting.
Dean sits up, spins around, and moans. He holds his head and stares blearily at his brother. "I was hoping this was a nightmare." Then he reaches down and tries to pull the tee shirt up around his shoulders. "Dude, where's my shirt? I'm half naked here.""
Sam shrugs. "It was covered with blood and vomit. I had to cut it off to patch you up."
Biting his bottom lip and looking worried, Dean grunts. "You know it's not like I got something else to put on, Sam. You think maybe we could have tried washing it?"
"You're welcome for saving your life, Jerk." Sam huffs at his brother whose super power is obviously still intact.
Dean scowls at him. "Whatever." He lifts the bottle cap and takes a small sip of water. Waits to see if it'll stay down. Takes another. "How long was I out?"
"'Bout ten minutes. I used adhesive on your head. Couldn't stitch it. Dude, you've got to be more careful. Not only are you pretty breakable right now, you're hard to patch up." Sam's eyes suddenly well with tears he hadn't even realized he was holding back. "You could have died!" Sam snuffles.
"Relax, Sammy. I'm not dead yet. We'll find a way to fix this." Dean picks up the corner of toast with both hands and takes a bite. "God, I feel like I haven't eaten for a week." He says through a mouthful of food.
Sam smiles - seems like some things about his brother haven't changed. "You better be careful or you'll end up puking again."
"Uh, yeah, about that. Thanks for scaring the crap out of me."
Sam snorts. "You're welcome for me saving you from the big, bad roach." Sam pictures what he saw before his brother fell – the standoff between Dean Frikkin Winchester and an insect, and he giggles. Sam can't help it. Before it got scary, it was hilarious.
Dean glares at him. "I had it under control, Dude." He huffs as he picks up the little chunk of bacon and gnaws at it.
"Keep telling yourself that," Sam giggles more.
Sam knows he has to keep his brother awake because of the concussion, and keep both of them occupied while they wait for their Dad. There's no television in the cabin, and for obvious reasons they can't go to the community room, so Sam decides he'll work on the summer reading list he made for himself.
Sam'll be studying American literature his junior year, so he's chosen to read Thoreau, Emerson, Hawthorne, and Poe this summer. He figures Poe is his best bet to keep his brother interested. What Sam didn't expect was that Dean could recite long passages word-for-word, with dramatic emphasis. With Sam sitting at the table, and Dean sitting on the table still wrapped in the tee shirt, they take turns on passages of "The Raven."
The brothers are in the middle of "The Tell-Tale Heart" when they hear John and someone else at the cabin door. Both brothers inhale, and Sam closes his book and straightens up, like a soldier coming to attention, when John bursts into the room helping Bobby Singer over to a bed. Dean, though, he huddles further into the shirt, trying to become invisible.
John's barking orders as he comes in. "Sam, get the first aid kit and get over here. Bobby's hurt. Where's your worthless brother. I don't see him in bed, so he can't be so bad off that you needed to call me away from the hunt. I swear if he took off on a bender I'm going to have that boy's hide leaving you alone."
Sam brings the first aid kit, but he's so upset by what his dad just said about Dean, and by knowing his brother heard it, that he's struck dumb. With shaky hands, he helps Bobby out of his torn shirt so he and his father can clean, stitch, and bandage the claw marks across the older hunter's ribs.
Bobby is watching the younger Winchester brother carefully, and he sees the anger and grief in the set of the boy's mouth. "Sam, will you go out to the truck and get my bag? I need a clean shirt." When Sam agrees and lopes out of the cabin, Bobby turns his gaze on John.
"You haven't given the boy a chance to tell you what's wrong or why he called you, John." The gruff older man lightly chastises the other hunter.
John's hands where he was straightening out the first aid kit and putting things away grow still. He shakes his head. "I thought for sure Dean'd be here in the bed, Bobby, but he isn't and I'm afraid - really afraid – of what Sam's going to say." John's gruff voice goes even deeper, but it's barely above a whisper. "What if I've lost my boy?"
Shaking out a couple of pills from prescription pain medicine, John gives them to Bobby. He sees a water bottle on the table and goes to grab it. When he sees Dean sitting there, John shrieks. Dean backs up further and ducks into the shirt more, and Sam runs back into the cabin, slamming the door and practically throwing Bobby's bag to him.
"Dad! Dad! Stop yelling!" Sam yells at John, moving between his father and his brother. "You're going to hurt his ears."
Bobby Pulls a shirt over his head and moves up next to John, trying to see what the problem is. John's face has gone from ruddy to pale, and he is holding his hand over his mouth, eyes bugging out. Bobby turns a searching gaze over to where John is still staring, but all he sees is a table with a food container, a book, and an old shirt wadded up.
"Dean, you better come on out." Sam's using his low calming voice again, now that his dad is done. He almost wants to giggle, but realizes that hysterics won't help anything right now. Still he'll file the sound of dad shrieking like a little girl away to consider later.
Dean straightens up to the whole twelve inches he has been shrunk, still clasping the tee shirt together like a cape with one hand. His eyes are huge and his skin is pale under the gauze bandage wrapped around his head like a turban. "Umm, hey, dad, Bobby." He stammers, and then hangs his head. Clearing his throat, he tries again. "Sorry we had to call…"
