"Dean..." Charlie prompted, crouching beside the big brother; her gaze flickering between him and an unconscious Sam as the youngest Winchester was still sprawled on the floor of the Batcave's shooting range. "Seriously. How are we getting him upstairs?"
Unless...
"Oh my god..." Charlie murmured, her voice quiet and awestruck as though she had just realized. "Are you going to carry him?" she asked, ridiculously excited – maybe even disturbingly excited – about the potential of witnessing something so epically brotherly.
Just like in those books – Dean scooping up his brother and carrying him to safety regardless if Sam was a baby, a child, a teenager, or a grown-ass man.
It didn't matter.
Sam would always be Dean's little brother and therefore could always be carried by Dean...even when that little brother was a 200-pound giant.
Charlie smiled.
"You are, aren't you?" she pressed about Dean carrying his brother now. "This is amazing. Are we talking a full-on fireman carry or..."
Charlie's voice trailed off as Dean cut his eyes at her; the big brother having clearly reached his limit for her rambling.
She blinked back at him, suddenly self-conscious and anxious.
Because the next to last thing Charlie wanted to do was piss Dean off...and the last thing she wanted to do was piss Dean off about Sam.
Charlie swallowed and offered a smile – a nonverbal reminder that hey, they were all friends here.
But Dean didn't seem to care as he continued to stare at her.
Charlie swallowed again and tried to remember what to do when confronted with an angry bear – was it maintain eye contact or play dead?
She honestly couldn't recall but went with the first option, since there was already one person on the floor.
Charlie glanced at a still and silent Sam and then back to Dean. "What?"
As if she didn't already know based on Dean's expression...
"Shut up," Dean told her – his tone blunt and irritated – and then continued to hold her gaze, further emphasizing that he was serious.
Not another fucking word until Sam was safely upstairs.
Charlie nodded.
Yeah. Sure.
She loved being quiet.
Being quiet was her favorite.
Plus, that made sense – she certainly didn't want her nervous chattering to somehow distract Dean from doing whatever had to be done for an unconscious Sam who was still a bleeding, feverish mess on the floor.
But...
"Are you going to carry him?"
Because god help her, Charlie couldn't resist asking just one more time.
Dean glared.
Not another fucking word.
Charlie nodded again. "Right. Absolutely. Got it," she replied and then cringed.
Because yeah...that was her talking...again.
"Dammit..." Charlie swore, annoyed with herself.
There was a beat of silence.
Sorry, Charlie mouthed – which didn't really count as speaking if just your lips moved and there was no sound – and then stood, backing away to give the brothers their space.
Dean sighed harshly, watching her go and then ignoring her; once again solely focused on Sam and on the familiar task of waking his little brother.
Because Dean could and would carry Sam if he had to, but that was Plan B.
Plan A was...
"Hey. Sammy..." Dean called, reaching for Sam and rubbing the kid's chest.
Charlie watched from her position by the wall, thankful that Dean couldn't see her arch a skeptical eyebrow.
Because she didn't mean to be a Debbie Downer, but she doubted waking Sam was going to be that easy.
In case Dean hadn't noticed, Sam was out.
The youngest Winchester so deeply unconscious that he hadn't heard his phone ring numerous times over the past half hour...and hadn't even noticed that he was no longer alone in the shooting range.
...which further proved that Sam was out – was unresponsive and unreachable, and Dean should just save them all some time and...
Charlie blinked as Sam instantly stirred beneath Dean's touch.
Whoa.
Holy Sam Whisperer, Batman.
Notify all news sources and social media outlets with this headline – Amazing Big Brother Wakens Unconscious Little Brother with a Single Touch.
Charlie smiled and continued to watch as Sam shifted on the floor; his movements slow and weak and uncoordinated as hell...but definitely moving and definitely waking up.
She felt like cheering.
Apparently so did Dean.
"Atta boy, Sammy..." Dean praised.
The big brother always relieved when Sam started coming around whether the kid had been unconscious for only a minute or had been out for days.
"That's it, man..." Dean encouraged; continuing to rub Sam's chest, further anchoring his brother. "C'mon...wake up. Look at me."
Look at me.
There was something strangely possessive and protective in those three words, loosely translated: look at me...and only me - because I'm here...I've got you.
The realization made Charlie's heart twist in that painful way it often did when she was reminded of just how much these brothers loved each other; just how much they belonged to each other; just how much it was truly them against the world...and they were okay that.
In fact, they preferred it that way.
