New chappy! Still happier with the first one(I'm a sucker for the Wee!Chesters) but I wanted to explore memories from all different times when the boys were growing up. Hope ya like.
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Chapter 2
"And what do you think my job is?
You've saved my life over and over.
I mean, you sacrifice everything for me.
Don't you think I'd do the same for you?
You're my big brother.
There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."
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Sam fumbled the keys to the hotel in his tired hand. Finally able to put the key in the lock, he turned it and opened the door. Sam immediately turned to Dean who was leaning heavily against the door frame, clutching his left shoulder and slumping forward slightly. Sam reached his hand towards Dean to guide him into the hotel room, but Dean pushed heavily off the door frame and shied away from Sam's hand.
"I got it." Dean grumbled.
"Just like you had it when that thing tried to rip your arm off?" Sam shot back quickly.
Dean responded with a low noise and walked lazily into the room. Sam followed and shut the door behind him. His hand ghosted behind Dean's back as he followed him and helped him sit down in a chair. Dean's features twisted a little in pain and he grunted quietly as he settled back into the chair.
The Hellhound they had been hunting had done quite a number on Dean, treating him liked its own personal chew toy. Sam had managed to pump a few rounds into the evil canine's back and kill it-including a couple extra shots, just for good measure-before it could succeed in relieving Dean of his left arm. Sam himself walked away from the battle with little more than a scratched up cheek and a few cuts and bruises.
Sam grabbed a bag from the corner and dumped its contents on the table next to Dean. Pain killers, bandages, a stitching kit and rubbing alcohol made up the pile that littered the table top. Dean winced as he carefully eased his shredded jacket off his shoulders.
"Great." He mumbled, eyeing and tossing aside the useless, bloodied fabric.
Sam rummaged through the medical supplies, glancing up at Dean. Worry etched lines on Sam's face.
"You alright?"
Dean looked down and ran his fingers lightly over the four, bloodied rips going across abdominal area of his shirt.
"My favorite shirt, dude." He smirked weakly up at Sam.
Sam shook his head, features stony; he didn't think Dean was taking this seriously enough.
"Let me take a look at that." He nodded his head at Dean's shoulder.
Dean sighed and shrugged as he looked at his ruined shirt.
"It's shredded to hell anyway." And he simply put his hands through the first of the four tears and ripped the bloodied fabric off his chest. The claw marks ran in diagonals across Dean's bare abs, but they weren't deep. He had gotten lucky when he managed to mostly back step the creature's razor sharp claws.
Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust at the teeth marks that marred Dean's shoulder and back. The punctures, some slightly torn from when the Hellhound pulled its jaws away, left slightly smaller than dime-sized holes in Dean's skin and exuded crimson that dried in places as it ran down his bicep. Sam poured some alcohol on a washcloth and shook his head, jaw set.
"I told you to be more careful." He said in a low voice. He pulled a chair up in front of Dean and placed the cloth on his shoulder. Dean twitched against the sting of the alcohol and bit back a groan.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Sam demanded, gently cleaning the wounds.
Dean chuckled a little. "You would have preferred to be the Hellhound's next meal?"
"Dean, you practically tackled the damn thing!"
Dean shrugged, smirking smugly. "Saved your ass." He winced as Sam wiped over his shoulder one last time and finished cleaning it.
"It was reckless, Dean. You remember what we talked about, don't ever try and-"
"Yeah, yeah." Dean sighed. "How's your..." Dean motioned with his eyes at the gashes on Sam's right cheek.
Sam glided his long fingers absently over the four wounds.
"Fine." He said quietly, heaving a heavy sigh at Dean's stubbornness and unfailing habit of changing the subject when he didn't want to talk about something; no matter how important it was. Sam had made Dean promise to take it easy ever since he made the deal. He made him promise him that he wouldn't do anything stupid or crazy that might possibly cut his days short to anything less than the given year.
