Summary: Snapshots showcasing Sam and Dean's unique bond as brothers, all the way from Sam being a baby up to adulthood. Only Dean knows exactly what Sam needs and in the process Sam becomes all Dean needs too. They make it through pain, fear and hurt because they have each other.
A/N: I might add to this if inspiration strikes me at some point, but at the moment anyway there are 5 parts to this, in chronological order - starting shortly after Mary was killed, with Sam as a baby, and ending just after Dean's return from Hell. This is quite long, so to anyone making it through the full thing - thanks for sticking it out.
Disclaimer: All characters are borrowed
Warnings: None really, some swearing
Only Dean
I
Only Dean knew the precise moment when baby Sammy felt soothed enough to allow himself to be put down for a nap or for the night. John rubbed his hands over his tired and stubbly face, swallowing down the roaring scream of frustration that had lodged itself in his throat. The motel room looked like all others had done over the last couple of months - nothing like the family home back in Lawrence, and nothing like a place to raise children but what choice did he have? He needed his revenge. He needed justice and he needed meaning.
Without it he was useless. Powerless. A lost and beaten mad man. A husband without a wife.
A father who couldn't soothe his own baby son. He wanted to punch his way straight through a wall when Sam cried like he did now, his round face red with the effort and his small hands balled up in desperate fists. John had sent Dean into the bathroom for a bath, and he had repeated the instruction, perhaps a bit too harshly, when Dean had hesitated - mouth opening to offer to stay and take care of Sammy instead.
"NOW Dean. Don't make me tell you again, son!"
Dean had nodded, mouth drawn into a thin line of obedience. John silently cursed himself, it was so rare for Dean to speak at all since the night his mother had died, and now he had stopped him before he could even make an attempt. He missed the sound of his first born's voice. He missed his laugh, his curious questions about the world at night and his content little sighs as he allowed himself to fall asleep mid bedtime story.
But John doesn't read bedtime stories anymore and Dean doesn't really talk or laugh now. He whispers to Sammy in the night though, if the baby stirs or wakes up and if John stays perfectly still then, holding his breath, he can just about make out the tiny murmurs of 'you're okay' and 'I'm here, you're safe'.
He wants to cry in those moments because unless he can hunt down the monster that broke his family, he's not sure for how long almost five year old Dean can keep that promise to his baby brother.
Sam's legs are kicking angrily, feet hidden by the footsie pyjamas Dean's put him in at some point during the evening. John tends to forget, he knows he gets distracted by old lore books, printouts and photo copies from the local library or case files stolen from the local PD, and before he knows it, he's finished off his bottle of Jack and his two boys are asleep somewhere and he's forgotten to say goodnight or help them brush their teeth. He's forgotten everything but the fact that their mother was stolen from them.
With Sam's wailing he's not even managed to start tonight's research and he knows it's not the baby's fault. He knows it but damn it he's tired. He rubs his palm over his face again, grunting in frustration before he turns to the squirming baby lying next to him on the cheap, stained couch.
"Just sleep!" He urges baby Sam and he groans loudly when that just makes Sam's crying worse. It's almost scary to watch the tiny child tremble with something John can't seem to understand, his reddening cheeks wet with desperate tears and John pleads with him. "Please, please Sammy…"
There is a soft smell of soap (and red apples) as Dean suddenly appears by his side, blond hair in messy, wet spikes on his head and his cheeks rosy. He's wearing pyjama bottoms that are slightly too short for him in the legs, but still hanging loosely on his hips because John forgets to buy groceries and meal times sometimes too, and he wants to sink down on his knees and bury his face in his oldest son's damp hair. He wants to hold him and breathe him in but he can't. He can't give in now. He has to push on. If he lets himself stop now, he doesn't know if he'll ever find the strength to get up again.
Dean wordlessly climbs up onto the couch, heaving himself up on his knees struggling a little with the height of it, suddenly reminding John with heartbreaking force just how young Dean is himself. Dean places his small hand on baby Sam's stomach and the baby instantly goes from wailing at the top of his lungs to sucking in short gulps of air, his big brown eyes round and glassy as they take in his big brother as he leans in over him. Dean gives his baby brother a small smile and Sam's tiny fist wraps around one of Dean's small fingers, hanging on for dear life and John mutters a short thank you to the older boy.
Dean giggles quietly as he runs his thumb gently over Sammy's bottom lip, making the baby suck it into his mouth, looking content, looking up dreamily at his big brother. John tries to file away the sound of the quiet little laugh from Dean. Wants to lock it away within himself.
"It's okay, dad," Dean tells him, sounding older than he is, and John knows it's not. Knows that he's broken along with his little family.