And yet sometimes, they let other people in – like her.
Charlie swallowed against the urge to cry, freshly grateful for that privilege and loving these guys more than she should.
Thank you, she told them in her heart and would tell them aloud once Dean allowed her to speak again.
Charlie twitched a smile and refocused on her favorite pair of brothers.
"Sammy..." Dean was saying.
Sam scrunched his face; his head slowly turning in the direction of Dean's voice.
...which was what all children across all species did when their parents called – they turned in that direction.
Charlie was just sayin'.
She twitched another smile, glad that Dean couldn't read her thoughts; glad that Dean was ignoring her right now as she openly gawked at the brotherliness on display.
It was beautiful.
Charlie sighed.
"Sammy..." Dean called again, his hand no longer rubbing Sam's chest but just resting there.
The big brother patient and waiting as long as Sam eventually opened his eyes and said something.
Because that's what Dean wanted – to see Sam staring back at him; to hear his brother telling him that he was okay...even though Dean would promptly call bullshit because Sam was not okay.
But that was their routine when one of them was sick or hurt, and Dean desperately needed it now.
Seconds passed.
And in the next moment, Sam's eyes blinked open.
Dean smiled, feeling that familiar mixture of love and gratitude swell in his chest.
There you are, little brother.
Dean nodded at the disoriented kid still blinking up at him.
There you are.
Dean's smile lingered. "'Bout damn time..." he said instead.
Charlie quirked a smile of her own at Dean's transparent bitching.
Because macho, badass hunters didn't tell their little brothers that they were scared; that they were worried; that they loved them too much to even think about losing them.
But that was all there.
All right there between the lines.
Charlie heard it, and she was sure that Sam had heard it, too.
Or at least Sam would've heard it if he was aware enough to process speech right now.
But that didn't seem to be the case.
Charlie wrinkled her nose, freshly concerned by how dazed Sam looked just laying there on the floor of the shooting range, silently blinking up at Dean.
Dean narrowed his eyes, concerned as well. "Hey..." he called to Sam. "Look at me," he ordered, waiting for his brother to actually focus on him. "Better," he praised when Sam finally did. "Now, say something..."
Like it was Sam's duty to perform tricks as soon as he woke up from being knocked out...or from passing out – they still didn't know which had happened.
"Sam..." Dean prompted when his brother didn't respond quick enough. "C'mon, man. Don't keep me waiting. You know I only wait for hot women and warm pie."
Dean smiled and winked as he teased his brother, once again rubbing Sam's chest to help the kid focus.
Charlie snorted.
Hot women and warm pie.
Oh, Dean...
But the humor was lost on Sam.
Dean frowned at his quiet brother. "Sammy..."
And Charlie noted the warning tone this time, like Sam had one more chance to perk up and say something before –
"Mmm..."
Charlie blinked and then smiled.
Because yeah, Sam didn't just suddenly sit up and start a conversation with them, but that sound...or hum...or whatever it was...was definitely made with purpose – which meant they were getting somewhere.
But Dean didn't seem quite as impressed.
The big brother arched an eyebrow at the mumbled sound as Sam shifted on the floor beside him.
"I guess that's better..." Dean reluctantly allowed. "But I wanna hear words, Sam. C'mon, man. You're starting to freak me out here..."
Charlie nodded, slightly surprised that Dean had admitted that.
But it had been several minutes since Sam had opened his eyes, and he had yet to say or do anything.
So...
Charlie chewed on her bottom lip, not sure what to make of that.
Dean continued to watch his brother.
Sam once again shifted on the floor, a soft moan escaping as he squinted at the lights above; the harsh glare intensifying the pain that throbbed in his head, making it impossible to think about anything else...especially the effort of speaking.
Sam's muscles tensed under Dean's hand.
Dean further narrowed his eyes at Sam's obvious discomfort, glancing up at the lights and then back at his brother, immediately realizing the problem.
Charlie looked up as well.
Okay. They were lights. So what?
But Dean viewed them differently; saw them as his brother saw them.
...which was why Dean was taking care of Sam and Charlie was on mandatory nonverbal lockdown over by the wall, allowed to silently observe and nothing more.
She sighed.
"Hang on, Sammy..." Dean urged, still resting his hand on Sam's chest but settling his other hand over his brother's forehead, cupping his fingers to shield the kid's sensitive eyes.
Charlie watched, once again touched more than she expected by such a simple gesture.