Sam didn't even want to take the Hellhound case. It sounded way too risky to him-too risky for Dean-but he finally gave in when Dean just insisted that they couldn't pass this up.
Sam finished wrapping gauze around Dean's shoulder and secured it with medical tape. He moved to tend to Dean's clawed up stomach next, but Dean motioned him away.
"I can do this, you take care of yours." Dean took the fresh cloth from Sam and began work on his abdomen.
Sam sighed as he doused another one of the hotel's blindingly white washcloths with alcohol. "Bet the cleaning ladies love it when they find these things." Sam sat back and placed the cloth to his cheek, wincing at the sting. He wiped off the dried blood and held the cloth back, looking blankly at the scarlet that stained it.
Sam glanced over at Dean who had already managed to clean and dress his stomach, just now putting the last bit of tape to hold the bandage in place. Dean look satisfied with his work and he tried to stand up, making a pained face. Sam was at his side immediately, his arm hooked around Dean's. Dean scooped up the bottle of pain killers before he let Sam guide him to one of the beds. Sam propped up some pillows and Dean settled back on them, giving Sam a grateful smile. Sam gently patted Dean's uninjured shoulder and walked back to his chair. He placed the cloth back over his cuts and held it there, keeping his gaze on his brother. Dean dispersed two pills in his hand and swallowed them dry. He shifted, trying to get more comfortable. He scrunched up his face a bit and lightly massaged his injured shoulder. Dean looked up, noticing Sam's eyes on him.
"What?" He lifted his eyebrows at Sam. Sam blinked as if startled, being pulled back from the expanse of his own mind. He smiled a little and shook his head.
"Nothing, I was just..." Sam chuckled and scratched his long fingers through the back of his hair, looking down at the table to focus on a roll of medical-tape. "...Nothing."
Dean rolled his eyes, crossing his arms gingerly across his chest. "Aw, come on, Sammy. Say something to entertain me until the pain meds kick in."
Sam looked up at Dean, bouncing his foot lightly on the ground.
"Alright." He said after a moment of thought. "You...uh...remember that hunt you and Dad went on? I was about fourteen. Me and Dad had just been at each other and I refused to go on the hunt with ya'll?"
Dean furrowed his brows in puzzlement and he shook his head slowly.
Sam smiled. "Well, I guess that's expected. You and Dad were looking into a haunting in Arizona..."
September 1997
Sam sat up in his bed at The Desert Inn motel. He held a science book in his hands and read, attempting to cool down from he and his father's most recent quarrel. "To hell with him. If I'd rather study than go hunt some pissed off spirit then that's my life, not his."
Sam did feel guilty about Dean though. As always, the eldest Winchester brother had stood between Sam and John in attempts to stop what seemed like the billionth fight over the fact that Sam so stubbornly refused to follow in his father's footsteps.
It had been over four hours since John had stormed out of the room, followed reluctantly by Dean who gave Sam a sad look and shouldered his duffle before going out the door.
Sam furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate completely on the words in front of him and not on the ones passed between him and John. Deciding that he wouldn't be able to really comprehend what he was only half reading, Sam closed the book and tossed it aside. He let out a deep sigh and crossed his arms, leaning his head back against the headboard. Sleep sounded liked a winning past time and it was nearly midnight so Sam closed his eyes. He drifted between the two planes of reality and after a few minutes he drifted off to sleep.
Not long after, the door flew open and slammed into the wall, causing Sam to jump and nearly fall right off the bed. He was on his feet in a second, ready to fight, but Sam's heart fell when he saw John, supporting Dean's limp body through the doorway.
Sam rushed over and grabbed Dean's left arm that swung lazily at his side, draping it over his shoulders.
"What happened?" Sam breathed out, eyes scanning quickly over Dean's body for signs of injury.
He and john moved Dean over to one of the double-beds and laid him across it.
"Spirit appeared out of no where and knocked him unconscious. He might have a concussion."
