Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Want me to do the whole, uh... airplane thing with the spoon?" Dean asked, hoping to get a response out of his brother.

Nothing.

Dean threw the spoon down.

"When was the last time you ate?"

Sam frowned and shook his head then shrugged.

"I don't-"

"Days, Sam. S'been three days."

Sam rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. Sam was spacing his meals out considerably but it wasn’t three days.

Was it?

Dean determinedly pulled a thermometer out and studied it like he’d never seen one before.

Sam took the bait, huffing and leaning back in his chair.

"When'd you get that?"

"When you started throwin' off heat waves," Dean grumbled. He shook it a couple times and leaned in towards Sam, extending the thing out.

“No,” Sam half laughed, backing the chair out and dropping the stupid blanket Dean had thrown on him from before. A sharp pain in his side and Sam had to slow down. "Enough," Sam murmured, stumbling over as he rose to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye he still saw Dean approaching. "Dean, please..." he finished, too fatigued to be genuinely pissed but too well to take Dean's ministrations.

Dean withdrew and pursed his lips.

"The bloody handkerchief, the fever, the shaky legs. This is not good," Dean waved at Sam.

"Well I'm not good... and I'm not going to be good until we can start moving again. Until I can start the third trial-"

" Trial ? I wouldn't let you start a moped ," Dean shot back, throwing the thermometer on the table. "We're on the rails with this thing, okay? And the only way out of it is through it. Believe me, I know. And you know how badly I want to slam the door on all those sons of bitches," Dean lectured, then softened, "...but you gotta let me take care of you, man. You gotta let me help you get your strength back."

Sam sighed, exhausted.

"This isn't a cold. Or a fever or whatever it is you're supposed to feed. This is part of it all . Those first two trials... they're not just things I did - they're doing something to me. They're changing me, Dean."

Dean let Sam's words hang in the air. He had too many things to say and he couldn't streamline them. The primary one being that he hoped Sam wasn’t changing - at least not fundamentally. Dean kinda liked Sam.

Instead Dean nodded and let his eyes drift to the bowl on the table. He picked up the spoon and threw it onto the tray. 

"You gonna eat?" he asked, forlorn; he already knew what Sam’s answer was going to be even after spending over an hour on their dad’s kitchen sink stew.

Sam sighed, knowing Dean knew how Sam felt.

"I’m not hungry," Sam lamented. At least he was apologetic. With inexplicably stiff and sore movement, Sam settled back into his chair.

"Okay," Dean said softly, disapointed anyway. He’d been the one to make the meal this time. It was a comfort food no less, a family favorite.

Dean headed back to the kitchen. The stew always tasted better fresh but Dean found he wasn’t hungry anymore either. Despondent, he just rummaged around until he found some old plastic Chinese take-out containers they’d saved. He poured the whole pot full into a few of them and left them in the fridge to cool, to keep, to lose flavor.

Sam blinked water out of his eyes and sniffed as he hovered over the papers spread out on the table. His vision was blurring. Still cogent, he wondered if this was what it felt like to be dyslexic. The letters jumped and shifted in front of him, whole words were floating and shaking. 

He leaned back in his chair to take a break. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You tired?" Dean asked, voice calm and low but it startled Sam. He looked up to see his brother next to right him, leaning against the table.

"-Jesus..." Sam breathed, more to himself. How could Dean have gotten so close without him noticing?

"Sorry." Dean’s voice was low as he moved over the table to pile the papers together.

"No - Dean! What're you doing? They're organized," Sam jumped forward in his chair, trying to get Dean to stop. At his brother's touch, Dean stopped and turned to scrutinize him.

“Okay,” Dean put his hands up and stepped back. He pulled a chair up right next to Sam and measured his tone so it’d be less abrasive this time. He leaned his elbows on his legs so he was looking up at Sam.

"You know what time it is?" Dean asked.

Sam blinked cloudy eyes, shook his head and shrugged. Dean pressed his lips together and forced himself to withhold judgment. He pointed at his watch then extended his wrist out so Sam could read it too.

Sam squinted and leaned closer. Dean’s brows furrowed. Was he having trouble reading?

"Nearly one in the morning,” Dean supplied, genuinely concerned now. “We'll pick this up later, Sam. C'mon," Dean feigned a casual tone and stood up. He made no move to help, hoping it wasn’t necessary but suspecting it might be soon. Sam seemed grateful at any rate. He relented, letting out a long sigh and rubbing his eyes.

"Okay," he whispered, setting his palm on the table for balance as he moved to stand up. He rose and hovered over the table, dizzy. Dean pulled away the chair behind him.

"Dean, don't-" Sam said, irritated even just by that one small gesture. Dean came up alongside him.

"Are you okay to walk?" Dean asked seriously, his hands at his side and ready to reach out any moment now. Sam winced.

"Yes, I'm okay to walk, Dean , " Sam snapped. “So back off.” He pushed off the table and shoved Dean away as he moved past him.

Fuming, Sam managed straight steps to the end of the table. His anger and frustration with Dean had sharpened his senses. Now however they were fading under the onslaught of his own body’s limits.

Sam reached for the end of the table, overheated and light-headed but kept going, not wanting to let on.

One foot in front of the other. The floor was starting to spin.

Sam saw the step down he needed to take. One step down then he’d get to the hallway then bed and everything would be fine.

Sam grimaced as he worked to remain upright and steady. Just as he thought he might be fine he realized the step wasn't actually steep. His depth perception was shot to hell.

Sam gasped as the ground shot up and twisted like a kaleidoscope underneath him. He rolled his ankle and the floor spun closer. He threw his hands up to brace for impact but he could tell his reaction time was off. His head was definitely about to take a hit.

Instead he felt a sudden harsh constriction around his chest, a hand clamping tightly and painfully along his side, and a tug that forced his body to tumble a sharp left.

Sam landed on his side, his head hitting Dean's chest as Dean took the full brunt of Sam's weight in the fall.

"Damn it," Dean wheezed, eyes tearing from the impact.

"Dean-" Sam gasped, rolling off his brother onto his stomach. His breathing had gone fast and shallow. He was so dizzy and weak that he couldn't lift himself up as he lay prone. "I.. can't.." Sam gasped.

"Sam,” Dean breathed, scrambling back up. “What is it?"

Dean placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders and hips like he was about to roll him. Dean was never anything other than gentle with Sam when he was wounded but whatever was happening, it was making him way too sensitive for that kind of touch. Dean’s hands felt rough and destabilizing, likely to shake and rattle him into full-fledged vertigo any minute now and the anxiety was getting to Sam just as much. Sam couldn’t help it when he made a sound at the back of his throat. Unfortunately Dean took it as a sign to flip Sam over. He choked back a wail as his spine met the wooden floorboards.

"Hey-hey-hey, Sam? Sammy?!"

Sam grimaced and made an effort to open his eyes. Dean’s solicitous expression was too close hovering over him so he lifted his gaze.

The vaulted ceilings were huge and brilliantly lit. They started to swirl above him, darkening in color until it was a sickening storm. Sam closed his eyes with a miserable sob.

"Over on your side," came Dean's sudden order and Sam took deep breaths as Dean lifted him and set him up in recovery position.

Dean's hand pressed on his stomach then chest.

"No..." Sam moaned. It was too much touching; too much sensation for him to handle.

"C'mon Sam, it's okay..." he heard his brother murmur. Tears welled up in Sam's eyes as he shook his head.

"I'm... gonna... be sick..."

"No you're not. You haven't eaten anything for the past three days," Dean replied quickly from behind him, the meaning of his words flashing fast enough for Sam to understand. "Just pull through it. Breathe."

Dean's hand braced Sam’s forehead, warm and smelling like cayenne pepper from the stew. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and gave a trembling nod. He felt sweat trickling down his face and knew that Dean must be feeling the temperature spike.

"Shit, Sam," he heard Dean mutter. Sam sucked in air as he suppressed tears. He was always Dean's burden. From the start of the trials Sam had vowed to himself he’d be strong. He’d carry this like Dean would.

So how the hell had it come to this. 

"I'm sorry," he panted. "I... didn't..."

Dean wiped Sam's hair back from his face. "Sam, stop," Dean interrupted quietly, "Are you shaking because you're cold?" or just upset ?

"I... don't know," Sam answered honestly, shame coloring his cheeks. He felt a pressure on his side as Dean leaned over him then the weight of a heavy blanket.

"Okay, just relax and breathe, the floor's comfortable, right?" Dean joked but it was strained. Sam offered half a smile and followed Dean’s instructions, remaining still and focused on his breath.

"Okay,” Dean broke the silence after a while, “you still feel sick?"

Sam blinked at the polished hardwood.

"Floor's not moving anymore."

"Well that’s a good start," Dean chuckled quietly and started to roll Sam onto his back again. Sam could only look up at Dean as he wrapped the blanket around him. He closed his eyes as a headache he hadn’t even realized he’d been ignoring worsened. Sam clasped a hand over his eyes.

"This sucks," Sam grunted.

"Yeah," Dean agreed softly, "Open your mouth." Sam brushed his hand off his face and opened his eyes to slits to see Dean ticking the thermometer back and forth in front of him. Sam sighed and pleaded one last time with his eyes. Dean tilted his head. "Dude, c'mon."

Dean leaned in and lifted Sam's head up. Sam acquiesced with a tortured sigh, taking the thermometer under his tongue.

Dean pushed Sam's sweat-slicked hair back and pressed his fingers against Sam's neck to check his pulse.

"Too fast." Dean got up and left Sam’s line of sight.

"I coulda told 'oo that," Sam sassed, the thermometer still in his mouth.

"Don’t go anywhere," Dean ordered with a smirk and Sam chuffed with indignity.

Dean's footsteps echoed as they grew distant like he was walking down a long tunnel eventually dissipating. Dean had vanished to some other part of the bunker, leaving Sam on the floor with a blanket and silence for company.

Finally alone, Sam could despair.

"Shit," Sam gritted out. He tasted copper and pulled the thermometer out of his mouth. It had a now recognizable pinkish residue on it, Sam’s blood. He wiped it off with his sleeve and tried to swallow until the taste went away. He clutched himself tighter. His whole body was on fire and now he had Dean completely duty-bound to help him.

Dean, the one person Sam didn’t want to stress with the trials, the one person he didn’t want seeing him like this because Dean had already done enough for Sam. He’d always done everything for Sam.

This was supposed to be something Sam could do for Dean. This one mission. This one thing he could take and carry for Dean so Dean wouldn’t have to. And for once, Dean had let him.

And now instead it was like they were backsliding into their old roles again with Dean taking care of him.

Somehow Sam had taken on the trials in Dean’s stead but the bigger burden was still Dean’s-?

Sam covered his face as a fresh wave of tears threatened to break. He would’ve just broken into sobs if he hadn’t heard the sounds of his brother’s returning footsteps. Sam took a few deep breaths and pulled himself together. He palmed the floor to lift himself up to a sitting position.

"Hey no, stay down ," Dean ordered. Sam automatically did as he was told. He sighed and shook his head. This was embarrassing. "How you feeling?" Dean asked, totally oblivious.

"Like shit," Sam answered witheringly, giving up all pretense.

"Symptoms? You took the thermometer out," Dean noticed lightly. Sam was relieved Dean wasn’t mad.

"Said 102.5," Sam lied. Dean sat cross-legged in front of him.

"Mm,” Dean responded, distracted. He took hold of Sam's wrist and set it on his knee.

"Wh-what're you doing?" Sam asked groggily.

"You wouldn't," Dean said calmly as he tied a band around Sam's forearm, "let me play big brother, " Dean uncapped a needle, "so," he settled it over a vein, "now I'm playing doctor," he trailed off slowly, his tone miserable as he carefully directed the needle into Sam's skin.

Sam bit his lip and made an effort to stay still. Once in the vein, Dean glanced at Sam as he pressed cotton balls lightly around the puncture. He twisted around and grabbed a strip of tape he'd had ready and taped the IV down.

"S'just for a couple of hours," Dean promised, tone soothing when Sam didn’t deserve it.

"What is it?" Sam swallowed, his mouth dry now.

Dean gave a small shrug as he lifted the bag, then an eyebrow.

"Can you read it?"

Sam squinted.

"Saline."

Dean nodded approvingly. "Good job. Where you want to sleep tonight?"

Sam groaned.

"Here's good."

Dean chuckled and Sam twitched smiled wanly at the sound. At least he could still make Dean a little happy even while he was scaring the crap out of him.

Sam started to turn over, thinking Dean's question about where to sleep held a tacit suggestion to get up. He placed his free hand against the floor again for leverage.

"Hey hey, hold on," Dean reached out and got Sam to lie down again, his touches feather light. "We're in no rush. Let the drip do something before we get up, all right?"

Sam lazily turned to look directly at Dean and nodded his acceptance. His eyelids drifted low.

They remained silent together on the floor.

Dean preferred the lack of conversation. There were less distractions so he could better monitor Sam's breathing. He checked the solution every once in awhile.

"The ceilings are too high," Sam pronounced.

Dean turned, brow furrowed.

"What?"

"They're- the ceilings," Sam pointed up. "They're vaulted. Way too high. Looking at them makes me..." Sam swallowed, accidentally revisiting the nausea.

Dean's warm and dry hand slipped into Sam’s so he could guide it back down to his chest.

"All right. Just don't look up. Focus on me, okay?"

Sam winced, swallowed, and nodded as he blinked up at Dean.

"Ugly," Sam tried to joke.

"What?"

"Your ugly face."

"Yeah Sam, my ugly face. Just relax, man," Dean replied absently, sighing as he looked around the library.

It struck something in Sam that Dean didn’t go with him on it. Dean had a sense of humor which he used for almost everything. Except for when he was angry and especially for when he felt contempt.

Dean was thinking he couldn’t do the trials.

Sam clenched his jaw and blinked back tears.