Moments later John reaches for his bottle of lukewarm beer on the kitchen table, at the exact time as Dean gets up on his tippy toes next to him to reach the bottle of formula he's slowly been heating in the pot of simmering water on the shitty motel stove with two rusty burners. John closes his eyes against the burn of unshed tears behind his eyes as he takes a long swig from the beer bottle.
Only Dean knew how to make formula the way that Sam liked it.
II
Bobby Singer peers down at the pair by his feet, fingers scratching at the back of his head, making the greasy cap on his head push forward slightly on his head. He releases a big sigh, resistance falling away as he accepts defeat. John's eyes are not pleading, more like glinting with something dangerous and Bobby's not afraid of him, but he's certainly worried for him.
None of this is going to end well. None of it.
"I don't even know what to feed them," he tries glancing at John and the younger Hunter takes that to mean that Bobby will take the boys in and drops a small duffel on the porch.
"Anything, Bobby. Don't worry about it."
John hurries back to the car to fetch another, smaller bag and Bobby lets his gaze fall back onto the two small boys standing frozen in place next to the duffel.
"Dean's quiet, you won't notice he's even here half the time, and Sam," John says, head still in the trunk of the car, "well you just leave him to Dean, alright?"
Bobby raises his eyebrows in a mix of curiosity and disbelief, the shorter of the pair hanging on to the older for dear life. The smaller boy has what Bobby recognises as an old child-sized, worn flannel shirt gathered safely under one arm, chin tucked down into the fabric for comfort and and his other hand clasped in the protective hand of his big brother - whom, Bobby thinks, is most likely the previous owner of the shirt that's now taken on the role of snuff blanket.
His hazel eyes are big and round like saucers as he peers up at Bobby through impossibly long eyelashes. The older boy stares off into space and Bobby is about to ask him if he's alright when he suddenly hears the roar of the Impala starting up and both boys flinch at the sound, but neither say anything.
"Hey!" Bobby calls, hurrying down the steps. "When will you be back for them?"
"I'll be back as soon as I can!" John calls through the lowered window of the car and he gives Bobby a quick wave as he pulls the car around, sending gravel flying.
"What the hell does that mean?" Bobby mutters to himself under his breath before steeling himself. What the hell is he going to do with the damn kids dumped on his front porch?! He knows fuck all about taking care of kids. He tries to plaster a smile on his face as he turns back around to face the two boys and he goes back to pick up their bags and whatever their father had deemed important enough for them to bring for this spur of the moment sleepover at a damn salvage yard.
"Well, you better come inside then," Bobby offers weakly as he steps inside and for a second or two the boys stay frozen in place so he drops the bags on the floor and reaches out to pick the smaller boy - Sam, to lift him inside but the second he gets too close the older boy steps in-between them, breath hitching in his chest, eyes wide. His gaze is bright green, freckles golden and dusted over his face and Bobby takes a quick step back.
"Alright," he nods. "Do you want to take him inside?"
Sam grabs with short arms at Dean's waist from behind him, pressed into his brother's back and Bobby watches in silent fascination as the older boy - who can't be older than six or seven, watches the open door warily, assessing the safety of the unknown space. Bobby can practically see his little mind cataloging and processing - determined to be prepared for all and any unknown dangers before he takes his little brother anywhere.
"Come, Sammy," Dean speaks softly then, eyes warm as they seek out his little brother who's still huddled behind him. Dean twists, shoots his little brother a small, reassuring smile - a smile that Bobby can see straight through, and realises with sadness pooling deep inside him, is only for Sammy's benefit. Dean himself is tense. He holds himself like a tiny soldier, ready for an ambush but he reaches down and hoists his brother up into his arms.
Bobby frowns at the sight. Dean isn't all that big himself, almost dangerously thin, but he realises that only Dean is allowed to pick this kid up.
Over the next few hours he realises that only Dean is allowed to do a lot of things. Some because Sam, two and a half years old, Bobby finds out, won't let Bobby do them instead - like hold his snuff blanket flannel for him and some because Dean won't allow it. Like when Sam accidentally walks into the dog's water bowl, splashing cold water over his sock clad feet and Bobby tries to take the wet socks off.
Sam's sitting slightly shocked on the floor, legs sticking out before him, toes wiggling against the soggy fabric and Bobby's just crouched down in front of him, muttering that it's okay, they'll get the mop out and clean it all up. He reaches out for the little foot in front of him when there is a small hiss behind him that stops him in his tracks.
"It'll be okay, Dean," Bobby offers, glancing at Sam's big brother over his shoulder. "He just got his socks wet. We can hang them up to dry. They'll be as good as new."