Sam's eyes widened as their gaze fell upon a deep gash on the left side of Dean's forehead, leaking blood down the side of his face. Sam put a shaking hand to the gash but withdrew it quickly, fearing to only make the injury worse.
"Take care of him. I'm going back." John said flatly as he made his way back to the door.
"What?!" Sam grabbed his father's arm, turning him back to face him. "What do you mean, 'back'?!" He yelled.
"The job isn't finished. We got sidetracked."
Sam laughed bitterly in disbelief. "Sidetracked? You call Dean getting hurt 'sidetracked'?" Sam wasn't afraid to stand up to John; his recent growth spurt had shot him up to nearly the same height as his father.
"Glad to see you've got your priorities straight, Dad."
John ripped his arm from Sam's grip. "I don't have time to argue with you, Sam. Fix Dean up. I'll be back later."
John went out of the room and slammed to door behind him before Sam could say another word.
"Damnit!" Sam kicked the dresser angrily and turned, hurrying back over to Dean. His temper faded as quickly as it had come as Dean let out a groan and clenched his already closed eyelids in evident pain.
"Dean? Can ya hear me?" Sam gently wiped away the blood running in trails down Dean's face. Dean didn't respond except for turning his head a little in Sam's direction. Sam looked at the crimson of his brother's blood as it stained his fingers and he swallowed hard. Quickly grabbing the bag of medical supplies, Sam sat down next to Dean and assessed the severity of the gash that split his forehead.
"Son of a bitch!" Sam hissed in a low voice, vaguely realizing how much he sounded like his big brother at the moment. The cut looked deep...too deep. Sam eyed the stitching kit nervously; the idea of threading a needle and wire through his brother's flesh mad his skin crawl.
Sam took up a cloth and poured antiseptic on it. He gently put it to the gash, watching Dean's face for a reaction. No grimace or wince darkened Dean's features. Although he was glad to see that he had not inflicted any pain on his brother, Sam didn't quite like how mellow Dean was at the moment.
"Dean?" Sam gently touched Dean's shoulder, shaking him after a moment. His heart was racing; Dean didn't respond. Sam gently felt the side of Dean's neck; a strong, fast pulse hammered against his fingers. He took comfort in the pulse and decided that that and the rise and fall of Dean's chest would have to quench his fears for the time-being. He poured a bit more rubbing alcohol on the cloth and placed it over Dean's wound again. He reacted this time. Dean let out a pained, choked cry and jerked away from whatever it was that was stinging his forehead. Sam startled.
"Hey, hey it's alright."
Dean breathed heavily, head lolling about aimlessly. "Sammy! We have to go back...back for...for Sam." Dean rambled breathily.
Sam's eyes welled a bit. "I'm here, Dean. It's me."
Dean fisted the comforter in his hands as his feet pushed weakly against the bed. Sam put his hand lightly on Dean's chest.
"Dean? Wh-"
Dean's eyes shot open and he let out a startled noise. His hand flew up and grabbed the front of Sam's shirt, pulling him violently forward.
"Who are you!? What've you done with him!?"
Sam looked a little frightened; half from the intensity in Dean's actions and half from his deluded ramblings. "It's me, Dean. Sam...Sammy."
Dean blinked groggily, chest rising and falling heavily, and his grip on Sam's shirt loosened.
"S-Sammy?"
Sam nodded, smiling weakly. Dean let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, face relaxing as if relieved. His hand released its grip and moved around lazily, seeming to seek something. It caught Sam's hand and squeezed it tightly. Sam returned the gesture, trying not to wince as Dean's vice of a grip constricted his fingers.
"You ok?" He asked quietly.
Dean just chuckled lightly. His fingers loosened around Sam's as he drifted from consciousness again. Sam knew it wasn't really a good thing for Dean to sleep when he had a possible concussion, but he sure as hell didn't want to have to stitch him up while he was awake, so Sam made the best of it.