"...Dean?" Sam's voice was small, tentative. Dean looked down at him, expression back to concern but Sam knew.

"What?"

"I can do the third trial."

Dean's eyes light with anger. He tried to turn away so Sam couldn't see but Sam saw. He saw the back of Dean's head shaking.

"I promise," Sam pleaded, "Dean-?"

A tear rolled down Sam’s temple and into his hairline.

When Dean turned back around Sam was surprised he scooted closer to Sam.

"I know, Sammy." Dean put his hand over Sam’s on his chest. “I know you can.”

Chapter Text

Sam awoke on his stomach, his breathing labored. A hand rubbed his back at the same time he broke into a wracking cough, the first plowing through the relative silence and suddenly noise was everywhere - a chair screeched roughly along the floor and Sam heard the sheets rustling as the bed depressed next to him.

"Okay, okay-"

"Dean-" Sam gasped as he propped himself up by his elbows. He was too weak to lift any higher. A wave of heat engulfed his body as it strained and shook under his coughs.

"It's okay, Sam, just hold on a second-"

Sam felt Dean grasp him around the chest and shove him further over to the opposite side of the bed. Sam grunted and coughed harder but Dean didn't let go.

"All right.. and.. up!" Another sudden rush of movement jarred Sam as Dean bodily lifted him up and rolled him over, this time against Dean's chest as he sat against the headboard. Sam was coughing so hard now that he almost slipped out of Dean's hold so he could double over.

"Good-good-good - lean forward just like that," Dean coached. A small chromel bowl appeared in front of Sam as he hacked up blood. Sam grabbed the bowl with both hands and Dean wrapped an arm against Sam's chest to brace him.

"I feel - I can't... breathe..." Sam gasped, coughing and spitting blood into the bowl after every word. He felt Dean's other arm release and his palm started jamming against Sam's back at every coughed exhale.

"Dean- Don't..." Sam pleaded.

"If you can cough, you can breathe, Sammy, c'mon," Dean replied evenly, unwilling to stop the bruising strikes to Sam's back. Sam felt tears welling up as he gagged and watched the blood expel in splatters against the bowl.

"Shit," Sam croaked, unsure if his heart was beating so fast from the coughing or the instinctive fear of seeing so much blood.

The attack began to taper off and Sam was left leaning forward, heaving over the puddle of pure red blood inside the bowl. Dean let Sam be for few seconds, turning the hits to his back into gentle rubs.

"Okay, you done?" Dean whispered, already reaching to take the bowl from Sam's trembling hands. Sam nodded shakily, spitting into it one last time before allowing Dean to set the thing on the nightstand.

He felt Dean behind him strain to reach something. He heard water dripping & a moment later a lukewarm washcloth pressed up against his mouth.

"Mm, I go' it" Sam murmured, weakly reaching up and grabbing the cloth from Dean's hand. "Okay," Dean said softly, letting go once Sam had a decent hold. Sam tremulously washed his mouth and chin free of blood. The cloth felt good and Sam flipped it over to wipe the rest of his face. Sweat and tear tracks disappeared under the soft terry cloth.

"Sam?" Dean's voice sounded alarmed.

"Yeah?"

Dean got up from the bed and turned around to stare at his brother with wide eyes. He was holding the bowl.

"I think this much blood means you're bleeding internally. We gotta get you to the hospi-"

"No. No-"

"Sam, if-"

"It's not internal bleeding."

Dean looked frustrated, then his eyes widened with understanding and he pressed his lips together with barely contained anger.

"It's the trials. I've been coughing up blood. Not as much as that, but…" Sam trailed off, having used just about all the energy he had for this conversation. He closed his eyes and willed the ground to still.

"Okay well," Dean set the bowl back down again on the table and moved forward. "You've still lost too much blood."

Sam gave a wobbly nod. Couldn't argue with that.

"You need to stay awake for me," he said sharply, coming around and stuffing two pillows up against the headboard behind Sam.

"Wha- Dean-!" Sam voice scratched out in surprise as Dean grabbed him under the arms and boosted him up against the pillows. Just as Sam's head was about to hit the wall, Dean's hand shot out and bent his neck down.

"Uh..." Sam groaned, light-headed. Blankets fell over him and pushed up against his chest.

"Sam, listen to me closely," Dean's eyes were directly in front of him now, and Sam's expression couldn't have communicated a dazed what the fuck, Dean any better. Dean's mouth pulled into a straight line.

"Sam!" He yelled harshly, and Sam jerked in response, his pinched face the picture of annoyance when Dean snapped within an inch of his eyes.

"What?!" Sam retorted, pissed.

"You’ve lost too much blood. You pass out on me, I don't care if it's the trials or not, I'm calling an ambulance. You understand?"

"Mm,” Sam agreed. “Feel like shit. What're you gonna do?" Sam slurred.

"You need to eat. I'll be right back. Do not go to sleep. Hey. Hey!" Dean clapped his hands near Sam's ear and Sam jerked back up.

"Yeah, Dean, Jesus Christ..."

And then Dean was gone.

It took a few seconds for Sam to register that Dean had left. Maybe minutes. Time was fuzzy. His vision was starting to come in jerky flashes as his eyes wandered the room. It felt like super-speed, his senses heightened, his mind registering every little trinket and oddity inside, zeroing in and studying its texture and shape with so much intensity. His breath started to pick up as he saw the knives on the shelf, Dean's vinyls against the wall.

All he wanted to do was close his eyes but for this unerring sense his brother would be pissed if he did.

"Mmm," he hummed, using his own voice to anchor him. "I'm 'n D'n's room," he mumbled aloud. He closed his eyes then fought to open them again. He had to keep them open. He had to keep them open for... something. Dean.

Sam's eyes rolled as a fresh wave of nausea blew through him and he accidentally caught sight of the ceiling again.

"Fuck," he gasped, averting the expanse of empty wall. He stared at the bedside table instead. The picture of their mother was leaning against the lamp. Sweat trickled down Sam’s face as he stared at her. She beamed under the sunlight. His breath steadied. Her cornflower blue eyes were kind and calm, matching her delicate smile perfectly.

"Hey, Mom," Sam whispered.

Her expression was so simple and happy. Sam squinted and focused on that.

"You never coulda known," Sam whispered, wistful. He blinked back tears and sniffed. "Dean's okay!" he offered, strained and pitched over having salvaged something good to tell her.

Sam studied his mother's unchanging expression, searching for something. He blinked, eyelids becoming too heavy to hold up.

"You're beautiful," Sam observed quietly. "I... wish..." Sam trailed off and let his eyelids sink.

Suddenly he heard a whispered, "me too, Sammy," nearby. Sam startled and opened his eyes to see Dean sitting down at his bedside.

"De-"

Dean’s palm cupped his cheek, the back of his neck, and angled his face up. Green eyes stared into his and Sam was utterly confused when they crinkled into a kind smile.

"I wasn't kidding about the airplane spoon, y'know," he said, his smile turning into a grin.

Sam made a face. “What?”

Dean smirked and presented him with a protein shake.

“Don’ need a spoon for shakes,” Sam pointed out matter-of-factly. Dean laughed.

"Okay. Here, can you hold it?" He asked, guiding Sam's hands over the glass. Sam shifted around and held his hands up. Dean still helped.

"S'cold," Sam murmured.

"You always liked it better that way."

"I do," Sam confirmed quietly, grasping the glass tightly. His hands were still shaking but he was holding the glass well enough. For the finishing touch Dean pulled the wrapper off a straw and dropped it in.

"Take it easy but as much as you can," Dean instructed calmly, shooting the straw wrapper into the garbage. He turned back to look at Sam, who nodded to Dean as he inhaled the shake.

"G'job," Dean murmured, watching.

Sam kept his eyes on Dean.

Dean winked.

When the shake was halfway done, Sam lifted his lips from the straw, breathing heavily from the gulps he'd been taking.

"You... have Mom's eyes."

Dean lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

"Thanks, bud."

...

Sam was sleeping. Not well, but...

Dean washed a hand down his face as he stepped out of his room and into the corridor. He took a left towards the library but that wasn't his destination. He stopped at the threshold of Sam's room. It was closer to the library and thus would've been an easier move from the library’s floor earlier. It'd been a freak split-second judgment though: Dean had wanted Sam in his room so that’s where he put him.

Now he opened the door to his brother's room to check for anything he might want. The door fell open silently and Dean's heart sank as he surveyed the atmosphere. It looked more like a barrack than a room. There was one double bed, well-made, in the center of the floor. Sam's duffel rested on his desk. Dirty clothes in the laundry basket.

Nothing more.

Dean swept the room again, searching for anything besides Sam's clothes to identify that his little brother occupied the space.

Finding nothing and at a loss, Dean stepped inside. He felt the mattress. At least it was firm. The pillows were awful, lumps of packed-down cotton ball. The sheets were cheap.

Nothing hung on the walls. No scattered books on the floor.

"What the hell..." Dean whispered.

Sam had possessions... Didn't he?

Chapter Text

Consciousness was murky at best. Sam was having difficulty thinking about much, just circling between 'third trial' and 'Dean.'

"Dean... y'don'... get it..." Sam murmured, staring at the floor from the side of the bed, vaguely admiring the shine of the chrome bowl that Dean had cleaned and set on the floor at some point.

"S'okay... S'gonna be okay..." Sam reassured, his thoughts whirring faster and faster. Dean. The third trial. My job. I can do it. This is nothing. Get up. Need to stop fucking around. Kevin. Kevin. Find Kevin. Dean, it's okay. Go find Kevin. The third trial. I can do it. My job...

Around and around until Sam landed on a fully thought-out sentence. I don't care if I die. I need to find Kevin before I die so I can finish the third trial.

Sam had been writhing around with shallow breath but now he had a mission. He needed to move, roll over, do something. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling water press out from under his lids. Disoriented, he rolled forward and accidentally slammed his head against the wooden ledge of Dean's nightstand.

Sam didn't feel himself falling. Just felt the jolt of landing to the floor. A muffled grunt and he weakly pulled the bowl out from under him then sagged down to feel the cold surface. Heart racing and panting now, he lay there until his already overheated body triggered a short-lived frustration with the blankets still tangled around his legs.

He managed to kick them off, wheezing with exertion by the end of it. He was still hot and overheated so without any further consideration he pulled off his track pants too. A second later he pulled off his shirt - a more complicated process - and bunched it up as a makeshift pillow before he fell back to the floor. It was finally cool, the surface of the wood smooth and clean.

Unfortunately it was short-lived. The sweat covering Sam's body began to evaporate and Sam vaguely felt the first chill run down his spine. And then another.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and brought his knees up to his chest to warm up, having forgotten his clothes and the blankets near the foot of the bed.

More shivers ran through him as Sam stared out at nothing, the amber light of the room dimly reflecting off surfaces that felt comfortable and familiar. Nevertheless, it was starting to feel like he was in a freezer.

Sam's whole body shuddered and it jerked him awake and back to a higher level of consciousness.

"Shit," Sam whimpered, realizing his fever had taken over at some point. He still wasn't all there but he was well enough to know lying on the floor in nothing but boxers freezing cold was not good.

Sam reached up to touch the bed and orient himself. He realized he only had to roll over and push himself back up onto it.

"Okay, Sam," he coached himself. He flopped over onto his back and lifted his head up. Immediately his surroundings lurched and spun. His hair clung wet and cold around his neck. He had to squint to make sense of what he was seeing. The bed wavered above him as he reached out and pressed a sweaty palm against the side of the mattress. He felt a vague sense of urgency pull at him quickly followed by the full context and reasoning: he needed to get back up on the bed before his brother finds him like this. Sam didn't want Dean worrying.

Sam gripped the edge of the bed tightly and used all his strength to pull his torso up and level with the mattress. He groaned as the world tipped again and he swore. He couldn't tell whether his body was swaying or if it was the fever mangling his sense of balance.

Halfway there and suddenly the room was too bright, the lamps illuminating too many things in Dean's room, all of them competing for his attention. Sam hummed and closed his eyes before folding onto the mattress to take a breather. He knew he had to get all the way into bed eventually but he couldn't concentrate. He needed time to balance himself before he could get his legs up.

No longer cold, his entire body still shook under the stress. Acute nausea hit him fast and Sam swallowed thickly, squeezed his eyes tighter and pulled his arms to cover his head. He breathed into the mattress. It still felt like he was at sea in a storm, the floor waving and lifting up and down. Sam felt his awareness drifting away. Felt himself leaning into the fever, forgetting why he was perched against the side of the bed...

"Sam-? Sam?" A voice pierced through the drumming in Sam's ears. Dean. "What're you doing on the floor?" Dean's voice came closer, overwhelming him. He started panting between swallows, doing his best to handle Dean's presence.

He flinched at Dean's hand on his shoulder. "Don' ... Don' move me," Sam requested, voice hoarse. He kept swallowing and breathing into the mattress, holding back on throwing up. Dean's hand left his shoulder. "De-?" He murmured quietly. Without an immediate answer, Sam's body shuddered and he called out for his brother again.

"Here. I'm here, Sammy," Dean reassured. Sam loosened with relief, pressed his cheek to the mattress when he felt warm, soft cotton wrap around him. Sam automatically starting shaking under them, starting to generate heat again. "Than' you," Sam sighed. Dean's hands rubbed his back and shoulders and it felt so good Sam could barely hold back tears of gratitude.

"Tell me what's going on with you," Dean asked gently.

"Nothing," Sam sniffed. "Um, I'm cold," Sam stammered. Dean's hands and the blankets were helping though. His nausea was dying down too. Still, Sam gave an involuntary shiver that Dean must've felt because he stopped moving and knelt on the floor behind him.