Dean isn't looking at Bobby though, he's looking at Sam and Bobby swears he can see an entire conversation hanging silently in the air between the two children. Sam blinks up at Dean and without a word exchanged between them it seems to have been decided that Bobby can proceed, and Dean gives Bobby a tiny nod.
"Okay, why don't you grab your brother some dry socks out of your bag?" Bobby suggests and Dean looks between his baby brother and a the bag that's all the way out by the front door still and Bobby resists the urge to swear out loud because how can he possibly begin to figure out what to do for these two boys that can't last a second without having each other in sight.
"It's okay Dean, Sam's not going anywhere. Let's get the little bug some dry socks, huh?"
Dean nods again, reluctantly starting to move and Bobby gives Sam's foot a little squeeze making Sam smile a dimpled smile at him that at least makes him feel like he's not fucked this up too badly yet.
He makes up the two single beds in the guest room with clean sheets and moves a table lamp in from the study, placing it on the bedside table that sits between them. The bulb is a softer colour in that one and he figures it will do better as a nightlight than the little reading light that's normally there.
After managing to feed them, get Dean to take Sammy with him into the bath and gathering their dirty clothes into the hamper he himself had stopped using when his wife died, Bobby gently ushers them into the room and quickly realises that it was in no way necessary for him to make up both beds.
Dean lifts Sammy up onto the bed and then climbs in after him. The youngest boy shuffles down his big brother's small frame and seems to slot in perfectly at his side, his curly head tucked safely under Dean's chin.
Bobby learns over the next few days, that turns in to weeks, that Sam will only sleep if Dean's in the room with him and Dean - well he barely sleeps at all.
III
Sam's untied boots are crunching against the snow, heavy wet flakes settling into a crust of ice as the temperature falls even further by the minute. He hurries down the narrow path, only marked by the slowly fading shoe prints from his brother. Sam hugs the winter coat in his arms tightly against his chest, sniffling, dragging an angry fist over his eyes in a desperate attempt to remove any evidence of his tears. Stupid, stupid… stupid. He stomps through the snow, squinting in the dark that's eating away at everything around him and he follows the muffled sound of the slow thump of the axe as it makes contact with the damp log, splitting it with a sudden crack.
The coat in his arms provides some warmth to the front of his body. The only proper winter coat they have between them. It's Sam's really - though conveniently oversized ("something to grow into" Dean had said) so that it fits his older brother too. Sam wasn't sure how Dean had managed to save up for such an expensive coat for him, but his brother had ruffled his hair and said not to worry about it.
He stills for a moment as he reaches the source of the sound, watching the fragile moonlight as it catches on the blade of the axe before his brother drives it through its next target with a muffled, tired groan.
"Dean," Sam finds the courage to speak up, determination mixing with the pure anger that's rising within him, at the sight of Dean's nearly blue fingers, wrapped around the handle of the heavy axe.
"Not now, Sam," Dean grinds out, not lifting his eyes. Sam feels himself tremble in the cold, and he desperately wants and needs Dean's warm and safe gaze. He wants to bathe in that look of wonder Dean always finds within him, for him. That look of pride and almost astonishment, over the fact that he gets to keep and take care of his Sammy.
Sam stubbornly holds the coat out towards his brother and his broken tone finally makes Dean lift his eyes towards him.
"Please, Dean…"
Dean identifies the article of clothing in his little brother's arms and huffs in annoyance.
"Sam, go back inside."
"I won't leave until you take this."
For a moment they stand there, staring each other down but the cold is biting at Sam's cheeks and hands and soon he can't stop the tremors from showing and Dean's face softens into worry instead.
"Sam go, before dad catches you out here."
"I c-can help," Sam offers then, big brown eyes shiny with what Dean knows is tears and he wants to go pick his brother up like he used to when Sam was little.
"It'll go faster."
"No," Dean points out, his tone gentle. "You know that's not the point of this, dad has asked me to complete this, so I will complete this. Go back inside, Sammy before you get sick."
"Screw dad!" Sam snaps and Dean swings the axe, splitting the frozen piece of wood into two, before re-stacking it to split it a second time. He can't feel his toes anymore and he's slowly losing the sensation in his hands but he doesn't mind much. Going numb will be better than the biting, hot pain that was eating at his frozen skin up until now.
"Don't say that, he's just…" Dean drags in another deep breath of icy cold air, forcing his stiff muscles to move the axe with enough force. "He's angry. He has a right to be."
"He should be angry with me!" Sam glares at Dean and his scowl only deepens when Dean responds by shooting him a quick smile.
"Well, he's not and that's fine by me."
"I didn't ask you to cover for me," Sam whines, shuffling in the cold, wet snow and Dean sighs.
