Sam got Dean back to the motel and straight to bed.
After shoving painkillers and water into him and making sure his stitches were still in place, Sam sat on the bed beside him, holding his brother's hand until Dean's breathing evened out into sleep.
Sam sighed. He had been a dumbass, hunting that thing on his own.
Hell, Dean himself had almost died, and he was twice the hunter Sam was.
He shuddered at the memory of finding Dean's crumpled form, soaked with blood and so still.
For those first few seconds, he'd been sure his brother was dead.