"Dean?" Sam quavered, lifting up to see when his brother's arms wrapped around him. "What-"

Dean cleared his throat. "Y'know," he started, tone casual but Sam could tell he was worried. Dean tugged at him so they could go backwards. At first Sam resisted but Dean snaked one arm across his stomach, the other crossing his chest. It was rare to be in such close physical contact, much less in such a secure embrace that it qualified as a hug.

Sam surprised even himself by melting into it, letting Dean slide them back onto the floor. Dean put his back against the nightstand for support while Sam just sank against Dean's chest, feeling his brother's heart beat. "Getting on the floor and pulling your clothes off isn't what you're supposed to do when you're cold."

"I can… I can get to the bed," Sam rasped as he angled in Dean's lap for it.

"I know, I'll get you there," Dean assured, pulling the spare blankets further over Sam and tightening them. "Get warm first. You're still shaking."

"Am I?" Sam asked, bewildered, lifting his head over to see Dean but failing. It fell on Dean's shoulder instead.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean whispered, leaning his head against Sam's.

They rested. Dean tended every shiver that ran through Sam like whac-a-mole only with more blankets or a better hold on him. Sam curled in, feeling distinctly fragile but in stark contrast to nearly every other point in his life he ever felt vulnerable he knew he was safe in the bunker. He knew he was protected by Dean.

"I think your fever's breaking. Here," Dean spoke up. Sam realized his eyes were closed and reluctantly opened them to see a thermometer coming at him. "Don't bite it, dude," Dean said as Sam took it under his tongue again and it clacked against his teeth for a second.

"Wouldn've bi' i'," Sam retorted groggily. They were quiet for the minute they waited for the thermometer.

"You almost ready to get back in bed, you think?" Dean asked casually. Sam nodded and let Dean pull the thermometer out of Sam's mouth. Sam licked his lips as Dean squinted to figure out the number.

"101.9," Dean murmured.

"S'better," Sam whispered, "right?"

"Yeah," Dean trailed off, distracted, but he rubbed Sam's chest encouragingly. "All right let's get you up." Dean announced.

Sam nodded and sat up straight so Dean could get out from behind him. The blankets fell and pooled around his waist. Before Sam could even try his weak legs Dean gripped Sam under his arms and lifting him. Surprised, Sam let out a manly yelp as Dean unceremoniously plopped his brother onto the mattress. Sam landed in a heap and let his brother snicker. The least he could do was let Dean laugh over his sorry ass.

Sam shifted around to get more comfortable but Dean warned him off so he could pull the blankets out from under him. Sam let Dean do his thing, moving when Dean wanted him to. He was starting to fade again.

"Dean - Kevin..." Sam garbled as he felt the sheet then comforter land on him. He rolled over onto his stomach.

"I know, Sam, but we can't do anything yet. Not until you're better," Dean replied, his tone grim.

"'M not gonna get... better..." Sam replied, his voice thick. He felt Dean's weight on the bed followed by a hand in his hair.

"You're gonna get better, Sammy," Dean said softly, carding his fingers through the strands. Sam's eyes closed and he reached out for Dean and managed to grip his knee.

"I gotchya," Dean whispered.

"I like your room," Sam volunteered randomly, his voice muffled by the pillow. "S'ry for taking... your bed..."

Dean looked at his exhausted brother and quirked an eyebrow.

"Dude, I put you here."

Sam sniffed.

"Oh yeah. Thanks."

Dean bit his lip, studying his brother.

"Hey Sam?"

"Mm."

"Why don't you have stuff in your room?"

"Wha' stuff?"

"I don't know, stuff."

Sam sighed heavily.

"-your stuff," he susurrated, practically asleep. Dean moved closer.

"What?"

"Always had your stuff," Sam clarified. He let out a heavy sigh, moved his hand off Dean's knee, and turned his head on the pillow.

Dean huffed and leaned back to think. It was kind of true - they'd always shared, but Dean had always been the outright owner of most of their things.

Dean nudged Sam over so he could rest on the bed next to him. He rubbed Sam's back until he was sure he was asleep.

One thing was for sure. Dean was going to get Sam set up with a memory foam mattress. And copies of the few family photos he had. And some of the books he remembered Sam loved to read growing up.

Maybe some art? Eh, Dean wouldn't even know where to begin on that. A mini-fridge could be great though.

W/N: This chapter was revised 6/14/2019. Thank you so much for reading! Please review/comment if you can spare the time! ~ Alex

Chapter Text

Sam woke up with a jolt, his body shivering him up and aware. His grasp tightened on instinct and only a second later when Dean returned the pressure did Sam realize he was practically lying on top of him. His knee was bent across Dean’s legs, torso covering Dean’s side, his head against his collarbone and neck. The sense memory was there for them both from years of childhood and growing up. Sleeping with Dean was simply and plainly comfortable... and Dean was always warm. He felt his brother’s hand brace the back of his head. Sam went with it, bending his head down and curling in further, trembling.

"Okay... okay..." Dean whispered, sounding like he was talking to himself more than Sam. His fingers combed through the strands of Sam's greasy hair. Sam let out a sigh at the same time his body shivered. He felt Dean's other hand reach over to pull the blankets up over them, nearly covering Sam's head. Dean rubbed Sam's back and shoulders. "It's okay," he said softly, trying to lull Sam back to sleep.

It worked.

"Dean?... Dean?"

Dean flinched and blinked his eyes open. He frowned as he looked down at Sam's head in the crook of his arm.

"Mm what?" He asked sleepily, unconsciously hugging Sam to him. He tried to focus, becoming vaguely aware that Sam was raising his hands up into the air above the bedspread, palms facing them. "What're you doing?"

"Dean I.. I can't..." Sam murmured below him, swaying his arms as he tried to clench his fingers. They barely moved. "I can't feel my... h-hands..." he said just as Dean reached out to pull his brother's closest hand from the air and into his grip.

"You can't feel that?" He asked, placing gentle pressure on Sam's fingers and palm. Sam shook his head. It brushed against Dean’s shoulder.

"No..." Sam answered wonderingly. Dean got up, jostling Sam until his head was settled against the pillow. He leaned over to turn on the lamp and both of them squinted when the room lit up a warm yellow. The two of them had been sleeping soundly, their skin thin and papery, hair disheveled, faces pale, expressions pinched.

Dean looked over his brother and found Sam continuing to blankly study his hands as he blinked the light and sleep out of his eyes. "I can't... feel either of them..." he trailed off. Dean winced, not sure what to think or do.

"Dean?” Sam prompted, scared.

"Okay," Dean replied quickly, kicking into gear. His voice was still hoarse but he was alert enough as he knelt closer and hunched over Sam on the bed. "Here," he said, holding his hands out. Sam automatically placed his hands into Dean's, looking up to his brother to anchor him. Dean massaged Sam's hands.

"Nothing?"

Sam shook his head, eyes watery. "No."

"They're warm - you could've just been sleeping on them wrong," Dean ventured quietly, voice scratchy as he tried massaging Sam's hands and wrists more vigorously now. Sam swallowed and shook his head.

"No, no they were just on my chest when I woke up," Sam replied, voice trembling.

"Okay, relax. It's okay, Sammy," Dean reassured. He moved up to feel along Sam's forearms.

"How about that? You feel that?" Sam was about to look down at what Dean was doing when Dean spoke up. "No, Sammy, look at me, " he ordered. If Sam looked he’d convince himself he was feeling Dean's touch. "Just look at me and tell me what you feel."

Sam shook his head, glanced down despite Dean’s orders then back to Dean, eyes wide and worried.

"Hey... hey c'mon it's fine,” Dean said, letting go of one of Sam's arms to lean forward and touch his cheek. “It's going to be fine. They’re just... asleep," he said, referring to Sam's hands. "They'll wake up."

Sam nodded bravely, rasped a soft, “okay, yeah.”

Dean sat back and started massaging Sam's arms again. "Tell me when you start to feel something, Sammy," he whispered.

"Okay."

Sam didn’t watch, just focused his sight on his brother leaning over him. He searched Dean’s expression for any sign this was too much for him or that he was really worried for Sam. Dean was pulling out all the stops. It wasn't even a poker face, Sam knew. It was Dean's own brand of self-control: focusing on one task - one job - and refusing to entertain any other thoughts. Specifically Dean was committed to the idea that Sam was numb from a lack of circulation judging by the intense arm massage he was getting.

Getting the massage itself was disconcerting for Sam. He knew Dean's hands were on him even though he couldn't feel it, the bed creaked as Dean developed a rhythm. Their breaths were loud, the sheets rustled, and Sam soon closed his eyes to send out silent prayer he'd be able to feel something soon.

Finally Sam felt a warm twinge.

"Mm... yeah, I feel that," Sam reported, his eyes opened to look down at his left elbow.

Dean's hand had stopped at Sam's hum then immediately resumed the massage.

"You feel that?"

Sam sighed with relief and nodded.

"Yeah," he replied just as he felt the same warmth and pressure against his right elbow.
"Same with this one?" Dean asked, rubbing Sam's elbow and upper arm. Sam managed a small smile.

"Yeah."

Dean gave a sigh and let go, sinking back on his haunches with a confused expression.

“No pain?”

“No, no pain.”

“Just another symptom of the trials?”

Sam shrugged. “Probably,” he replied miserably.

“Temporary,” Dean stated. Sam frowned and nodded.

“Probably.”

Dean nodded, deep in thought.

“So… is it the weekend? Should I call you Bernie?” Dean smirked.

"You…” Sam paused, trying not to smile, “You're a jerk," Sam chuckled, flopping his numbed hands out in an attempt to hit him. Dean laughed and moved forward, brushing his little brother's hair back affectionately before he moved away. He positioned himself down at the foot of the bed.

"Can you feel this?"

“Oh. Shit, are you holding my feet?” Sam asked.

“I’ll take that for a ‘no,’” Dean replied witheringly. "Okay, same deal, look somewhere else until you feel something," Dean said, voice calm and clinical. Sam nodded, blinking, and looked off to the side. He felt the bed moving again as Dean moved up his leg.

"Ah - there," Sam announced meekly. Dean stopped, then placed pressure on his kneecap.

"Here?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed. Dean moved to the other leg and placed his hand over Sam's other knee. "Yeah I feel that too."

"Sweet, so..."

Sam felt Dean's hand creep under the crook of his right knee, igniting a memory from childhood. Dean wouldn't... 

"Dean-No!" Sam reached out weakly just as Dean, giggling stupidly, started light jabs into the tendons under Sam's knee. Sam's whole body lurched as he tried to suppress his laughter.

"Dean!" He croaked, but instead of anger the call to his brother was nothing but mirth. "Stop it, seriously," Sam laughed, making Dean tickle him harder, thoroughly delighted to hear his little brother's genuine gaiety. Sam continued his pleas until Dean let up in good time, smiling.

"I was just checking you weren't lying," Dean claimed innocently.

"Uh huh," Sam panted, smiling. As Sam brought his breathing back to normal, Dean cupped Sam's kneecaps and rubbed them idly, looking around the room.

"Okay," Dean whispered decisively, getting up. Sam had calmed down and begun to turn back to the gravity of their situation.

"What?"

"I'm going to get more blankets," Dean replied.

"You know it's not a lack of circulation or warmth, Dean."

Dean stopped and shrugged back at Sam.

"Humor me," he replied before ducking out of the bedroom.

Sam sighed and looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand. A quarter to five in the morning and he'd just discovered that he had no use of his hands or feet for who knew how long. Yet he wasn’t panicking. It had a lot to do with the way Dean was handling it, making jokes, tickling him to destroy any tension or fear. It was innate in Sam to gauge situations based off his brother's cues. He had grown up doing it.

But also Sam just felt safe.

There was no impending threat, no frightening monster in the shadows, and feeling numb was a whole hell of a lot better than the straightforward pain he'd been experiencing before. He imagined Dean was tolerating this new symptom with so much grace due to this too. Not feeling anything was preferable to active anguish and if it meant that he had to stay in bed and trust his brother, well... He was already doing that anyway. As loathe as it was to rely on Dean this heavily, this particular challenge was less stress on both of them.

"Back," Dean's voice cut through the room and Sam's thoughts as he shuffled in with a couple of lightweight comforters. He threw one lengthwise across the bed over Sam's feet and kneeled onto the mattress to fold the second comforter out over Sam's chest.

"Put your arms on your chest," he ordered lightly and Sam did as he was told. He felt the comforters cover him then Dean slumped down next to him.

“Might overheat now,” Sam complained. Dean huffed a laugh as he lifted back up to turn the light off.

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean replied. Sam grinned in the dark.

They languished in silence, resting next to each other and thinking their own thoughts. Sam blinked and took a breath, about to say something then let it go with an exhale. He sensed Dean tilting his head to the side on his pillow, curious, so Sam figured he'd just ask.

"Think you'll be able to sleep?" Sam said tentatively. Dean sighed and pulled Sam against him. Sam went with it, feeling extra warm and grateful to his brother for letting him know just by that one gesture. Their closeness between them wasn’t just for Sam’s benefit. Dean would be able to sleep.

Sam had lost feeling in his hands and feet only a few hours ago. It was alarming but it wasn't painful and it didn't seem to be anything mundane like poor circulation. Sam's hands and feet were going AWOL in a supernatural fashion. While it had been disturbing to hear Sam's voice on the edge of panic last night, Dean had actually taken the new symptoms in stride. He was more relieved that Sammy's other symptoms had started to lift. He was coherent, he wasn’t throwing up blood anymore and his fever was gone. Dean had been waiting anxiously for when Sam could down solid foods again and numb limbs or not, it was finally an option again.

So Dean wracked his mind trying to think of what solid foods would give Sam the nutrition he desperately needed while also minimizing the level of embarrassment the poor guy would feel while trying to eat it. He’d mocked this situation earlier asking Sam if he wanted the airplane spoon because he'd thought it wasn't going to happen. Now it was obvious this very much was going to happen and Dean found himself uncharacteristically reluctant to humiliate his kid brother. Instead he’d make something Sam could eat with some kind of dignity. Then if he still found himself laughing at Sam’s expense, that would be okay because he’d done everything he could to prevent it beforehand.