"It's my job to cover for you, besides, it wasn't your fault. You're my responsibility - you're mine to keep safe, and…" Dean shakes and trembles with the cold too now and Sam sniffles loudly again, eyes red.
Only stupid, insane Dean Winchester will take the blame for stupid stuff he didn't even do, accepting punishment meant for someone else, Sam thinks, kicking at the snow at his feet swearing under his breath at his throbbing toes.
"You're going to freeze out here," Sam mutters and Dean stills, watching his brother's shoulders heave with sobs now.
"Hey, Sammy - don't cry, it's not even that c-cold," Dean lies and Sam only cries harder. He doesn't care that he's acting like a little baby. He wants Dean inside, with him.
"I hate dad."
Dean stands frozen for a second, eyes widening as Sam's harsh words sink in before he shakes his head slightly.
"You don't mean that Sam, he's j-just…" Dean shivers and flexes his frozen fingers, "he knowns I can take it, okay?"
"This is so messed up!" Sam shakes his head and Dean thinks he spots movement up at the cabin so hurries over to Sam, ushering him back up the snowed over path.
"Inside, now Sam - before dad catches you out here." Dean gives Sam's shoulder a quick encouraging squeeze and takes the warm coat from his brother. "I'll put the coat on - see. I'm going to be all w-warmed up in n-no time. Now go!"
Sam scrambles up towards the cabin on unsteady legs. He trips slightly in the snow, but manages to make it back to the front steps without falling on his face. He looks back at the form of his brother, almost not visible anymore in the pitch black and he wants to take Dean away. He wants to grab him and run away.
There is no point to Dean chopping perfect pieces of firewood out there. They have plenty inside, the logs he's splitting now have all been left out in the cold and damp all winter, and Sam knows it won't burn right. Sam knows that dad knows that too, and he knows Dean knows.
The only reason Dean is out in the cold is because dad doesn't know that it was Sam that broke the back window of the cabin earlier that day. It was Sam.
Only Dean would be so ridiculously loyal to their dad, that he would accept his punishment with a small "yes, sir" without even attempting to argue that it was an accident.
Sam can't sleep that night until he finally hears dad head out to fetch Dean. He lies perfectly still in his bed, fists clenched at his sides, fury gathering deep in his chest, wrapping itself around his heart as he hears Dean hissing in pain as his father helps him out of his boots and ushers him into the small bathroom. Sam swallows down the bile that rises in the back of his throat at the sound of their father slapping Dean across the face a couple of times to make him snap out of his semi conscious state.
Dean dutifully thanks their father afterwards and Sam forces down a frustrated scream, bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds.
Sam can't relax again until Dean is in bed and he can quickly go from his over to Dean's, shoving his cold body over to make room for himself. Dean's lips are tinged blue in the darkness and Sam's face hovers close over his as he blinks through his evident exhaustion.
"Did all of them," Dean mumbles, trying to smile at Sam, but his face is so cold that he can barely feel his own cheeks.
"Of course you did," Sam nods, stroking his warm fingers over Dean's collarbone. "Because you're an idiot."
"Big brother idiot, to you little man, thank you very much," Dean insists, sounding like he's on the brink of sleep and Sam attaches himself to his brother, arms and legs wrapped around the teen.
"You're so cold," Sam mumbles, laying his head to rest on Dean's broad chest and his brother mutters something under his breath that he can't make out.
Sam pushes his face deeper into Dean's chest, fingers wrapping around Dean's wrist out of pure habit and Dean nuzzles his face into Sam's hair.
"Thanks for the coat," he whispers after a moment and Sam smiles into Dean's soft shirt, squeezing Dean's wrist in his hand.
"Thank you for covering for me."
"Always, kiddo," Dean sighs, talking a couple of more breaths before he gives in to sleep.
IV
"Do you have a phone number for your dad?" The school nurse asks gently and Sam shakes his head. "Is he at work or at home?"
"Dean," Sam answers thickly, nose full of cotton, head tilted back to stem the flow of blood in his nostrils. He swallows and grimaces at the coppery taste at the back of his throat.
"Is that your brother?" She asks, jotting something down on a piece of paper over by the small desk and Sam mumbles yes hoping she can still make out what he's saying despite the stuffed nose.
"Okay, let's see if we can't track him down for you anyway, so he can help you home."
"Can go back," Sam suggests, not wanting to miss his History class, "it's okay."
"The principal wants you both sent home for the afternoon," she explains without looking up at him where he sits on the exam table, kicking his feet slightly. "Until they've figured out exactly what happened."