"There..." Dean commented, his palm casting a shadow over Sam's face and effectively blocking the lights. "Better?"
Sam nodded and sighed, visibly relaxing as the pain behind his eyes marginally decreased.
Dean visibly relaxed as well, more at ease if Sam was more at ease.
That's how it worked between them.
Charlie nodded.
"Good," Dean praised about Sam's lessening pain, though there was nothing else about this situation that fit that description.
Nothing else was good right now.
But if Dean shielding Sam's eyes made his brother feel better, then good.
Especially since Dean knew the headache Sam had earlier that morning had to be raging now that the kid had smacked the hell out of his head on a freakin' concrete ledge and was finally awake enough to realize it.
Not to mention that Dean could definitely still feel Sam's fever now that his hand was on his brother's forehead again...and fevers always made Sam's head hurt.
Dean sighed, watching Sam blink up at him; his brother drowsy and confused. "You with me?"
Sam nodded.
Dean did the same. "Then let's hear some words..."
Charlie smiled.
Because Sam should know that Dean was not letting this "talk to me" routine go unless Sam said something...and Charlie would bet anything that Sam would say...
"Dean..."
Charlie grinned.
Jackpot, baby!
Jack. Pot.
Oh, yeah.
Did she know these guys...or did she know these guys?
Charlie inwardly squealed with delight while keeping calm, cool, and collected in appearance.
She was awesome like that.
Charlie nodded in agreement with her awesome self and redirected her attention to the brothers, not wanting to miss a second of this.
"Dean..." Sam repeated.
And this time, Dean smiled; the big brother having clearly expected Sam to call his name before the kid said anything else.
And knowing that Dean was happy about that – was relieved by that – only made Charlie happier and more relieved, too.
This was a good sign.
Finally...
"Dean..." Sam called once more, sounding more alert each time he spoke.
"Yeah, Sammy..."
Sam blinked, seeming to suddenly realize that he was on the floor...and being a little freaked out about it.
"What..."
But that was as far as Sam got before wrinkling his nose at the familiar metallic taste coating the inside of his mouth and trying to swallow it down.
Because while Dean had wiped most of the blood from Sam's face earlier, the blood still lingered in Sam's mouth, clinging to his tongue and making his speech slow and thick.
Dean waited, as used to this as Sam was these days.
Sam swallowed again. "What happened?"
Dean huffed a humorless laugh. "I don't know. I wasn't here."
Charlie glared in silent warning.
Because no, Dean – you don't get to do that.
Not everything is your fault.
But Dean wasn't looking at her.
Charlie sighed.
"I've got a damn good idea, though..." Dean continued about what he suspected had happened in the shooting range to land Sam unconscious on the floor. He paused, staring at his brother. "You don't remember?"
Sam seemed to think about it.
Charlie frowned.
But Dean didn't seem worried.
And Charlie guessed that made sense – that anybody who had recently collided headfirst with concrete probably wouldn't be too sharp or quick on the uptake.
"Sammy..." Dean prompted, still crouching beside his brother; one hand on Sam's chest while the other continued to shield the kid's eyes from the lights above. "Do you remember what happened?"
"'S a little hazy..." Sam admitted, his voice quiet and hoarse; already tiring from this brief conversation. "I think...I think I was practicing."
Dean nodded again. "Your aim?"
Charlie pulled a face.
Well, of course his aim.
What else did you practice in a shooting range?
Cartwheels?
Jeez.
Sam nodded, answering Dean's question.
Dean paused, hesitant to ask how that practice had gone.
Because Sam's earlier performance in the shooting range had been worse than when the kid was first learning to shoot.
And that was bad.
But what the hell...
Dean sighed. "And...?"
Sam blinked at him. "I hit the white part."
...meaning the white part of the target.
Dean nodded at the news, keeping his poker face firmly in place. "That's better than before," he pointed out and smiled at his clearly disappointed and still embarrassed little brother.
Charlie shifted where she stood.
Awkward...
"Don't worry about it, Sammy," Dean told the kid still blinking up at him. "Once you feel better, your aim will get better," he assured confidently. "But we've got other things to worry about right now...like getting you better."
Charlie nodded her wholehearted agreement.
Sam smiled weakly at Dean's open concern. "Thanks..."
Dean nodded.
Charlie felt all warm and fuzzy inside.
There was a beat of silence.
Sam sighed and swallowed. "I taste blood."
The comment made Charlie cringe.
But it was the way Sam casually said it that really unnerved her.