With any luck he'd get Sam to find the comedy in the situation too. He used to be really good at that.

When he considered his options over what to make he couldn't hold back a grunt of laughter at the thought of feeding him a juicy hamburger laden with too much ketchup and mustard. He vaguely hoped one day this situation would repeat itself under less dire circumstances so he could follow through on that but for the time being he’d had to acknowledge hand foods were out.

He wished Sam knew all the breaks he gave him.

Moving on, stew or soup had to be ruled out because Sam would be mortified if Dean had to wipe his chin. Salad was out too because Dean would end up spending too much time doing concentrated fork maneuvers to make sure all the lettuce leaves got inside. Dean also considered eggs since it was breakfast time but soon decided against it. Eggs weren't substantial enough: he needed Sam to eat a heavier meal which meant carbs, fats... Protein was important but the protein shakes had kept him up well enough on that front.

Dean needed a food that would stick to the fork (or spoon) so it wouldn't fall on its way from the plate to Sam's pale, miserable face. Only with something like that would the two of them maybe be able to pretend like it was totally no big deal that Dean was spoon-feeding his huge mentally competent thirty-year-old brother.

Okay, that was unlikely. But Dean had to try. So he'd ended up with two baked potatoes with melted shredded cheddar cheese on top and good solid chunks of bacon thrown in. He sprinkled the last touches of salt and pepper over it all and appreciated the tempting aroma. He took a small bite ‘to test the temperature’ and yes, delicious. If Sam had any appetite whatsoever this would get him.

Dean set it down on the serving platter and got his and Sam's drinks together. Sam got a new protein shake that he’d already mixed and thrown into the fridge to chill. He opted for just a bottle of water and brought two in case Sam wanted a break from the shake.

Ready and set, he took a breath and lifted the tray.

Sam opened his eyes, vaguely registering his surroundings before closing them again. He moved around, getting more comfortable and let out a sigh. He absentmindedly tried to push hair off his face. When he realized he couldn’t, his eyes snapped open as the memory of last night came back to him. He looked around the dark room - wherever Dean had gone, he'd kept the lights off so Sam could continue to sleep - and then down to his hands resting comfortably against his chest under the covers. He tried moving the left, then the right, his right foot; his left. Total paralysis still. This was pretty fucking wretched.

The upside, Sam supposed, was that his fever was down. Yet he was still just as, if not more, incapacitated. At least with a fever he'd been able to fall off the bed. Although he could probably still fall off the bed if he rocked his body back and forth.

Sam rolled his eyes at his own thoughts and wriggled himself up against the headboard. Realizing he couldn't redo the pillows, he made a face and leaned forward so they wouldn't dig into his back.

"Dean!" Sam shouted miserably, his voice scratchy from sleep, and waited for a reply.
The walls were too thick. "Dean!" He called again, louder this time. He felt five again calling his brother like this.

"Coming!" Dean returned, his voice distant. Sam swallowed his embarrassment and looked down at his stupid useless arms. He tried using his shoulders to wipe his face which... didn’t really work.

Dean appeared in the doorway carrying a huge serving tray which thankfully gave Sam something else to think about.

"Hey - how you feeling?" Dean asked casually, turning the overhead light on.

Sam watched Dean set the tray on a small table against the wall to his right. It didn’t really smell like breakfast food but it was alluring all the same.

"Um... good... actually," Sam replied, sitting up straighter and rustling the blankets around so it’d hide the sounds of his stomach growling. Dean blocked his view until he turned around with the protein shake and water bottles, moving over to the nightstand to set them down. He looked up at Sam.

"Paralysis thing still-?"

"Yeah." Sam confirmed, moving his shoulders back and forth to show how his numb arms dangled from the movement like a puppet. He looked back up at Dean sadly.

Dean grimaced and rubbed his eyes, clearly trying to hide the laughter threatening to break out.

“Shut up,” Sam said wearily, falling into a wan smile as Dean let out a few snickers.

"You're not in any pain though, right?" Dean asked.

"No, I'm fine," Sam murmured, scooting up. "Pillows are digging into my back..." he trailed off self-consciously. Dean gestured for Sam to lean forward and so he did, bending over so Dean could fix the pillows behind him.

"Thanks," he whispered, leaning back when Dean was done and closing his eyes. He wished he could cover his face with his hands just for a second. Dean ignored Sam's courtesy.

"Hungry?"

"Nah," Sam replied immediately, hoping against hope that maybe, somehow, please God, this paralysis would go away soon so he could feed himself without resorting to Dean's help.

"'Kay," Dean said lightly, going back to the serving tray. Sam raised his eyebrows. Under the circumstances Dean would normally be pressuring him to eat or at least negotiating a time frame. Instead he was letting it go, turning to pick up the serving tray without a single further appeal to Sam.

Despite himself, Sam subtly straightened, lifting his head higher to catch sight of what Dean had made - just to satisfy his curiosity was all - until he realized Dean was moving to set it on the foot of the bed in full view anyway. He stood up straight and looked at Sam.

"Okay hold on two seconds - I'll be right back," Dean said, backing up, grinning. Sam's brows furrowed as he watched his brother leave. His gaze drifted to the baked potatoes. The fragrance of bacon wafted towards him and covered every other less-than-appetizing scent in the room and... it looked really good.

Sam's stomach growled again. He twisted to pout at the protein shake on the nightstand and sighed with resignation.

Another good thing about rejecting food was how it meant more food for Dean. Sam had been out of it for awhile so his brother could totally have been taking care of himself while he was monitoring Sam’s health and whatnot but it was just as likely Dean had neglected his own needs under the stress.

Sam was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of something heavy and metallic rolling down the hallway outside.

"Dean-?"

Dean didn't appear but a metal cart did, a small television resting on its top shelf. Dean angled it over the threshold and centered it in front of his bed.

"Found this!" Dean beamed, crouching down to plug it in. "We can watch a movie or something, you know?" Dean said, hopeful.

"Uh, yeah,” Sam acknowledged, surprised. “This is great,” he huffed with delight. He took a better look at the machine and his eyes narrowed. “Dean, how'd you find this in the bunker?" He asked skeptically. "It has a DVD player in it."

"Shut up," Dean replied easily, fiddling with the controls. Sam laughed, affection washing over him. At some point Dean had to have gotten them a modern television for the bunker.

Dean took one look at him and went into determinedly focusing on opening a DVD case. What did Dean used to call them? Sam’s puppy dog eyes?

Sam used his shoulders to wipe his eyes again. He wasn’t that emotional; it was just the stress, the sickness, he’d just woken up still and these small meaningful moments took a toll. Sam sniffed and got himself together.

"What're we watching?" Sam asked, willfully upbeat. He didn't mind Dean's taste in movies most of the time, especially if they were action or adventure-oriented. He didn’t like horror but if that’s what Dean had in store for them then hey maybe it'd turn him off the idea of food altogether.

"Godzilla," Dean replied simply. Sam rolled his eyes and smirked. Dean grabbed the remote from the lower level of the cart and made his way to his side of the bed. He stood by, pointing the remote at the TV, and pressed play. As soon as the DVD registered on screen, Dean dropped down next to Sam. He crossed his legs, socked feet on the top blanket, and reached out to pull the serving tray of full of hot buttery bacon-filled potatoes up from the foot of the bed.

Sam couldn't help but track the food, not the television. Dean was oblivious to his focus, busy getting through the DVD’s intro trailers to get to the main menu. Sam finally looked up when the film began, chiding himself for wanting to steal Dean's food, and let out the slightest, manliest gasp at the very modern-looking production company logos of TriStar Pictures and Centropolis Entertainment. It took a second but then Sam started laughing, gratitude written all over his face.

"The remake?" Sam asked, thrilled. Dean was settled further from the headboard, hunched over his food in the center of the bed. He saw Dean's shoulders shrug.

"I can take one for the team on this one," Dean grumbled, making Sam laugh again. “I mean it’s still a big monster destroying shit.”

“Totally,” Sam grinned. So not only had Dean had managed to pick up the television but he’d also bought the Godzilla he knew Sam liked. A thank-you punch on Dean’s shoulder was completely in order. Sam slumped against the headboard when he tried and realized he couldn’t with numb limbs.

As the movie began, Dean backed up and shifted around, getting comfortable hovering over the serving tray before picking up the cutlery to dig in. Sam braced himself. Godzilla would be a great distraction but he was still going to have to watch Dean eat while he was - okay, he could admit it now - hungry himself.

Sam glanced over at his protein shake again. He turned back to the film and watched Dean take his first bite out of the corner of his eye.

"This is kind of weird. Watching Godzilla at seven... eight in the morning," Sam commented lamely. He saw Dean shrug.

"We're on weird schedules," Dean replied. Sam nodded, understanding. Time was different when sick or wounded - sped up and slowed down at random and inconvenient times. And Dean was along for the ride with him. He had to be Sam reminded himself, guilt seeping into his reflections.

A few minutes in, Dean leaned back and twisted around.

"How you doing? Still okay?"

Sam swallowed and nodded, smiling with pursed lips.

"In a few minutes, I'll help you with the shake, okay?" Dean said openly. No judgment, no jokes; just Dean telling him he was going to help Sam.

"Okay," Sam replied softly, nodding. Dean gave him a quick nod back before hunching over his food again. He stuck a bite of savory cheesy bacon potato into his mouth and chomped loudly, gazing at the television.

"...Unless," Dean hedged, his mouth full, "you want to eat some of this," he finished, still watching the TV.

Sam frowned and didn't say anything. His stomach gurgled and he quickly moved his feet around the blankets trying to cover the sounds but Dean was sitting right next to him. He probably heard. After a few seconds Sam realized he wasn’t going to say anything about it though and relaxed. That was when Dean turned around, his eyebrows raised.

"No," Sam enunciated, annoyed. This was a set up. This was a set up from the get-go, wasn't it?

Dean smirked knowingly.

"No!" Sam repeated vehemently, fixing his brother with an unblinking I'm seriously serious expression. Seconds later, a quiet moment in the movie made his traitorous stomach's growl unmistakable.

Sam blushed and jutted his chin out to compensate. Dean was not going to... No. No. Dean looked down at Sam's stomach, then back up at Sam, eyebrows raised, trying not to laugh. Sam kept his steadfast expression of rebellion.

Finally, Dean relented. He shrugged and leaned forward, sticking his fork on an already-cut piece of baked potato and whirled it in the air before leaning back, twisting around to face Sam again.

"S'really good," he said bluntly, looking straight at Sam as he popped it into his mouth and chewed. Sam huffed, sullen, and hated he couldn’t use his hands to eat right now. He pointedly glared at the television screen.

Dean laughed obnoxiously, still eating, then hummed with his mouth open, masticated food clearly visible as he leaned into Sam’s frame of vision.

“That is so… foul,” Sam finally broke a laugh at the last word, unable to help it. It was gross humor for the lowest common denominator but Sam never failed to laugh when Dean went all in with it.

Dean swallowed his food, laughing good-naturedly. "Ya gonna eat some of this, then?"

Sam sighed and studied his brother's face, searching for an ulterior motive. He found none. Dean was genuinely hopeful Sam would eat, never mind the fact that Dean would have to feed him.

Sam grimaced, conflicted, wanting to eat and yet hating the idea of Dean feeding him.

"You're not gonna be an asshole about,” he paused nervously, not knowing how to put it, “helping me?"

Dean's smile disappeared.

"No," Dean replied indignantly, "Sammy, no. C'mon, man... I just want you to eat, dude."

Sam clenched his jaw over his brother's unusual sincere kindness and looked down, then nodded.

The bed moved, Dean angling to sit so he could still watch the movie while he helped Sam. Sam subtly inched closer to Dean.

"Okay, c'mon," Dean murmured. He’d already forked a small bite for Sam and was holding it in the air. Sam stared at it for a second before looking up at Dean with the most hilariously sad expression his brother had ever seen.

Dean snorted and moved the fork towards Sam. He held his other hand below the utensil to catch anything that might fall but his hand was steady and solid. Not entirely surprising; Sam realized that Dean had done this before. He’d even be better at it now because he wasn't six years old. And Sam certainly wasn’t two.

"Your face is priceless right now, Sammy," Dean said softly, his smile gentle. Sam couldn't help reddening but before Dean had to actually say ‘open up,’ Sam took the bite off the fork swaying in front of his face. As soon as the fork left Sam’s mouth, Dean turned back around and let Sam chew without being watched. Sam waited for his brother to say something snarky but instead Dean just watched the movie and took another bite for himself.

"S'good, right?" Dean asked absently.

"Yeah," he replied honestly. It made it better that it was so tasty, Sam realized. He could take the hit to his ego being fed if this is what he was getting fed.

At that, Dean twisted towards his brother again, lifting the fork up. It had another small piece of potato on it.

"Here," he muttered, nodding to Sam as though he were doing nothing more than insisting Sam try some tasters at a fair. He brought the bite to Sam's mouth and Sam opened up.

The second bite was just as good. Buttery and creamy cheesy baked potatoes with bacon had always been a favorite of theirs' growing up. It took time to make and bacon was expensive so they hadn't had it very often though.

Things went on like that for awhile. Dean did everything he could to make it feel casual and normal for Sam and Sam quietly went with it, eating every bite all the way to the part Matthew Broderick discovered Godzilla was just a mother protecting her nest.

This really wasn't as bad or undignified as Sam thought it would be. Dean wasn't messing with him and it made all the difference. With all their trust issues springing up at times Sam least expected he was pleased this hadn’t turned out to be one of them. Dean was genuine and careful. With a small pang of guilt Sam figured it might have been the result of how much he'd scared Dean in the past few days. He didn’t remember a lot but he distantly recalled Dean catching him out on hallucinations, a slurry conversation with Dean's picture of Mom, and on the floor half-naked hanging to the side of the bed. Even if Dean only liked him a little bit these days those symptoms were enough to elicit genuine care.