Sam knows what happened. He's the new kid, again, and he had refused some stupid initiation ritual, some lame ass tradition that involved humiliating one of the girls in the year below - chosen in a cruel game of chance, to be the victim of this test that was supposed to determine if he, Sam Winchester, was man enough to gain the respect of the cool guys. Sam couldn't give a crap about them and their respect, and he didn't at all feel like dragging some poor girl into the boys' showers, cornering her and drenching her in ice cold water, taking her bra off her as some sort of prize and evidence of his right to co-exist with the bullies. He had made it clear that it was a moronic, absolutely ridiculous thing to ask of someone and not surprisingly that had earned him a bloody nose.
Sam just wanted to get back to his History class in peace.
"I have a test to take today," he tries but the nurse shakes her head.
"We'll figure it out with Mr Higgs, maybe you can sit it next week. I'll call your brother for you."
"I can get home on my own," Sam insists then. "Not necessary to call Dean."
"School policy," she smiles. "Not allowed to let you leave without, well a guardian… but an older sibling will have to do. Besides, that's quite the bump on the back of your head there Sam. Your nosebleed is the least of your worries. It'll be good for you to have someone to keep an eye on you for the next few hours, make sure you don't get nauseous or-"
"Yeah okay, okay…" Sam sniffs, cutting her off knowing full well what a concussion feels like. "Okay, call him." He just wants to get this over with.
When Dean arrives he looks at him like only Dean can.
He appears in the doorway to the nurses office, slightly pale with worry and eyes full of possessive love. A kind of dedication and unwavering need to protect that Sam's known his entire life, but only recently has started to understand isn't something that everyone can or will understand.
Sam knows, eyes locked to Dean's, that the only reason his big brother isn't barking out a very clear order for Sam to give up just exactly who's dared lay a hand on him, is because the school nurse is still in the room and Sam is kind of grateful because the last thing he needs really is for his cocky big brother to draw even more attention to him.
"Thanks," Sam offers the nurse, his voice thick and his nose feeling full and stiff. He removes the cotton that's been stuck up his nostrils for a good 25 minutes now and grimaces at the strange, crusty layer of blood that's drying on his upper lip. "Sorry about the…" he trails off, waving a hand towards the drops of crimson liquid on the floor and the bloody handprint he's managed to leave on the desk.
"That's okay," the nurse smiles at him. "You just head on home now, Sam."
Dean just nods at the nurse and steps aside to let Sam pass him in the doorway. Sam feels the way Dean's hand comes to rest on the small of his back for just a couple of steps and he wants to turn around and bury his face in Dean's chest then, but forces himself to keep on walking until they reach the small parking lot outside and the familiar black car that's waiting for them.
"Thanks man," Sam mutters, his nose still feeling stiff and funny. "I'm sorry they called you out here, they wouldn't let me leave on my own."
"You want to tell me who the hell beat you up?" Dean grinds out through gritted teeth, eyes hard. Sam swallows and looks away. He just wants to go home and forget about all of this.
"I've had worse. It doesn't matter, please Dean, can we just go home? I'm tired."
"It fucking matters, Sam! I'm going to kill-"
"Exactly," Sam cuts him off. "Exactly! We're not even going to be here for long, and if I let you loose on them-"
"Let me?" Dean huffs. "I don't care about these assholes, but I do care about you!" Dean jabs a finger into his chest, making Sam fall back half a step, swaying slightly on his feet. "I care about no one touching a damn hair on your head, ever!"
"Dean," Sam's eyes soften at the sight of his worked up brother. He knows that anyone else would be intimidated but Dean is Sam's and he knows that as disruptive the stupid fist fight was to his day and as painful as the throbbing in his head is from where he got his head knocked against the ground, his protective big brother is in pain too from just knowing he wasn't there to prevent it from happening.
"You will tell me what happened Sam!" Dean pushes on, motioning for Sam to get in the car and he does, settling into the familiar bench seat.
The drive back to the motel is surprisingly quiet. Dean's eyes are dark and stormy as he keeps them focused on the traffic ahead and Sam rubs at his red and raw knuckles. As disinterested as he was in the stupid fight, he had not managed to keep himself from fighting back of course. He was a Winchester after all.
"Anything from dad?" He asks quietly, trying to make himself sound casual and Dean just shrugs.
So no then, Sam thinks bitterly. Dean hasn't said anything but he knows they must have run out of cash by now. Dad's been gone for nearly six weeks - had instructed Dean to move them to this anonymous little mid western town a little over two weeks ago, with the promise of meeting up with them there within a day or two. After a week Dean had faked their father's signature to help Sam enrol in school, silently admitting that dad probably wasn't coming anytime soon after all.
