A/N: Still not mine, still keeping my fingers crossed that one day *drifts off into daydream about what to do with the Winchester boys et al*

Day Eight

The first time Dean wakes, it doesn't last long. He opens his eyes long enough to work out he's no longer in the cellar. And that's about as much as he can manage before he's asleep again.

The second time Dean wakes he manages to turn his head to the side, to look at the man sitting beside him, hand on his arm. He stays awake long enough to realise he's in no immediate danger, although he's still not sure he's not dead.

The third time he wakes, Sam's ready for him.

As he slowly becomes aware of the soft lighting in the room he's in, he feels a hand running gently through his hair and for one brief minute he imagines Mom's touch on his head. Reality always has a habit of kicking in though and the next thing he's aware of is a throbbing pain in his legs and a killer of a headache.

He thinks he's hungry but it could be thirst because as soon as Sam realises he's awake there's a glass of cold water and a straw in front of his face, a cool, strong hand at the back of his neck. And that first sip is oh, so good.

He doesn't understand why the drink is taken away from him so soon. He can hear a voice talking to him but his concentration is on that glass so near and yet so far from him. Eventually the voice stops being noise and starts being words. Words he can't understand but in a tone he knows so well.

He leans back into the touch at the base of his skull, seeks sanctuary within the strong fingers curling round the nape of his neck. He's beginning to recognise more things around him. He knows the hand belongs to Sam, he can smell his brother's breath, subtly minty with hints of coffee, and he knows he can relax at last.

He closes his eyes and falls forward onto Sam's shoulder.

*****

Sam lets Dean rest his head on his shoulder. He leaves his hand where it is, reluctant to let go. Dean is trembling slightly which he supposes is only to be expected after the ordeal he's been through. He feels helpless but at the same time he knows this is what Dean needs right now.

He's surprised to feel Dean's hand snake round his back. Dean Winchester does not hug people. Ever. Sam knows it's bad if Dean is the one reaching out for physical comfort. It's normally Sam who instigates solace when he thinks it's needed. He tightens his fingers around his brother's neck and rests his chin softly on top of Dean's head, ignoring the grime and grease in his hair.

Dean's trembling, he notes, has got worse. His brother is borderline shaking and Sam doesn't know what's causing it. He looks to Bobby who is hovering inconspicuously in the corner of the room, there if he's needed. But Bobby just shakes his head and tells Sam quietly that Dean just needs a little time.

So Sam moves his hands until he's holding Dean properly and Dean melts into his brother's embrace.

*****

Bobby watches the brothers from the corner of the room. He's a little more dispassionate than Sam in this whole affair. Not much, admittedly, but enough to be able to take an objective view.

He's happy Dean has woken up and appears to be staying awake for more than five minutes this time. He's a little worried by his flushed face and when Sam is done, he's going to see how hot the boy is. He's ready with the antibiotics but redressing the wounds can wait until Dean is asleep again. Or unconscious, he muses. He hopes with all his heart it will be the former but he knows how Winchester luck goes.

He watches as Dean collapses into his brother's arms and wonders whether to worry or be relieved. He can remember many occasions when he's witnessed this scene in reverse over the years. He remembers Dean consoling a heart broken eight year old on having to leave another school, another best friend. He remembers an older brother holding a little brother through the pain of a first failed love affair. He remembers Dean comforting Sam after another argument with Dad. He knows Sam is repaying his brother and more, and it's a brave man who'd come between the two boys in front of him.

He quietly lets himself out of the room, leaving the brothers to themselves, allowing them the space and privacy to reconnect.

*****

Sam hears the door click shut and doesn't need to look up to know what Bobby's done. He appreciates the man being here but he loves him even more for knowing when to back off.

He turns his attention back to Dean, back to the brother he can't help but feels he's somehow failed. Dean's skin is hot but not worryingly so. Sam is more concerned by the shaking that has taken over his body. He tightens his hold, careful not to aggravate any injuries his brother has sustained when he notices a dampness on his shoulder.