Morose now, Sam watched the movie and continued to accept the bites Dean offered him. He resolved to stop anticipating the worst from his brother and just focus on getting better. With Dean so sincere and making such efforts to get him back on his feet, the least Sam could do was drop the bullshit and help.

Yes, Dean was serious. He wasn't going to mock his little brother while he was still practically starving. However Sam had just passed the half-mile mark on this: he'd finished about two-thirds of his baked potato without any problems and they were large potatoes.

Monitoring things without gawking at him, Dean knew Sam had no nausea because he wasn’t nearly as pale as before and while he hadn't smiled much yet, Dean was sure the next time he did his eyes wouldn't look so glassy. No shakes or sweats either. Dean felt that triumph. His worries continued to ebb away.

So yeah, now? Now he could... maybe...

Dean had purposefully been preparing smaller bites for Sam so the food wouldn't fall off the fork and also to take things slow and easy on Sam’s stomach. Dean's own bites were larger. He wasn't sure but if Sam had been watching he would’ve deduced that the smaller bites were for him by now. Also he hadn’t deviated once giving Sam bites between each of his.

So Dean prepared another small piece of food after taking a large one of his own and instead of turning it to Sam, he ate it.

Sam squinted when he noticed that Dean took his second bite in a row... it was a small one.

That bite was supposed to be his.

A few minutes later, Dean grinned when he felt Sam shift his position next to him enough to make the bed move. He pretended he didn't notice and took another bite. He felt Sam's eyes on him and fought against smiling. He had to see how long this could go before Sam would finally break and whine for his turn.

Sam stared daggers at Dean's back. He'd hoped shaking the bed would clue his brother in. He was still hungry. He still wanted more and he could easily see there was more but Dean was just blithely eating on.

What the hell.

Dean prepped another piece of potato and quickly turned to Sam, surprising him.
"Open up," Dean said clearly, no nonsense, as he navigated the fork to Sam's mouth.

Sam's eyes drilled into Dean's as he obeyed hesitantly.

Just as Dean pulled the fork out of Sam's mouth, Sam caught the playful glint in his big brother's eyes; the mischievous smirk that pulled at his lips right before he turned away. Sam's eyes widened, realizing this was deliberate on Dean's part.

"Oh my god, fuck you," Sam garbled.

"Sammy don't talk with your mouth full," Dean shot back teasingly, laughter in his tone.

Sam swallowed and gave a furious sigh.

"Dean, I swear to god-"

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean interrupted good-naturedly, balancing another bite on the fork and turning back to Sam. "Eat your food," he added, smiling, as he gave a flamboyant wave of the fork 'soaring' to 'touchdown' into Sam's mouth.

Sam's eyes blazed, willfully ignoring the fork's motion until it stopped in front of his purse-lipped frown. Dean stared right back, his own eyes full of amusement, his smile still threatening to reach laughter again.

There was clearly no purer entertainment than this for Dean.

"Sam-my," Dean warned playfully. Sam's breathing was heavy with anger, lips still pushed together, his jaw set sharply. Dean could just see the conflict in Sam’s eyes: he wanted to yell him but if he opened his mouth he knew Dean would try to push the food in.

Deadlocked for a few seconds, Dean finally snickered, his face about six inches from Sam's as he opened his own mouth unconsciously trying to get Sam to open his.

"Ah...ah..." He fell into laughter again as Sam's eyes seemed to flare up in disbelieving rage.

When Dean actually pressed the forkful of food against Sam's closed lips in an effort to wedge it on in there, Sam jerked away and sputtered.

"Dean, god damn it, no. I don't want any more. I'm done eating. We're done," Sam yelled, voice scratchy but clear. He used his shoulder to wipe the mashed potatoes off his lips in the midst of Dean cracking up next to him.

Eventually Dean stopped and Sam glanced up to find him feigning a downtrodden look from Sam’s rejection of him. Dean was ready to go another round of comedy but Sam was tired and sad. He'd thought Dean wouldn't be a jerk. He thought Dean wouldn't add insult to injury or illness and it wasn't fair. He thought Dean knew and cared about him enough to know he shouldn’t be doing this.

Sam sighed angrily and used his shoulder again to wipe his bangs off his now sweaty face. When he turned back, Dean's hand was reaching out to him.

"Dean, no-" Sam cried, annoyed at any attention being paid him by his brother now. He tried to shimmy away from Dean's hand along the headboard.

"Stop it," Dean murmured seriously and Sam stilled on automatic whenever Dean used that tone. Dean wiped Sam's bangs back more efficiently than Sam's shoulder had and pressed his hand against Sam's forehead gently. He kept it there while tilting his eyes to meet Sam's.

"You okay? Fever?"

Sam sniffed indignantly and shook his head, unable to meet his brother's eyes.

"You're just mad at me?" Dean asked easily, pressing his palm along one side then the other of Sam's face now. Sam nodded, sullen but accepting Dean’s ministrations when it was serious.

"Okay, just take it easy," Dean said soothingly, "I'm just messing around, Sammy," Dean reassured warmly, finally placing his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezing.

"Okay," Sam said quietly, still not willing to look up at his brother. He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or angry or if he was even still hungry now. He was tired.

Sam refused to make eye contact with Dean now. Dean wasn't happy about how this had panned out. He shifted up right next to Sam so he’d press along Sam’s side. Sam let him but didn’t lean into it, not even when Dean wrapped his arm around his little brother’s shoulders. Sam slumped into that and Dean got his whole arm around him but Dean didn’t rule that as a gesture of forgiveness. Sam always unconsciously slumped when Dean hugged him or whatever; sense-memory, maybe. Sam wanting to still feel he was smaller than his big brother.

Still, on the conscious side of things Sam really wasn't appreciating Dean at the moment.

Dean sighed, miserably noting how skinny Sam had gotten, and decided to try again without being a dick.

Sam’s eyes fixed on Dean as he prepped another small bite of potatoes. He bristled, bracing himself for further mockery. Dean felt it and gave him a half-hug with his arm before lifting the fork up to Sam's mouth.

"Dean-"

"No, really, c'mon," Dean interrupted.

Sam sighed and opened his mouth, sporting a threatening look in his eyes before he focused on the fork. He bit down a little harder than usual and hit his teeth against the fork's tongs. Giving a small grunt of discomfort, Dean pulled the fork out quickly.

"Dude, don't-"

“I know,” Sam interrupted, reeling from that awful feeling of accidentally biting metal.

Dean rolled his lips to keep from smiling but Sam could tell.

Sam finished chewing and exhaled a chuckle which permitted Dean to get a laugh in too. Dean rubbed Sam’s arm and settled, arranging another bite for himself.

"You're like Nurse Ratched," Sam muttered. Dean snickered and gave a thumbs up as he prepped another bite for Sam. He leaned back to look down at Sam with the fork in hand and fed him as he replied.

"Florence Nightingale."

"Doctor Kavorkian," Sam replied, his mouth full.

"The hot chick from E.R."

"You're like a hot chick?"

"Shut up," Dean retorted, jamming another bite into Sam's mouth when he opened it to laugh. Sam laughed anyway albeit with more difficulty given the food in his mouth. He started coughing and Dean pulled him up higher against the headboard.

"Sit up straight, you're sinking," Dean murmured as he adjusted him. Sam went with it. This time Dean felt Sam lean into him.

"Sorry. I'm tired."

"You want to go back to sleep?"

"I don't know," Sam replied vaguely. He felt pretty good now actually: full and warm under the covers next to Dean...

He melted further against his brother, leaning his head against Dean’s shoulder. After a few minutes Dean angled around to let Sam lie his head more against his chest, let his arm wrap around Sam’s back.

As rotten as this was, Sam felt closer to Dean now than he had in a long time. It felt really nice to, for once, drop all pretense and find that beneath all their bullshit they really did care about each other. Dean really loved Sam and Sam had missed knowing it.

Dean brushed Sam's hair back, his hand lingering on Sam's head for a quick massage which honestly felt so good Sam couldn't keep his eyes open.

Dean tilted his head after awhile, shooting a furtive glance at his little brother. Sam was pretty close to passing out on him. His eyes were closed, he was breathing steady, looking comfortable and snug against him. A smile came over him as he relished these 'big brother' moments that had become so few and far between as Sam had gotten older.

He stopped messing with Sammy's hair: as much shit as he gave him for it, growing up he couldn't remember a better go-to way to put the kid to sleep than when he played with his hair. The additional plus was Sam's confused and exasperated face when he woke up with ratty hair with so many knots.

Dean pulled the plate of food up so he could polish off the last bits while Godzilla finished. Sam rustled around against him and stilled as he sank against Dean's chest. Dean followed suit, lowering himself down a little further against the headboard to get comfortable as Sam's pillow. He pulled the covers up over them with a sigh and closed his own eyes.

Before following Sam into dreamland, he unconsciously rubbed Sam's back to soothe his own nerves as he prayed to Castiel that this was recovery... that they were through the storm and not in its eye.

Chapter Text

Dean slammed into the storeroom and hit the lights, wide panicked eyes sweeping the area for medical supplies.

They had discovered the room a few weeks ago and Dean was positive he’d seen an old tank of oxygen in the pile of medical crap that hadn't been used for fifty some-odd years.

Dean found it again and just as he was about to leave, swore when his eyes caught on an old defibrillator. He snatched it too and dragged it with him outside, his pace picking up as he rushed back to the bedroom.

The hallways gleamed with polished wood, its own kind of sparkly clean magic working its way through the bunker in the wee hours of the morning. Dean slipped a few times as he was only wearing socks but he paid it no mind.

He knew nothing except blind fear for his little brother.

---

Several minutes earlier…

Sam blinked into the darkness, having woken up peacefully. He rubbed his eye free of sleep, totally forgetting his earlier affliction in the haze of half-consciousness. Dean had a hand on his chest monitoring him but it felt like affection too and Sam couldn’t deny it filled something inside him that’d been running on empty.

Somewhere along the lines of trying to get back to sleep Sam realized his breathing was getting shallower. He attempted a deeper breath and discovered he couldn't take one. He was left nearly coughing, gasping several more shallow breaths, building enough fear to have it clamping down on him, transforming his lungs to lead and hyperventilating even as he desperately fought for just one smooth inhale of blessed air.

Dean remained completely unaware, sleeping silently next to him and it was so surreal that Sam hoped it was a nightmare. He had the distinct impression it wasn’t.

As he suffocated, Sam offered weak hits and kicks trying to get Dean awake, wishing he could scream at his brother to wake up.

Finally, Dean blinked his eyes open in the dark, groggy and thinking Sam was just excited he had feeling back in his hands and feet again. Oblivious, he’d smiled and leaned into Sam. Sam rolled in to his brother’s embrace and let out a choked keen against Dean's neck, pawing at his brother’s shoulders. "Dee!" Sam rasped, breathless.

That’s when the emergency of the situation finally penetrated Dean’s sleep-fogged mind. Sam’s pained breathless wheezes, hands grappling for him, heart beat going a mile a minute against Dean’s chest as he leaned on him.

Dean shot up and turned over, bracing Sam down against the pillows. “Sam? Sammy?!”

Sam clutched his neck and shook his head frantically, eyes wide and teary.

"Did you eat something!?" Dean demanded. Sam shook his head again, still making small guttural choking noises. He was sweating now and Dean leaned closer to wipe his hair off his face. Sam gulped and closed his eyes, still wheezing.

"Okay. Relax. Panic attack?" Dean asked. Sam was struggling but technically he was still breathing.

Sam gasped and blinked back up at Dean, shaking his head for the third time under his brother’s questioning. A second later Sam's eyes widened to saucers, the unknown pressure throttling him getting worse. His whole body seized with panic and tension, hands reaching out to Dean.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean yelled angrily, "Hold on! Stay with me, damn it!"

Sam’s dilated eyes drilled into Dean, blunt terror coming through as he suffocated, begging Dean to fix it. He gripped Dean's arms tighter, making small, spastic spurts of choking sounds under him. Dean watched, his own expression reflecting horror too for just a moment, terrified whether he was really watching his brother about to die by asphyxiating on air. He snapped out of it when he remembered the oxygen in the storeroom.

"I got it," Dean cried, "I'll be right back Sammy!" He had to leave the room, leave Sam alone as he suffocated, and as ridiculous as it was Dean gave Sam a rough kiss against his brother’s temple. Sam let out a high-pitched wheeze in response before Dean ripped himself away from Sam and raced out.

---

Dean ran through the corridor with the aged equipment, misjudging as he turned the corner into his room and clipping himself against the side of the wall. He rushed to Sam and crouched to take a look at his brother. Sam was taking measured half-gasps about six seconds apart. Pale, weak, and sweaty he could barely list his head to look over at Dean. Sad brown eyes stared at him, scared but dulled now.

"Hey Sammy," Dean whispered, lips trembling as he placed a palm to Sam's cheek. Sam's eyes blinked slowly in response. He lifted his hand up but had to let it fall, unable to get the strength up.

"That's all right, Sam, don't worry," Dean murmured. He brushed Sam's hair back and turned the nozzle on the oxygen tank. "Hold on for me, just another second, Sammy," Dean added, pulling away from Sam and connecting the mask to the tank. He came back and cupped Sam's head before lightly placing the mask over Sam's mouth and nose.

"Okay breathe, breathe," Dean prayed softly, hovering a few inches over Sam's face and placing his free hand over Sam's chest. He watched the mask for misty condensation but it wasn't coming.