Dean should be in school too, really, but Sam can't bring himself to nag him about that. Not when there is mysteriously still enough food back in the motel mini fridge each day, for Sam to eat three decent meals a day. Dean claims he's eaten already half the time and Sam knows from the reassuring little gentle smile his brother offers him as he bites into his food that that's not true.
It's later that evening when the pounding in Sam's head drives him over some sort of edge and the built up stress and uncertainty over not knowing where dad is, just exactly how Dean's keeping them afloat and frustration over possibly starting off his time at this new school with a suspension breaks something inside him. He curls up where he lies on the motel bed, folding in on himself, knees pushed up towards his chest and presses his eyes shut against the ache and the grip of anxiety. His chest feels tight but he can't bring himself to move or stretch out. He just wants it all to go away.
He doesn't even hear his own whimper of pain as it escapes him but Dean's at his side, sitting on the edge of the bed, in no time.
"Hey, what's wrong little man?"
Dean's voice is kind and soft in a way only Sam knows it to be and Sam feels his brother's gentle fingers stroke at the base of his neck, carefully travelling up towards the sore bump on the back of his head. He doesn't even scowl at Dean for the childish endearment that makes it sound like he's still a toddler, clinging to his big brother after a nightmare.
"Is your head still bothering you?" Dean asks, reaching out with his other hand to switch off the light, figuring that Sam will probably be more comfortable in the dark. "You feel sick?"
"No," Sam mumbles into his pillow and Dean sits, patient and calm, stroking gently along his hairline and down the back of his neck. Sam wants to melt into his touch, sink into his big, safe, brother and stay there. Okay maybe does want to cling to Dean like he did when he was a toddler. Just for a little bit.
He wants the entire world to go away. He wants the entire galaxy to just consist of him and Dean.
Dean listens to Sam's breathing as it evens out and he gives Sam's shoulder a gentle, but reassuring squeeze. He doesn't ask again but like he suspected it would, the truth about what had happened earlier in the day suddenly spilled out of his little brother. Once he started telling Dean there was no stopping him.
"They wanted you to do what exactly?" Dean growls, eyes narrowed in anger. "What kind of fucking losers try to molest 13 year old girls in the school showers to show to each other that they're… they're… Fucking hell!" Dean runs a hand through his short hair and Sam peers up at him, noticing that his brother's hands are actually trembling.
"They do this?" Dean demands then. "This is a fucking thing?"
Sam nods.
"You have to come back with the girl's bra-"
"Bra?" Dean booms. "One, these girls are children! What fucking bra?! Two, fuck anyone who drags any girl anywhere she doesn't want to go! And they beat you up because you refused?"
"Yeah," Sam nods. "I mean I hit them back - split Connor's lip and his eyebrow," Sam looks at his hands, "and I don't care that they jumped me. I just," Sam sighs, "I just want to try to get myself through school here, Dean. I just want to be in a position where I can do something that's not… this," he motions to the worn down motel room, "when I get older."
Dean doesn't say anything to that and Sam rolls over, so that he has the side of his body pressed against Dean's hip where he's sitting on the bed.
"I'm okay though," Sam reaches out, touching Dean's palm and Dean ruffles his hair gently.
"You will be," Dean promises. "Those assholes won't dare go anywhere near you, or any girl in that school for that matter, when I'm done with them."
"Dean," Sam groans in protest.
Dean, big, fierce and loyal Dean runs his thumb gently over Sam's temple the way that only Dean is allowed to.
"Go to sleep Sam. Wake me up if you start to feel sick."
"Okay…" Sam yawns, the pounding in his head a dull throbbing now. "Just don't," Sam yawns again, eyes sliding closed, "don't kill anyone, okay?"
"We'll see…" Dean whispers, stroking Sam's hair off his forehead where he lies, watching the way his brother's face relaxes into the touch.
V
"SAM! SAMMY!"
Sam's head snaps up, eyes wide with panic as he stares down the long corridor. He shoots to his feet, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
"Dean?" He calls out, but he had not really seen which exam room they had brought his brother into and-
"SAAAAAM!"
The pure terror in his brother's voice propels Sam forward, all of a sudden not hindered by his lack of direction. He just knows that his big brother needs him.
Dean had grown silent in the car on their way over, skin clammy with cold sweat and eyes glassy with what Sam had hoped wasn't too bad of a fever. The scratch on his arm had not looked too bad at first, Dean had even joked that it was just as well that he started collecting scars on this new fresh from Hell body of his. Sam had half listened as he'd poked gently at the wound, inwardly wincing at the poor shape the rusty fence had been in, tearing through his brother's skin when he'd been thrown into the air by the creature they'd been hunting.