He has to look twice to be sure because Dean Winchester, fearless hunter, older brother, superhero, does not cry. But he is. Because right now he's not being a hunter or an older brother or a superhero. Right now he's a little boy, hurting inside and out and he's clinging on to the one constant in his life. The one thing he's learnt to rely on and trust more than anything or anyone else in the world.

The tears soaking into Sam's shirt burn away at his soul. Every drop breaks his heart a little bit more because he wants to take the pain away. He would do anything to make this easier for his brother to get through. But he doesn't know what demons Dean's fighting. Dean's not ready for that conversation yet. Any conversation.

So he holds his brother a little longer, his own face damp, and when Dean shudders through another suppressed sob, he lowers his face into Dean's hair and hangs on just a little tighter.

*****

Dean feels the arms around him closing in and yet he doesn't feel trapped. For the first time in days – he doesn't know how many – he feels safe. He feels protected and loved. He's not one for emotional outpourings and he doesn't really understand this feeling. He's a little overwhelmed by the rush of tenderness from the body next to his and it's breaking down his barriers. Barriers he's spent years and years erecting.

He knows it's only Sam but that doesn't make it any better. He's spent his whole life being the strong one and to find himself in this position is humiliating. He doesn't do weak and feeble and he certainly doesn't need anyone to cuddle him through his nightmares. That need left when Mom left. He doesn't want to be vulnerable, not in front of anyone, not even his little brother who knows him better than he probably knows himself.

But he is. He is vulnerable and he needs this. He needs Sam to look after him and care for him. There were times, a lot of times, he didn't think he'd be coming home and he was so scared. He can't find it in him to care if Sam treats him like a four year old for a while. He's tired and so what if he's clinging to his brother for dear life? That's what brothers are for he decides.

*****

Sam knows the exact moment Dean comes back to himself. He feels his brother's muscles taughten and can tell almost to the second when Dean will pull back from him, retreat into himself and Sam doesn't know if he'll ever get him back.

But he doesn't want to push Dean and when Dean finally moves away he gets a proper look at his face. He ignores the puffy red eyes, focuses on the green beneath, tries to read his brother's mind. Once upon a time he could read Dean like a book but then something happened. Sam doesn't know what or when but one day Dean just put up the shutters not even Sam could break through.

Now though, the shutters are only half closed and Sam can see beyond the mask. Probably, he thinks, because Dean's not himself yet. How could he be? He's only been back a day and nearly all of that has been spent asleep, or unconscious. Sam can see the residue of fear in his face mixing with relief and a hint of embarrassment. One day Sam will mock Dean for the embarrassment, but not now, probably not for years to come.

Sam watches as Dean lies back on the lumpy pillows of the motel bed. He ignores his brother's grimaces as aches and pains are jolted by the action. He rests a hand briefly on Dean's forehead, checking his temperature. He gives Dean a long, appraising look, decides it's time to start the antibiotics. He doesn't know if Dean will keep them down, after all he's looking painfully malnourished, he doubts high cuisine was on offer for his brother, but the sooner they start the medication, the sooner Dean will heal.

*****

Miraculously Dean keeps down the foul pills Sam insists on him swallowing. He feels the water he washes them down with hit his empty stomach and for a few minutes he's convinced they're going to make a reappearance. Judging by the look on Sam's face he's thinking the same thing. Sam even grabs the trash can, just in case.

When he's happy everything is going to stay in place, Dean looks up at Sam. He's a sight for sore eyes, Dean thinks, and he briefly wonders what the matter is. Sam shouldn't be that tired, that gaunt and hollow round his eyes. Then it all comes crashing back to him. He can't help but close his eyes against the rush of memories, the vestiges of sights, sounds and smells that assailed him over the last week.

Sam's hand on his arm is a welcome touch. It brings him back to the present, back to the motel room and his brother. Reminds him he's safe now. Grounds him. Gives him the strength to try out his voice.

"S'm?"

Dean seems to remember his voice working better than that last time he tried it and it makes him wonder what else isn't working like it used to. But he doesn't have time to worry about it for long because Sam's face is there and his mouth is moving but Dean can't seem to hear any words. Exhaustion has swept over him like a lover's caress and as he closes his eyes he finally makes out two words, the sweetest words he's ever heard.

"You're safe."

*****