"C'mon, Sam!" He pushed, tilting the mask against Sam's face harder. Sam blinked and his eyes crinkled with stress. "Stop, no, Sam," Dean tried but Sam's eyes were already tearing up and Dean watched as a few fell down his face and into his hair. "No-no-no, it's okay Sam," Dean backtracked, "I'm not mad. I'm not mad. I need you to breathe, Sammy," Dean coaxed, pressing his palm against Sam’s face.

Sam’s eyes widened at him in frustration even as they brimmed with tears but he nodded.

Dean bit his lip uncertainly, hoping this was enough. After a minute or two, things seemed to be improving but Sam was still scared, his body taut with tension.

“Okay, how ‘bout this…” Dean murmured and climbed over Sam, still holding the oxygen mask to his face. He settled, kneeling on the bed beside Sam's prone body. Sam just watched him nervously as he gasped under the mask.

"Okay, I'm gonna pick you up. Don't get scared - I've got you, okay? I won't let anything happen to you." Dean said. Sam was going through hell, his eyes bloodshot and skin pale white but at Dean’s words he looked so remarkably hopeful and trusting.

Dean put Sam’s hand on the mask and Sam nodded, understanding he was to keep it secure on his face. Dean then pushed his arm under Sam's back and Sam squirmed, trying to make it easier. As Dean’s head came closer to Sam’s face, he could hear his little brother still wheezing loudly.

Sam’s raw eyes tracked his brother as Dean then swept the covers back and put his other arm under Sam's thighs.

"Okay Sammy, just relax," Dean hummed and with one quick yet gentle pull, Sam was lifted, folding in for a second by Dean's hold before his whole body slid towards his brother in bed. He ended up cradled lengthwise across Dean's lap. Before he could get his bearings, he felt Dean's hand rub his chest, offering him careful reassurances.

"It's okay, relax, Sammy, breathe," Dean whispered and Sam melted in against his big brother, gasping but still feeling better somehow. Dean tightened his hold around Sam's shoulders and after a couple pulls to get them more comfortable, hitching Sam's legs closer too. Finished, Dean pulled the lightweight sheet up and over the two of them. He hefted it up to Sam's chest and glanced again at Sam's eyes. Sammy's eyes. Brown and slightly unfocused but Sam had been staring up watching Dean the whole time. Dean returned the gaze, giving a small smile as he flashed back to when his baby brother was ten months old, staring up into Dean's face, studying it with wide wonder as his big brother fed him his bottle.

Sam wasn't as adorable as back then... but not by much and not right now when Sam's expression held a similar look of awe... only there was fear in it now, which destroyed the nostalgic moment and tore Dean into an imperative mode of needing to take care of him.

"Okay, you breathing better at all?" Dean asked, worried, placing his hand over Sam’s on the oxygen mask. Sam closed his eyes and swallowed. A good sign, Dean figured. Still Dean had the distinct feeling Sam wasn’t appreciating the mask for whatever reason. His suspicions were confirmed when Sam tried to pull it off. "Nah ah ah c'mon," Dean murmured, reaching out and stopping him, positioning the mask back on properly. Sam gave the lightest sigh but again that was a great sign. He limply squeezed Dean’s hand. Dean returned the gesture then placed Sam's wayward palm to rest over his own heart. "We gotta keep this on until you can breathe better. Okay?" Sam looked up at Dean and blinked with reluctant acquiescence. Dean pressed his lips together and nodded. He shifted around so Sam could lie his head in the crook of Dean’s elbow and took over holding the oxygen mask. Sam hummed a pained whine, settling back into Dean's arms and against his chest. Dean hushed him and Sam quieted.

"That's it," Dean whispered, starting to alternate between stroking Sam's hair, brushing tears off his cheeks, and making sure the mask was formed to Sam's face properly.

Sam stared up at Dean as his big brother kept up the litany of calm encouragement. Sam's eyelids begrudgingly lowered bit by bit. His breathing was stunted every other minute but Dean would take what he could get.

"Sleep Sammy," he whispered, pushing his palm against Sam's chest and feeling the beat of his heart. Sam tilted towards Dean. Dean hooked him closer and brought the rest of the blankets up over them.

After a few more minutes Dean didn't think the oxygen was necessary anymore and took it off, gingerly lifting it from Sam's face and setting it on the nightstand. Sam licked his lips but kept his mouth open as it was easier to breathe that way.

Dean held his little brother and rubbed his cold arms and legs under the heavier blankets and covers. Sam blinked up at Dean and made a face.

"D-" he rasped.

"It'll go away, Sammy," Dean promised genuinely, stopping for just a second to look Sam in the eyes. "Just like the numb thing... just like the fever. It'll go away.” He delicately smoothed the worry lines on Sam’s forehead. "You'll be fine."

Sam swallowed and nodded with a tiny smile.

"You're... here," he managed between light breathy inhales. Dean's crow’s feet creased as he grinned.

"That's right. Right here. I'm right here, little brother," Dean reassured, touching the crown of Sam's head then threading his fingers through his hair.

"Good," Sam choked, a couple of tears breaking and rolling.

"Hey-hey-hey c'mon," Dean said in soft judgment. Sam was supposed to be focusing on breathing and sleeping and getting better. "Don't." Dean wiped Sam’s tears away. Sam sniffed and nodded and Dean held him closer. "I've gotchya," he whispered, starting to rock them like Sam vaguely remembered Dean had done when he'd been little. "I've gotchya right now - nothing's gonna happen. Just sleep, Sammy. Just sleep," Dean urged quietly and Sam reached out. Dean caught his hand and held it.

...

Dean woke up and instinctively gripped Sam. It was a light grip. Sam didn’t wake. He just grunted with discomfort and settled down with his head against Dean's shoulder. Dean blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

"Shit," he said bluntly, sighting Castiel standing at the foot of the bed. "Man, where the hell have you been?!" He hissed, unconsciously tensing and holding Sam tighter.

Castiel gazed at the two brothers and tilted his head.

"Sam isn't well," he stated, then looked to Dean.

"You're batting a thousand, Cas, good job. Can you cure him?"

Cas approached the side of the bed, studying Sam. After a few moments of silence, Dean ran out of patience.

"Cas?"

Cas sighed and rolled up a sleeve of his trench coat.

"Hey whoa you're not uh... you're not gonna do any of that soul-checking shit again, are you?"

"I don't understand," Cas responded truthfully.

"I don’t want you to hurt him. He's already been-"

“Suffering, yes. I know, Dean," Cas interjected and Dean swallowed nervously. He looked down at his little brother then back up to Castiel.

"No, Dean. This won't hurt him," Cas promised. Dean nodded, expression guarded. "I don't know if this will do anything but it might help. We'll see," Cas said before leaning forward and landing his hand against the side of Sam's face. Dean held on to his brother tighter, holding Sam's hands to his chest and watching anxiously as a brilliant white light emitted from Cas's fingertips and seeped into Sam's head.

Sam dimly woke up in the middle of it and jerked away but Dean was stronger, his reflexes superior.

“Dean,” Sam breathed, panicked.

"Sam! Sammy it's okay. It's okay. It's Cas," he explained. Sam glanced up and focused on Cas. His body relaxed. "Yeah, see? It's just Cas. He's gonna help you but you gotta stay still, Sammy.” Sam nodded and went limp under Cas’s touch. Dean held on to him. "Good job, good, Sam," Dean praised, "just look at me - this'll be over in a second. Just look at me."

And Sam did. Sam gazed, depending on Dean as an anchor for the strength and love he needed for what had been and what would happen with these trials.

And Dean was up for it as long as Sam could keep looking at him like that.

Chapter Text

Everything was quiet. Sam's breathing and the soft yellow light from the lamp in the corner of the room made everything warm and relaxed. Dean's arms were folded across his chest, his back propped against the headboard, head tilted back and eyes closed. He was dozing above the sheets while his little brother continued to sleep under them.

Since Cas's touch, Sam was doing better - breathing better at least. He'd fallen asleep almost immediately and hadn't so much as twitched since. Dean relished the down time and worked on clearing his mind to settle his nerves.

"Dean?" Cas's tentative voice hung in the air. Dean kept his eyes closed but raised his eyebrows.

"Mm?"

"I brought sandwiches."

Dean's eyes opened to see the angel a couple feet away holding food-laden plates. He peered over and spied roast beef and a BLT.

"Seriously?" Dean asked gratefully, reaching out. Cas gave a small half-smile and nodded.

"Yes," he replied firmly, handing them over to Dean who picked up the BLT and weighed it in his hands.

"How is Sam?" Cas asked right as Dean took a huge bite. Dean nodded, acknowledging the question, and put a finger up so he could chew and swallow. Cas bowed his head with understanding and fixed his gaze on Sam in the meantime.

Dean followed Cas’s line of sight. He loathed this emerging pattern of consistent crises and valued any moment Sam could have without pain. Moments like now. But Dean had to admit he felt better when Sam was awake talking to him, visibly cognizant.

With Cas’s inquiry as an excuse, Dean reached over to rub his brother's shoulder, hoping he'd wake Sam up in the process.

No dice. Sam was out like a light. Dean sighed and brushed his little brother's oily hair back. The kid needed to take a shower soon which now that Dean thought about it, probably meant he would have to give Sam a bath soon. It had been several days since Sam had the strength to take a shower on his own. Sam must be relatively filthy by now. Dean had been changing the sheets and giving Sam clean clothes to change into but his hair was greasy and he was starting to break out, red pimples standing out against his gaunt pallor. Sam's stubble had grown out in patches, his nails were dirty from scratching dead skin off his body either during or after sweating so much...

Dean huffed a soft chuckle at the nastiness. He’d hoped Sam would get his strength back before he'd have to do anything. He was betting that's why Sam hadn't mentioned anything either... but they were kind of coming down to the wire now.

Dean leaned down a second to see if Sam smelled bad too.

"Dean?" Cas prompted, curious. Dean laughed through a long exhale: Sam was rank. He took another bite of his sandwich and looked at Cas.

"He is doing better, yes?" Cas asked sincerely. Dean nodded, his mouth full again, then shrugged, turning to stare down at the kid. Cas nodded back solemnly.

"I'm very happy to hear that," he stated.

Dean pressed his lips together. Staring at his peacefully sleeping brother, he let his thoughts move on to the memory of when he'd last seen Cas: in a crypt gripping a tablet in one hand, a trenchcoat sleeve in the other, beaten and bloody on his knees and begging.

"I'm sure," Dean replied flatly before taking another bite. The silence persisted. Finally after Dean had taken several bites, he ran out of patience. "So where you been?" He asked, his tone falsely casual.

Cas's eyes fell to the floor. Dean’s eyes narrowed at the angel's guilty posture. Cas sighed, steeling himself, and gazed directly into Dean's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I had to keep the tablet safe... from everyone. When I touched it, it broke me from Naomi's control. It was-"

"Save it," Dean interrupted. He could hear about it later.

"Dean, I-"

"Cas," Dean broke in again, his expression pleading, "really, don't... I'm not interested."

"Do you trust me?" He asked gravely. Dean snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Do I have a choice?" Dean asked, gesturing to his brother and the BLT before he took another bite.

"If you don't want me here Dean, I will go," Cas offered seriously.

Dean glanced up at Cas, then back down to the bed - to Sam - as he chewed.

Every instinct told him to kick the angel out after what he’d done. Every instinct except for one.

Cas could heal Sam, or at least alleviate his pain.

"No," Dean sighed. "Please stay." His voice was flat and tired but honest.

"For Sam," Cas clarified. It was a statement, not a question. Dean gave Cas a withering look and slowly nodded. "I will stay and do my best for him, Dean," Cas promised. Dean made sure to close his eyes before he rolled them.

"Okay Cas."

...

Sam stirred to the sound of water pouring into a basin and felt a wet cloth sweeping over and under his arm with warm water. Dean was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed leaning over Sam while he worked. He was humming Metallica. Sam looked further to spot the basin resting at the foot of the bed, sloshing back and forth a little bit according to Dean's movements.

Sam was about to open his eyes and say something but when Dean reached his hands, Sam lost the motivation, falling into relaxed bliss and secretly letting his brother get on with it. It felt wonderful as Dean slid the cloth around his wrist, his palm, up and down and between each finger. He'd been so terrified when he'd lost the use of his limbs and now he could feel every careful brush, every stream of heated water that coursed over his hands.

Dean stopped, busy doing something else. Sam wanted to mumble for Dean to keep going but held back because it’d give it away he was awake. Dean grabbed the basin and moved up. Sam cracked sore eyes open with curiosity and realized Dean had angled his back to him. The water rippled gently; Sam could tell Dean was soaking the wash cloth again. When Dean resumed, he stayed where he was with his back to Sam and started using the edges of the cloth to get under Sam’s fingernails. Sam had to take a few seconds to let that sink in before accidentally letting out a breathy laugh.

"Wha you givin' me a man'cure," Sam mumbled, his voice scratchy and raw.

"'Cause you're gross," Dean replied, not missing a beat.

"How j'you know I 'as 'wake?" Sam watched Dean's back shrug.

"I got skills," Dean bantered.

"Yeah's a cos...mo...'tlogist," Sam quipped back groggily. Dean finished Sam's final finger.

"Nah," he breathed, turning around to face Sam, "never was big on astronomy," he leaned over Sam and felt his forehead while Sam managed a ragged chuckle.

"S'not... I said cosme-TAH-logy nah cos-MAH-logy," Sam replied goofily.

"I know, I know what you said," Dean replied calmly with a relaxed smile. He felt along Sam's face and neck and the smile lessened as he felt heat. Sam's eyes wandered to the bedspread and gave a couple more breathy chuckles before launching into a cough.

"Okay, okay," Dean whispered softly, getting up into a kneeling position beside Sam so he could pull him up against the headboard. Sam hunched forward and held on to Dean's arm as he rode the cough out. Dean braced him and rubbed his back.

"Anything coming out? Blood?" Dean asked over him, his voice clear and direct. Sam managed to shake his head. "All right. That's good, Sammy. Just hold on. It'll be over soon," Dean murmured, feeling the cough wracking through his little brother as he held him steady.