As the early morning hours went by, it became apparent that whatever had torn Dean's arm open had brought with it more than just a future scar and Sam had used Dean's woozy and disoriented state to his advantage, pulling him out of his bed, disentangling him from his sweat soaked sheets and half carried him to the Impala before his brother had really even managed to comprehend what they were doing.
Dean had still not said anything as the nurse took one quick look at his arm before she promptly sent him down the corridor with two of her colleagues and forcefully guided Sam down into a chair in the small waiting area. Sam had protested, asking if he couldn't come with his brother but he'd been ignored and asked to just wait.
Well screw waiting.
Sam searches each of the exam rooms the best he can, as he scrambles down the corridor that seems to be growing longer and longer with each step he takes. There is a loud clash of stainless steel sounding somewhere and Sam stops, looking around frantically for the source. Two staff members quickly emerge from somewhere to his left and push their way into one of the rooms and Sam looks on in a daze, fear suddenly pinning him in place.
"Hey! You're okay," one of the doctors urges, voice loud and commandeering - but not in the slightest helping to calm the pale, wide eyed man pushing himself into the corner of the small room. The doctor lifts his hands in the air in front of him, trying to make himself less intimidating but Sam follows Dean's terrified gaze to the hands of the second doctor, an older man, holding a syringe in his hand.
"Just calm down, Mr Winchester," the older doctor orders but Dean is no longer in the room. He holds his injured arm awkwardly to his chest, eyes darting frantically between the sharp needle in the doctors hand and the nurse off to his other side who's inching closer to him.
He's cornered and Sam hears the animalistic, threatening growl before it registers that it's in fact coming from himself. It's a sound of pure protective instinct and he pushes himself into the room.
"Stop!"
The doctors and the nurse all look at him in surprise and he shoots them a hard look, desperately wishing they would all just leave the room. His chest heaves and he can feel his own adrenaline starting to buzz under his skin as he catches the sight of Dean's legs slowly giving out underneath him, where he stands pressed into the corner of the room. His brother is hyperventilating and he needs to get to him before his panic worsens.
"Back off!" Sam barks, towering over them and he looks on as Dean sinks down towards the floor, legs trembling and gaze empty. Far, far away. There is blood trickling down his arm and Sam swallows down his own panic as he watches it smear across Dean's bare chest.
Sam looks around the room for Dean's discarded t-shirt but can't see it anywhere and quickly shrugs out of his own flannel. As he does so, he spots the large tray of stainless steel equipment - scalpels and medical grade scissors, glinting underneath the harsh, hot light above and he swears under his breath. Pre Hell Dean wasn't a fan of hospitals, or shots, and post Hell Dean was apparently terrified out of his mind and Sam curses himself for not having predicted this or seen it coming.
Dean's refused to share any details about his time in Hell really, even claimed for his first few days back that he conveniently couldn't remember any of it but Sam knows his big brother endured torture down there, and by the looks of things he's suddenly sure he's about to be subjected to more of it and it makes Sam wan't to throw up.
"Sir," the older doctor speaks up then, pulling Sam out of his head and pulling a choked whimper out of his normally so in control big brother. "We need to treat him."
"No!" Sam barks back, furious to see his brother so outnumbered. "Three of you and not a single one of you can recognise that he has PTSD and is terrified out of his mind?!"
The nurse takes a quick step back at that and Sam forces himself to breathe, try to calm himself before he approaches Dean.
"I said, back off. He won't let you near him now-"
"We'll have to call security and sedate him-" the younger doctor suggests and Sam cuts him off with a practically deadly stare.
"No one," Sam orders, voice hoarse with anger, his eyes hard, "goes anywhere near him!" His heart beats furiously in his chest and he quickly pushes past the strangers in the room, Dean's skin eerily close in colour to the stark white walls of the exam room.
"Dean," Sam whispers, crouching down in front of his big brother, shielding him from the view of the sharp syringe and the razor like objects on the stainless steel tray with his large frame. "Can you look at me please?" Sam asks gently and he holds his flannel shirt out.
"You're cold, here, you take this," Sam slowly reaches around his brother where he sits on the floor, body shaking with his desperate attempt to keep himself safe from whatever it is that has triggered something deep within him, something that Sam recognises is bigger than what's actually happening in this room. Dean is somewhere else. Sam tries to stop his own hands from shaking too badly with adrenaline and worry as he gently coaxes Dean's arms into the sleeves of his shirt. Sam instantly feels a little bit better the second his brother is no longer half naked and he rubs his large hand flat over Dean's back, hoping to help bring him back to the here and now.