Like hey...it's Wednesday, and I taste blood.
No big deal.
Charlie glanced at Dean to gauge his reaction.
But Dean only nodded. "Yeah, I know."
Because he had wiped the blood from Sam's face earlier; could still see the remnants of it around Sam's mouth and smeared over his lips and even on the kid's teeth when Sam spoke.
Sam sighed again, briefly closing his eyes. "'M head hurts, too..."
"I bet it does," Dean agreed, glancing at the gash at Sam's hairline still sluggishly oozing blood. "That's what you get for faceplanting on a concrete ledge."
Sam opened his eyes and scrunched his face at the description, then winced when the expression ignited fresh throbbing across his forehead. "Ow."
Dean snorted at Sam sounding like he was five-years old again. "Well, don't do that..." he lightly admonished about Sam making faces. "I just told you – "
" – 's that why my mouth hurts, too?" Sam interrupted, carefully saying each word as if he had just realized that it was painful to talk.
Dean frowned at the question.
Because he hadn't considered that – that maybe Sam's mouth was bloody because Sam had bit his tongue or the inside of his lip when he had fallen forward.
Maybe that's why there was so much blood on Sam's face earlier and why there was still a concerning amount on the floor below Sam's chin.
And while Dean didn't want his brother to have an injured mouth, he definitely preferred that possibility rather than the fear of Sam having coughed up that much blood.
"Dean..."
"Yeah, maybe..." Dean answered his brother, though it was hard to say unless he actually looked in Sam's mouth...and he wasn't doing that now.
Dean would check out that detail once they were upstairs and had moved on to the first aid portion of the evening.
Good times in the Batcave.
Dean sighed.
Charlie continued to silently watch and listen from her position by the wall, vaguely wondering if Dean even remembered she was still there...or if Sam even realized she was.
Both brothers too focused on each other.
And that was fine.
In a strange way, it actually made Charlie happy.
Because Dean's attention should be on Sam...and of course Sam's attention would be on Dean.
After what had happened, Sam needed the reassurance of his big brother...and Dean needed to take care of his little brother.
And Charlie needed to live here forever so she could watch these two interact everyday in all of their brotherly glory.
Charlie nodded and waited for one of them to speak.
There was a beat of silence.
"Do you remember coughing?"
Sam shifted restlessly on the floor and swallowed, wrinkling his nose at the metallic taste of blood still lingering in his mouth.
"I'm always coughing, Dean."
Dean rolled his eyes. "I know that, smartass. I'm just trying to figure out what the hell happened down here while you were left unsupervised."
Sam glared weakly. "I'm not a kid."
"Could've fooled me," Dean returned dryly.
Sam's glare marginally intensified. "If I had the energy, I'd flip you off."
Charlie smiled.
Dean chuckled, encouraged by Sam's snark – just like he had taught the kid – but still concerned about his brother.
Because Sam was right – he was always coughing. Hell, even the coughing up blood had just become another part of their day over the past few weeks.
But this passing out part...that was new – that was the type of thing that made Dean never want to leave Sam unsupervised again; never let his brother out of his sight.
Because in all the ways that mattered, Sam was Dean's kid...and always would be.
Sam frowned as Dean stared at him and then winced when pain again flared across his forehead.
Dean frowned as well. "Dude, what did I tell you? Stop moving your face..."
"Stop moving your mouth," Sam replied.
Dean chuckled again at the comeback. "Dude. Lame."
Charlie smiled, thinking Sam's comeback actually sounded like something she would say.
Dean continued to stare at his brother.
Sam blinked back. "What?" he asked, the word garbled and wet from the blood still periodically pooling in his throat.
Dean shook his head. "Nothing," he replied, deciding not to tackle the issue of Sam losing consciousness right now.
Because Sam wasn't up for it...and truthfully, neither was Dean.
Dean was more concerned with getting his brother upstairs and settled; getting the kid cleaned up and changed and cooled down and dosed with meds and then tucked in bed.
They had already spent enough time down here.
Dean sighed.
Sam continued to watch him, tired and in pain but knowing something was on Dean's mind.
"It's nothing, Sammy," Dean assured, knowing Sam suspected otherwise. "We'll talk about it later, okay? Right now, I just want your gigantic ass off this floor."
Sam snorted, the sound quiet and tired. "Yeah, me too..." he agreed – still vaguely wondering how he had even ended up on the floor – and then suddenly coughed, saliva-diluted blood freshly spraying his lips.
TBC