The fit receded. Dean pulled Sam's hair back, kept it pinned with his hand.

"Okay how you doing? You okay?"

Sam didn't respond, instead just running shallow breaths so he wouldn't start coughing again.

"Try swallowing Sammy," Dean suggested and was pleased to see Sam could do it. At the end of the swallow Sam made an "uh" sound through quick inhales. "Okay now slow it down," Dean instructed. Sam nodded and tried. "Okay, you're doing great, Sammy," he coached and watched a small deprecating smile flicker through Sam's expression.

"M'okay now I think," Sam said weakly. He gave Dean's arm a pat. Dean withdrew.

"Yeah?"

Sam swallowed again and nodded as he straightened up.

"Yeah," he confirmed, leaning back against the headboard. Dean gave his brother space, let him put himself together.

Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes, clearing the sleep and stale tears in focused silence. He was wrapping up when Dean hazarded his next question.

"So your breathing's still an issue. Otherwise, how you feeling?"

Sam dropped his hands in his lap.

"Shitty," Sam sniffed. Dean smiled patiently.

"Fair enough. But I need more to go on. You hungry?" Sam made a face and shook his head. "Thirsty?"

Sam continued to shake his head, this time more slowly though. His eyelids drooped to half-mast.

"Fatigue. M'tired," Sam said.

"Still?"

"Yeah."

"Okay you need help getting down?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head and slowly, sorely moved down to put his head on the pillow. When he was settled Dean pulled the blankets up over him. He patted Sam's chest.

"Get some sleep."

"Mm."

Dean leaned over to grab a book on the nightstand and propped himself up against the headboard, his hip near Sam's head on his pillow. Sam licked his lips and let his thoughts wander.

"Oh shit," Sam piped up loudly, turning on his side to face his brother. Dean's eyes darted to Sam's.

"What?"

"Was Cas here?!" Sam blurted. Dean relaxed and gave an exaggerated shrug.

"Yup."

"Wha... So what happened?"

Dean sighed and closed his book.

"He, uh... he got you breathing better. Put you out for the count so you could sleep," Dean said, sounding like he was going to say more but instead just stopped there. Sam’s eyes narrowed and shook his head slightly.

"Is he still here?"

Dean bit his lip and gave Sam a long-suffering look.

"Yeah."

"After what he did to you? You're... you're just letting him-"

"Hey, calm down," Dean interrupted, annoyed. Sam did as he was told but his eyes still demanded answers.

"Listen. He can help us right now," Dean said. He paused to give his little brother a meaningful look. "S'all I care about right now," he murmured, opening the book again.

Sam let out a resigned sigh. “Okay.” A couple minutes later he whispered “thank you” to Dean and hoped his brother heard it even though he pretended he hadn’t.

Chapter Text

Sam jerked from sleep as something cold pressed against his mouth. He swung his hands out to wipe it off when his hands landed on... hands.

"Stop-stop-stop it's okay, Sammy," Dean's voice whispered directly overhead. Sam opened his eyes to the sight of his brother looking down on him, holding whatever-it-was against his face. Sam couldn’t account for why the cold pricklings of fear rose up in him. He was disoriented. All he knew was Dean hovering, forcing something uncomfortable against his face. His heart rate picked up while his breathing stuttered. He couldn’t focus. He feebly clawed at his brother's arm.

"D... Dea-!" Sam rasped, his chest rising and falling too fast.

"Relax. Relax, Sam. It's just an oxygen mask. S'just a mask. I've got you, Sammy, it's okay," Dean promised. Sam shook his head under the mask & reached up to grab Dean's shirt.

"I don'... stop it," Sam cried, his eyes watering, "please... Dean, please," he begged weakly under the plastic. For all the good it was supposed to be doing, it felt like it was suffocating him.

"Okay, okay," Dean murmured, unable to keep it on with Sam sounding like that. He pulled the mask off. “You seemed to be having trouble breathing while you were sleeping,” he said as he leaned over Sam to set the mask down next to the tank. Sam breathed in fits and starts but the mask’s removal was a relief.

"Than'...k'you..." Sam wheezed. Dean nodded and stayed where he was, monitoring Sam until his breathing went back to normal. When it wasn’t improving as much as he liked, he moved closer and rubbed his hand along Sam’s ribcage.

"C'mon, Sammy, breathe," he murmured.

"'M... try'n..." Sam gritted out. Dean felt the effort he was making; he could quit the demands.

"Okay. Don't talk," Dean advised. He ran his other hand over Sam's sweaty forehead, inadvertently using the moisture to slick Sam’s hair back. Sam made a grunt that sounded a lot like ‘ew’ and Dean let out a breathy laugh. Sam closed his eyes, focusing. His breath began to stabilize.

"Good, deep breaths, that's it," Dean said, watching as his brother’s heaves lessened. "Good job, nice work," Dean praised further. Sam was normal after a few minutes. He gulped and nodded vaguely before opening his eyes.

"What..." he coughed, "What time is it?"

Dean moved his hand off Sam's side to look at his watch.

"Eleven."

"AM or PM?"

Dean gave a small smile and leaned back against the headboard next to his brother.

"PM," he replied.

"I slept the whole day?"

"Yeah you kinda slept through a fever," Dean replied. Sam looked at his brother and narrowed his eyes.

"You don't look tired."

Dean shrugged.

"I'm kinda on your schedule."

"Mm," Sam yawned and stretched his arms, idly looking around the room.

Out of the corner of his eye Dean took stock of his little brother. His face was still pale and sweaty except for rosy circles on his cheeks left over from the fever. He had a few pimples forming around his nose, his glassy eyes were bloodshot, the edges of his lids a raw dark pink. His hair was a tangled, greasy mess. While Dean had gotten his arms and fingers earlier with warm water, Sam was still a wreck.

And either Dean was getting better at subtly checking his brother over or Sam was also still a little out of it, not having noticed Dean’s evaluation.

Instead Sam had leaned against the headboard and was now absently looking up at the gray cement ceiling. He wished this wasn't a bunker. With no windows or clocks it felt like time didn't exist. It was eleven at night but it could’ve been one in the afternoon.

Sam ticked his head to look at his brother.

"You okay?" He asked softly, glancing over and taking in Dean's appearance. He looked decent enough, all things considered. Black smudges under his eyes, stress lines more pronounced but Sam figured that was reasonable given what they were going through. He was wearing navy sweatpants with a plain white t-shirt. They looked clean - maybe freshly laundered - and suddenly Sam found himself coveting the ensemble, his own clothes worn and wrinkled. Even his body was noticeably unwashed, Sam realized with a frown.

Eventually he landed back on his brother and his brother’s contemplative expression. Sam raised his eyebrows.

"I'm okay, Sam," Dean said with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction at its veracity. "How 'bout you?"

Sam gave an apologetic smile and shook his head, eyes shimmering.

"Probably not as good as that."

"It'll get better. It's getting better."

Sam swallowed. "We don't really know that," he whispered, trying to sound objective but ending up too shaky. Dean huffed and stared at him expectantly before gearing up for the pep talk he knew he'd have to give eventually once Sam was cogent enough to hear it.

"All right," Dean turned, angling his body towards Sam, "here's the bottom line, man. There's no use in worrying about what's going to happen. It just adds more stress to the situation and it helps no one. So we're going to take this like we have been taking it which is one day, one hour at a time until you get back to good."

"But-"

"No. No buts."

"If-"

"If something bad happens, I'm right here. We tackle it like we have all the rest of your… let’s call them symptoms," Dean suggested, just a hint of comedy in it. He was completely lacking his usual undertone of anger and it made Sam feel infinitely better. "Sam, we're gonna beat this, you understand me?" He paused to soften his words, "You just need to hang in there, little brother," he said, breaking into a gentle smile and managing to make Sam feel stronger than he was. Sam gave a conciliatory smile back and took a deep breath.

"Okay."

"Okay," Dean mimicked, pushing a hand over Sam's hair. Sam grimaced, feeling the way the oily strands moved in clumps. Dean chuckled and withdrew. The moment was over. Sam could collect himself a little bit. He rubbed his face and felt the patchy stubble along his cheeks and chin, dead skin and zits and the sleep in his eyes. When he touched his lips he immediately wiped the corners of his mouth, breathing a disgusted ‘ah.’

"So you think you'll be staying up?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's attempts to self-groom. It was pretty hopeless without water and soap. Sam huffed gave a small shrug.

"I don't know. Maybe. I guess," Sam said wearily, smoothing his hands along the sheets. He observed his own minute hand tremors indifferently.

"Think you can hold it down if I get you something to eat?"

Sam thought a second and gave a slow nod.

"Yeah, probably," he replied and Dean made his move to get off the bed. "What’re you thinking?"

Dean shrugged as he pulled his grey robe off the back of a chair to put it on.

"Eh, I don't know. I've got Cas in the kitchen."

"Oh yeah,” Sam breathed, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. “I forgot Cas is still here."

"Yep,” Dean shrugged. “I told him not to come in unless I called. He might still have some food going though. I'll see," he mumbled the last part as he started to leave.

"Hey... Dean?" Sam called. Dean stopped at the threshold.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," Sam said meaningfully. Dean rolled his eyes but flashed a grin before leaving Sam alone.

Sam's grateful smile vanished with the sight of his brother. He pushed the covers down to pick at the ratty black t-shirt he'd been wearing for the past, what, two days? He'd slept in it most of the time but still he'd be wailing about this if he wasn't a grown man. Also the color of this shirt wasn't lost on him: it was dark so whatever food or stains were on it wouldn't be immediately visible. Sam squinted at the shirt to see if there was anything...

Oh yeah. Nothing like stale protein shake and bits of mashed potato. Gross.

Abandoning the forensic analysis of his shirt, Sam lifted the covers up to check out what pants he was wearing. They were an old pair of cheap polyester track sweats he usually never donned even when he was about to go running. He vaguely remembered the struggle to put them on alone in bed once Dean had left him privacy, the delirious swears he'd spat about hating them as he fumbled with the drawstring that cut along his waist the wrong way and make them ride up.

With trembly fingers, Sam untied the drawstring and pulled them down lower along his ass so there'd be no pressure against his stomach for when he’d eat whatever Dean brought him.

That done, he pulled the covers back up to his chest and rested on his side only to realize just how breathless he’d become. He was deplorably weak if he couldn't even handle movements like that. Sam closed his eyes as his breathing went back to normal, getting over the reality of his infirmity just as much as his physical exertion. This was awful.

"Fuck," he exhaled. He took a deep breath and began pushing himself up to sit against the headboard. It was slow going and a few frustrated grunts punctuated the process but eventually he got there. He stayed there, again panting for air like he'd just finished a five minute mile.

He didn't hear Dean over the sound of his own breath.

"Hey," Dean said casually as he walked in carrying a tray. "Whoa! Hey, are you okay?"

He set the food down quickly and rushed over to Sam’s side.

"Yeah... yeah," Sam puffed, nodding. He raised a shaky hand up, a gesture to just let him handle it.

"You sure?" Dean asked and sat down. Sam nodded then gave his brother a thumbs up. He gulped loudly a couple of times.

"Yeah," he said, finally looking up to meet Dean’s eyes and give him a wan smile. Dean's concern was swiftly replaced with acceptance, even maybe something like approval.

"Okay let's get you... situated," Dean said, moving up and grabbing the pillows behind Sam to stack them. Finished, he backed away and Sam reclined against them with a sigh of appreciation.

"Thanks. What'd you get?" Sam asked, eyeing the tray. Dean smiled and showed him.

"Mac 'n cheese," Dean announced.

Sam laughed, looking into the bowl. “Let me guess. With hot dogs and ketchup, mmm,” Sam feigned mockery.

“Shut up. We both know you like it.”

Sam laughed and nodded. “Damn, takes me back," Sam acknowledged, tone laced with honest admiration.

Satisfaction flickered through Dean when it occurred to him Sam was quicker to feel both nostalgic about and hungry for Dean’s mac and cheese than their dad’s kitchen sink stew.

Dean took a fork and poked around the crumbled bread top layer so it’d mix with the creamy pasta below. He stopped and looked at Sam.

"Are you okay to eat this?" He asked openly.

"Yeah definitely,” Sam blew out like Dean was crazy and reached for the bowl. Clearly his appetite had returned.

"No, I mean like..." Dean trailed off and wave his hand holding the fork.

"Oh... yeah," Sam said, putting his hands out for Dean to inspect. He still had tremors but nothing that would interfere.

“Cool,” Dean replied happily, quickly and easily sticking the fork in the bowl and handing it over to Sam. "Okay you all good?" Dean asked, getting up and turning around. He framed Sam with his hands as he backed up to leave again.

Sam stopped and looked up with wide eyes, his mouth full.

"Yeah.” Sam swallowed his food. “Where you going?"

"Grabbing my own dinner," Dean said casually.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Dean said simply, looking around and finding a couple dirty plates to bring back to the kitchen.

Sam watched his brother with growing disappointment. He'd wanted Dean's company for dinner.

It was foolish to think Dean didn't have things to work out with Cas though now that he thought about it though. Plus it'd been days of nothing but spending time with him, fielding emergencies with him, taking care of him. Now that Sam seemed to be better, his general frailty notwithstanding, it made a lot of sense Dean would want some time apart. Actually, he was probably jumping at this opportunity to take a breather... especially with Cas, whom Sam knew could be there for Dean in a way he sometimes couldn't.

Sam deflated a little at the thought.

Regardless, he’d let himself believe Dean would want to mark the small victory that Sam was feeling better. That perhaps they could guardedly celebrate Sam eating on his own or having a coherent conversation together.

Dean gave Sam a double-take just before he left and stopped mid-step. His brows furrowed, noticing Sam’s downtrodden expression.

"What?"