Sam scoots in closer to Dean and he smiles softly at his pale big brother as he watches him blink rapidly then, eyes clearing slowly, slowly.
"Hey," Sam smiles at him, his body acting as impenetrable armour between his brother and the rest of the world. "It's just you and me, man."
Dean swallows past the choking grip of panic that's lodged itself in his throat and nods.
"Take a deep breath for me," Sam instructs and watches proudly as Dean draws in a shaky gulp of air. "In through your nose, yes - there you go. Out through your mouth, Dean. Again, slow and steady."
They sit there for a moment, just breathing and Sam doesn't know what's happening behind his back and he doesn't care.
His attention is only on Dean. The only person he needs. The man that had given up everything for him, losing himself in the depths of Hell to keep Sam safe.
Now it's Sam's turn to bring him back to safety and that's all there is in this moment. Only Dean.
Dean lets his head lull forward and Sam places his hand over the back of his brother's head as he rests his forehead against Sam's strong shoulder. Sam's knees are starting to protest at the awkward position he's folded himself into, but he ignores the discomfort. It doesn't matter, not now. Not when he can feel Dean's soft, warm breaths against the fabric of his t-shirt and the pattern of his breathing is evening out, slowly but surely.
"I d-don't know what h-happened, man," Dean whispers against him and Sam gives the back of Dean's neck a small comforting squeeze.
"That's alright, don't worry about it."
"I'm sorry," Dean whispers and Sam shakes his head.
"No I'm sorry, Dean. I should have come with you."
I should have fucking come with you all the way to Hell, Sam thinks, with a rush of fury pulsing through his veins. I should have begged the damn Hellhounds to take me too, so that I could have stayed with him.
Neither of them are sure exactly how long they're huddled together for, shut away in the corner of the room, ignoring the world around them but eventually Dean's cheeks regain a bit of colour and he tugs gently at Sam.
"I'm alright. I'm okay Sam."
Sam pulls back a little, studying Dean carefully.
"Ready to stand up?"
"Yeah," Dean gives him a small nod.
Together they heave themselves off the floor and Sam finds that it's only the female nurse that's left in the room, standing off to the side by the door with a small apologetic smile on her face. Dean blushes slightly, his eyes falling to the floor and Sam can hear his small wince as he spots a couple of the items still strewn across the floor that Dean must have thrown at them in a desperate attempt to protect himself.
She takes a small step forward and assures him in a gentle voice that it's not a big deal.
"He still needs that cleaned up, and a tetanus shot, some antibiotics and-"
Sam nods, cutting her off and Dean huffs in slight annoyance at being talked about, like he's a child and it makes Sam shoot him a quick, proud smile because that's the big brother he knows poking back through. He feels pride well up inside him at the look of disdain on Dean's face.
"I'll do it, okay?" Sam offers and she looks a little unsure but then gives him a quick nod.
"You're used to taking care of each other, huh?" She asks him as she motions for Dean to sit back down on the exam table where it had all started.
"You could say that," Sam smiles, hopping up on the table right next to Dean. "So what was it you wanted to do? Clean it out?"
The brothers twist slightly to face each other where they sit perched on the table, thin paper cover crinkling beneath them. Dean wordlessly extends his arm, resting it on Sam's bent knee and Sam gently folds the too long sleeve of his flannel up to expose more of Dean's arm accepting the pair of latex gloves the nurse hands him.
"Fancy," Sam grins at Dean, eyebrows raised in amusement, holding the gloves up before he pulls them on and his heart swells at the way Dean laughs.
"I'm sorry," the nurse offers a moment later when the gash is clean thanks to Sam. "I'm afraid there is no getting out of the injection."
Dean's face twists into a displeased grimace but he stays put next to Sam who pats his knee.
"Can Sam do that too?" Dean asks and Sam chuckles at the childlike look of hope on Dean's face. He nods though, looking at the nurse they have now learned is called Valerie.
"If he feels comfortable doing it," she agrees and Sam wants to laugh and say he's performed field surgery on his brother, digging bullets out of him since they were kids, but decides to keep that to himself. They're probably banned from coming back to this hospital as it is.
"Of course," he says instead. "Want a lollipop after?" He teases his brother who rolls his eyes at him. Another sign that he's feeling better, Sam thinks.
"We don't have any," Valerie adds with a small laugh, "but we have some very cool sticker sheets. Dinosaurs I believe…"
Later, in the car - the morning sun climbing over the horizon, Dean turns the sticker sheet over in his hands, grinning at his brother.
"Oh look," Dean smiles cheekily in the passenger seat, his face still pink with a low grade fever, "her phone number!"
Sam groans in amused disbelief.
"Only you, man. Only Dean Winchester…"