He took in a deep breath and let Dean's hand go, a little reluctantly. He reached for the sewing kit and slowly prepared the needle. Sam threaded the wire and looked over at Dean's sleeping face. He exhaled carefully and brought the needle over to the gash. Sam set his jaw and slipped the needle through both sides of Dean's wound, inwardly rejoicing when Dean didn't start screaming his lungs out or throwing punches.
Sam finished the stitches, relatively pleased with his work, and taped gauze over the neat row of wire. Dean shifted in his sleep and mumbled something inaudible as Sam returned the medical supplies to their bag. Sam gave him a worried look and scooted off the bed, gathering up the bloody washcloths and tossing them in the bathroom sink. He washed his hand and went back out into the room.
Sam kept his eyes on Dean as he crossed the room and sat down in one of the hotel chairs, keeping close watch over his brother.
Ten years later in the present, Sam sat in nearly the same place, doing the same exact same thing.
"We took you to the hospital when Dad got back; just to be safe. You woke up two days later." Sam looked blankly at the carpet at his feet as he relived every second he was describing. Dean looked intently at Sam as he told the story that he couldn't seem to remember.
"I stayed by your side as much as the nurses allowed. You kept mumbling, sleeping restlessly. I was worried your injury was more severe than me and Dad expected." Sam looked up at Dean. "You scared the hell outta me."
Dean gave him a lopsided, almost apologetic, smile and looked down at his hands.
"I think I do remember a little after that." He said after a moment. "I kinda remember..." Dean paused, narrowing his eyes a bit. "Didn't...Didn't Dad get a black eye from that hunt?"
Sam held back a smile and looked quickly away from Dean as he fiddled with a box of gauze. "It's a thought."
Sam had never told Dean the fact that when John finally got back from that hunt, Sam had met him outside, given him an earful and clocked John in the right eye. Sam was absolutely livid that his father had left at a time like that. That he'd left him with his injured brother with nothing to do but worry endlessly about whether Dean would be ok or not.
Sam normally would not feel the need to smile when reminded of such a morose memory, but there was one aspect that made this one not entirely terrible. A few moments after Sam's fist had collided with his father's face, after John had time to recover from the shock and pain of being punched by his youngest, he had given Sam a respectful look; he had damn near smiled. John then nodded once and clapped Sam on the shoulder, disappearing into the hotel room.
Sam had stood there, frozen, hands still clenched into fists; the right one throbbing painfully with each pump of his rapid heart beat. He had expected a fight, hell Sam was prepared for it and was willing to go through with it. Hitting his father felt exhilarating and odd at the same time. Sam never would have guessed John would react the way that he did.
Sam smiled at the memory because that had been the single most bizarre and confusing moment of his entire life. Even taking into account all the things he had hunted, that moment held fast to the gold medal; only rivaled by waking up from the bottomless darkness of death and sidestepping a demonic virus.
Dean's voice pulled Sam off his train of thought.
"What?" Dean asked, a slight, curious smile playing at the corners of his lips. Sam chuckled and shook his head.
"Nothing." He tapped the box of gauze against the table top. "Just glad you're alright." Sam smiled thankfully at Dean.
Dean smiled back and looked away from Sam, scratching the back of his head and clearing his throat quietly.
Over two years of basically never being removed from each other's company was more than long enough for Sam to learn Dean's body language whenever anything remotely constituting as a chick-flick moment presented itself.
Sam smiled knowingly and offered his word of redemption. "Jerk."
Dean grinned appreciatively and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall.
"Bitch."
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Ahh I am quite the sucker for the "Bitch" "Jerk" moments : )
Ok, so wasn't entirely sure if Sam punching John and him reacting that way was realistic, but I could picture it well, so I went with it.
Hope ya'll liked the chappy!
It's Dean's turn to reminisce next. More Wee!Chester in the upcoming chapters.
Reviews are a many splendid thing, reviews are like oxygen, reviews lift us up where we belong, all you need is reviews.
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