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AN: Sorry for the long wait… but better late than never LOL

A super special awesome thank you to saoirsewolf, Eliza Ghost, .unwanted and Filza Tahir…. You guys are awesome! Thank you so much for your reviews! I so appreciate them *huggles*

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Definitely not a Sissy.

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It's probably the longest night Sam Winchester has experienced since… well, last night.

Dean's snoring, the coughing, the wince and grumble that inevitably follows up with a moan. He's practically doped up. He's supposed to be swimming on a cloud of seventh heaven. Instead he's still in pain.

One very small, very small… miniscule part of Sam's mind has him waking up several times at night, just to check if Dean's still breathing. Considering everything that's happened…

The other, manly part of Sam, got him playing mother hen. He makes sure the check Dean's bandages, makes sure Dean takes his meds, makes sure Dean's got enough movies to watch just so that the guy won't go running around –or try to run around.

The whole ordeal had completely wiped out Dean's metabolism. He didn't really eat, slept a lot, slept some more.

Patrick was at least comforting in this respect, he had a whole medical explanation for every occurrence and placated both John's worries and Sam's fears. He seemed to also have a perchance for explaining most incidents in unnecessary gross in-depth detail that no Winchester on earth would want to hear, but at least it was comforting to know that Dean was recovering.

Slowly. But, he was recovering.

Sam finally drags himself out of bed sometime after the clock chimes a two. It never helps anyone to pretend to be asleep when you can't even get your eyes to stay closed.

He makes himself some coffee, makes sure to double up on the caffeine. He makes one for Dean too, adds marshmallows in for a laugh. After balancing a small bowl filled with biscuits on the crook of his arm, he heads back to their shared room.

Or at least, shared by choice. There was another spare guestroom down the hall, but Sam couldn't handle that. Not being able to be there with Dean. It was usually the other way around.

"Hey," Sam says softly as he puts Dean's mug and the bowl of biscuits on Dean's side of the nightstand, "Midnight snack?"

Dean blinks blearily, clearly still haze from the medication, "What?"

Sam takes a seat on his own bed and rests against the headboard, "Snack run. You and me," Sam says and winks, "And scored you some walnut biscuits."

For some odd reason, the only time Dean would EVER eat Walnuts was when he was sick. When he was ten, a week before he broke out in Measles, he would practically use every pitstop they make to grab a bag of those little suckers. When he was seventeen and wound up with a case of Bronchitis, it was practically the only thing he wanted to eat.

Sam never questioned it.

"Mmxxtss," is the best 'Thanks' Dean could manage from his doped-up-sleep state.

He sits up and starts munching away, sighing happily after the first bite.

That made Sam smile too. At least some things always stay the same.

After a while, a few biscuits and a nut-joke too many, Dean's nodding off and his coffee mug is slowly tilting a little too far for comfort.

Sam sits up and reaches over to Dean's mug. He gently takes it from his brother's grasp and places it on the nightstand. He eyes the bowl of walnut biscuits that Dean's cradling like a Teddy Bear and decides against trying to sneak it away from Dean's grip.

"Dean, don't fall asleep with those biscuits," Sam says.

"I'm not," Dean replies, sounding practically awake.

"I know you're sleeping. Just let me take the bowl," Sam states, only to receive a full-on Big Brother glare.

"No," Dean says and can't seem to keep his eyes open long enough to really make that little 'glare' work, "Just shhh…"

"If it breaks?"

"Fine," Dean says and slowly holds out the bowl to his brother, "Don't eat 'em."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

The answer seems to satisfy Dean, he yawns and slowly shuffles down into the comforter until only his head and tousled hair's sticking out.

Sam sets the bowl down on the nightstand, making sure to move them well away from Dean's arm reach. He finally starts to feel a bit sleepy too when he checks the time again. Past three.

It was time for Dean's pain meds and since Dean was still kind-of conscious, Sam pops out two of the little green ones that seem to help Dean with the pain.

Gently Sam rests his hand on Dean's shoulder, "Dude, you need another round?" he asks, not sure if he'll get a reply.

Dean groans and sits up slightly as he takes the meds, "Whatever," he says and downs them with the glass of water that Sam hands him, "Don't eat my biscuits."

Sam chalks it up to the meds, even though he knows for a fact that those pills take at least an hour to kick in, and finally smiles, "Promise I won't."

"Werewolves are such bitches," Dean angrily snaps and throws the comforter over himself, snuggling into the softness of the fabric with a smile, "G'night, Sammy."

"'Night, Dean."

And just like that, Dean's out like a light and all's right with the world again.

It takes him about three weeks to finally be able to walk around without being hunched over. Not that he didn't make a fuss over it. It was like it was his mission in life to let them know. 'Sammy, I can't reach the remote' or 'Sam, get me some pie' or 'I heard a foot massage is great for healing' and he milks it with a grin.

But it sucked. It really sucked and you can't even take a leak without feeling like you're about to pass out. At this point he pretty much felt like a sissy, which just blows. He covers it up well enough, when he's not putting up a whiney act, it's obvious he's still in pain and the slightest twist or bend has him tensing up with a jolt of pain. Those are the times that John and Sam silently agreed to never comment on. They just do their best to preoccupy themselves as Dean carefully rises and for that slow breath of air Dean lets out before he's full of grins again.

But it passes, slowly but it passes. The pain meds lessens out until Dean's starts forgetting to take them and Patrick has to remind the guy to keep the meds on schedule. Not that Dean actually listened to the doc in the first place, unless he bribes him with a cold beer and some M&M's or pie.

It's embarrassing to think that Dean Winchester, man of action can be bought with pie. Creamy, cherry-filled pie with a just a tad crispy layer of dough that makes your mouth water. But, that's Dean for you.

He spends the last few days of recovery 'working on the Impala', which was a code-word for "I'm going taking a nap, so don't bother me".

And, later on, he really does do some work on the Impala, being able to finally get under the hood without groaning or sliding underneath without feeling like his spine's about to pop out of his tear-duct.

It pumps him up even more when Sam tells him that the next full moon was the next week and that Dad was going to stick around "Just for the hell of it". Let's face it, mushy sissy feelings aren't the Winchester way.

That's why, three days later, they finally head back to River Falls to kick this friggin' werewolf ass.

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