"Um," Sam coughed and rubbed his eyes. If he was going to eat separately from Dean, he needed something to keep his mind off things. Being sick and alone and eating in silence would be depressing. "Could you leave the remote for me?" Sam asked, checking the blankets on either side of him. "I don’t know where it is."

"Me neither,” Dean shrugged after a cursory glance around the room. “I can find it later." He added before walking into the hall.

"Wait! Dean?" Sam called helplessly.

Dean stopped and backtracked so he could see his brother from the hallway.

"What?" Dean asked, a tiny note of irritation in it.

The tiny note was enough; Sam was chastened by it, now embarrassed. After all he'd done for him and Dean just wanted to go eat and talk to Cas, Sam didn't feel like he had the right to delay him a second more.

"No, sorry. Nothing, nevermind."

Dean gave an exaggerated nod and an exasperated ‘okay’ before he turned back down the hallway. His footsteps echoed away and Sam sighed, looking down at his plate of mac and cheese. He loved it but it was going to be a little less delicious without Dean. Ignoring his hand tremors, Sam took a bite and chewed miserably.

It was actually lousy that Dean had been so kind and open about staying for him if he needed to be fed but then ditched him when he said he was fine. Apparently being sick was the only thing that'd keep Dean with him, otherwise his brother didn't want to be around him.

Sam wasn't sure if it hurt more or less that it was Cas Dean was choosing over him either: would Dean have gone to go eat out in the library alone? Probably not; Dean liked eating with people. Dean usually ate with Sam and talked to him at the same time which was always revolting but right now Sam would have taken it.

So why didn't Dean invite Cas into the room so they could eat here?

Dean and Cas had to sort things out together, Sam reasoned. Dean told him about what had happened in the crypt. That kind of thing takes a lot of time and words to get past.

...but Sam had been sleeping all day. If Dean had needed to talk to Cas about these things he surely would have done it while Sam slept.

Maybe Cas didn't want to see Sam either.

Tucked away in this quiet room while Cas and Dean could speak freely without him, Sam felt like a kept secret. Would they talk about him or ignore that he even existed while he just sat there in bed, eating alone, fully aware and able to engage for the first time in days?

This felt like a concerted effort to spare Dean the trouble of being around him for at least an hour. Sam understood; he could fully grasp why Dean would need a break. And if Sam needed him he could literally just pray to Cas and they'd be there in an instant.

Sam felt rotten without anyone, devalued to know he was only a priority to Dean when he was sick. And if he wasn't valued by Dean, there was no one else in his life. He had no one else that cared about him nearly as much as Dean. His brother was the bar and if it was just because he was sick that he was acting this way then it obviously wasn't a very high one.

Sam wiped his eyes and sniffed over his mac and cheese before taking another bite. He was doing a good job, eating as fast as his body would allow. The sooner he could finish the sooner he could just fall back asleep again. Or maybe Dean would come check on him so he could turn on the TV after all. Anything to get him out of these thoughts. He needed to get a grip.

His hand jerked a little too heavily and a piece of macaroni fell onto his shirt. One more food stain on this ratty, stale-sweat-soaked shirt. Sam struggled to stop tearing up at every little damned thing as he picked it up and ate it anyway. He knew this was just part of being sick and weak. Sam sniffed and his nose wrinkled at the scent. He looked around wondering where it came from before he pulled his hair closer to his nose.

He let out a pitchy whimper when he realized he was the source of the stench and threw the fork into the bowl, pushing it away to cover his face with his hands. He sat there for a minute trying to pull himself together. He'd get through this but every time he'd reassure himself in his mind it was Dean's voice. Dean voice even when the real Dean wasn’t here and didn’t want to be here either. Sam rubbed his eyes free of moisture. He felt trapped by his own misgivings that Dean cared-

A bang against the door startled him. He looked up just as Dean swore upon entering, having tripped while carrying a plate of food inside. He glanced up for a second before moving to his side of the bed.

"Hey bud," he said, setting the plate down on the mattress. Sam blinked in surprise and sniffed, waves of giddy hope crashing over him.

"Hey."

Dean didn't look at Sam and instead started searching the room, wandering around the bed scrutinizing the floors for the remote.

"Sorry for taking so long. Cas had to talk to me about something," he said absently. He crouched down by Sam's side.

Sam wanted to respond and say it was okay he'd taken so long. He couldn't though. He needed to calm down from the embarrassingly desperate relief coursing through him with his brother's return.

Sam huffed a wet laugh when Dean gave a triumphant ‘ah ha!’ when he found the remote hidden in the bed sheets that had pooled on the floor. Dean swung around and flicked the television on. He glanced at Sam and gave a double-take.

"Hey - you okay?" Dean checked, concerned. He noticed Sam’s food abandoned on the bed. "What's wrong with your food? Why's it pushed away?" He asked, settling down with his own plate.

Sam swallowed and shook his head, quickly reaching forward and snatching the bowl back to resume eating.

"S'it too cold?" Dean queried again, watching Sam more closely now.

"No, no it's really good," Sam promised and took a bite to prove it. Dean eyed his little brother, the same confusion he'd felt before coming back as he studied him. Something seemed off, like he was battling tears. "What," Sam started, then paused to chew more before he continued. "What'd Cas have to say?"

Dean was hesitant to answer without addressing Sam’s weirdness. He wasn't meeting Dean's gaze, instead zeroing in on his food like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Sam used his shirt to wipe his nose and refused to meet Dean’s gaze. If he looked, Dean would see he'd been on the brink of tears and that was the last thing he wanted his brother to know.

Dean sighed and relented with an answer.

"Cas thinks Crowley's got Kevin," Dean said solemnly. Sam flinched, red-rimmed eyes darting to Dean's.

"Does he know where they are?" Sam asked, his voice cracking by accident. Dean pursed his lips, finally getting a good look at his little brother. His brother’s eyes were blotchy and moist, left over from something that'd happened while he'd been gone.

"Dean?" Sam prompted, his voice steadier this time. Dean weighed whether or not to interrogate Sam instead of answering his question. Sam was better at answering questions about his welfare when Dean didn’t do that though so he continued the update.

"He thinks he does, yeah. He's going there now. Left a few minutes ago to rescue him."

"What's his plan?" Sam prompted quickly, worried.

"It's solid," Dean replied confidently. "I don't know all the details but Cas seemed certain he could break in and get out under the radar."

"-but what if he can't?"

Dean sighed and gave Sam a tired look.

"Then I'm sure we'll hear about it, Sam."

"But Dean-"

"Sam," Dean countered, silencing his little brother by tone and expression. "Eat your food."

Sam stared at Dean for a second, wondering if he should press the issue further or not. This was a moment of trust for Sam to have in Dean: if things were really that dangerous, Dean wouldn't have let Cas go alone.

Or... would he have? Sam was pretty sick... Would Dean have gone with Cas if it wasn’t for him?

"Use your napkin. You've got food around your mouth," Dean added comically, cutting through Sam's thoughts with one of his most classic, infuriating strategies: embarrassing him.

Sam took the bait, successfully distracted by the need to avoid the disgrace of any signs he could be a messy eater. How were they related?

"My hands are shaky," Sam offered as an excuse, rubbing the last of the sauce off his stubbly chin.

"Uh huh," Dean replied with a wry smile as he dug into the sandwich he’d brought for himself.

"Shut up."

"You shut up. Okay, what do you want to watch?" Dean asked, raising the remote control up.

"I don't care," Sam replied honestly. Dean was with him and all his stress had been for naught. They could watch anything as far as Sam was concerned.

"Okay," Dean breathed, flicking through channels and landing on The Great Escape.

They continued eating to the sound of the film in comfortable silence. Sam couldn't finish all of his but it was still the best portion he'd managed to eat since this whole thing started. Dean approved too and ate what was left of Sam’s dish. He got the plates and serving tray cleared away and moved back to settle in again. When he realized Sam was listing against him he wrapped an arm around him.

The gesture of affection was neutralized when Dean got Sam's filthy hair and body so close to his nose. Oh, that was pungent. Sammy was legitimately turning into Pig-Pen from Charlie Brown.

The older brother couldn't help but smirk at the thought, thinking of Sammy when he'd been that young and so attached to Blankie. No matter how often Dean laundered it, that thing had been so revolting it would've given Sam's current shirt a run for its money.

Dean slowly counted to ten with Sam snugged up against him before bringing it up that Sam would have to bathe soon. It'd been a really long time since Sam was sick but Dean could still recall the kid turned emotionally fragile when he fell ill. Clingy too. Dean understood abandonment issues better than anyone but Sammy's used to come out with the subtlety of a fog horn when he was sick.

And with the way Sam was acting when he'd come back to the room earlier, Dean suspected something along those lines had already happened. He'd only been gone for ten minutes to get his dinner and talk to Cas but that was probably enough. Now that Sam seemed fine though, leaning against him and watching the movie, his breathing steady and free of any dire symptoms, Sam had clearly worked past it. Dean had bigger fish to fry, like how Sammy really needed a bath. So normally meticulous with personal hygiene, Sam must have noticed this by now too.

"Hey, um, Sam?" Dean squeezed him, setting his little brother up to know that what he was going to say wasn't meant to be a request to get away from him. Yeah he was repellent but if Dean showed Sam affection just because the kid smelled good, that'd be weirder.

"Yeah?"

"You need a bath, dude," Dean said, blunt but not harsh. Sam tensed against him, sniffed and wiped his nose.

"Sorry," Sam replied, sounding pitiful.

"No, I mean. Do you want to take a bath?"

"Oh," Sam said, unsure about how that'd work but unable to say no just yet, "um..." Sam trailed off, admittedly desperate to say yes.

"I could get things set up for you, help you to the bathroom..." Dean suggested, knowing Sam was still too weak to wash very well. Dean didn't want to disclose very much; he just needed Sam to say he'd make it to the bathroom with him. Once there, it'd be easier to bully him into accepting his help. Sam was a strange mix of fierce independence and crippling mortification when it came down to stuff like this. It was absurd considering Dean had been taking care of him since they were kids.

"Think you're up for it?"

"Yeah," Sam replied immediately. He could do that. Even if he was too debilitated to wash up properly it'd still feel so damn good to soak in hot water. "When?"

Sam felt Dean shrug behind him.

"How 'bout now?"

Sam swiveled a little to look towards Dean.

"Really? But isn't it like midnight?"

"So what? We've both been sleeping on and off all day. Unless you're tired," Dean added as an afterthought, genuinely willing to skip this plan if Sam needed more sleep.

"No, no, I'm not tired," Sam replied, perking up. He was really looking forward to this now. "Really? Like right now?"

"Yeah I'll get the water going," Dean said lightly, giving Sam a small side-hug before pulling his arm away.

"Okay... Okay, yeah," Sam said, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. Dean glanced at Sam before leaving the room, grinning back at the kid's hazy bright eyes and dimples.

Dean entered the bathroom to get things ready and heaved a sigh. This endeavor was going to be tricky. He hoped Sam wouldn't be so spent by the trip from the bedroom to here that he'd be incapable of bantering. Their trademark repartee would be their only saving grace for this.

Chapter Text

Dean walked back to the bedroom and put his hands on his hips, just looking at his brother in bed.

"What?" Sam asked. Dean cinched his mouth to the side and approached him.

"How we gonna to do this, you think?"

Sam nodded with understanding and looked around. He adjusted his position, brows knit in concentration as he got his legs to the floor. He stopped then, breathing heavily. Dean sat on the edge of the bed next to him. Sam leaned in and Dean rubbed his back.

"I, um," Sam swallowed, "I think if you just help me, I can... walk it..."

"Really?" Dean was already sidling up closer though and locked his arm around Sam's back.

"Yeah," Sam said, still a little breathless. He lifted his arm and Dean ducked his head under it. Sam let it hang on Dean's shoulders for a second before tightening his grip and nodding he was ready.

"All right. On three," Dean said, getting ready too. He noticed the bed was still bouncing a little with their combined weight on the same side. "Hey you want to use the bed to help launch you up?" Dean asked, smiling as he pushed down on it and made the two of them spring back up. “We wouldn’t break it,” Dean added. Sam huffed a laugh.

"No."

"Okay whatever," Dean said lightly, having other plans. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Okay one," Dean pushed down on the bed and let it spring them up, "two..."

"Dean-" Sam whined, feeling the mattress sink again and spring them up higher this time. This was so juvenile.

"Three!" Dean pushed harder down on the mattress with his body and Sam felt the resultant force push them up. He went with it and found he was almost standing when he registered Dean's arms tighten around him to pull him up the rest of the way. Sam held on for dear life and tried to stay up but it quickly became apparent that wasn’t going to happen.

"Lock your knees - lock your knees, Sam!" Dean yelled.

"I... can't..." Sam heaved, trying to stand but instead slipping inch by inch away from his brother like a rag doll.

"Shit," Dean murmured and heaved Sam up for a second before coming around to Sam's front to wrap both arms around Sam to keep him up. Sam grunted, his head landing on Dean's shoulder, both hands scrabbling for purchase along Dean's back but Dean was holding him securely anyway, one arm around Sam's waist, the other higher up on his back.

"Uh...sorry..." Sam gasped.

"It's okay. Can you stand? Try to stand, Sammy," Dean suggested, still holding him up.

He knew it was unlikely but it was worth it to keep trying.

Sam's breathing was heavy against Dean as he strained, pushing on the floor with his legs as hard as he could.

"C'mon, c'mon," Dean urged carefully, feeling Sam's whole body tensing in effort. Sam gripped the back of his brother's shirt, grunting with frustration and breaking into a sweat.

"All right, okay. Sam. It's okay," Dean gave up, rubbing Sam's back as he held him. Sam didn't want to though; he wanted to be able to do this. Just because Dean had given up didn't mean he had to so he kept working at it, huffing and red-faced with exertion trying to coordinate his legs and knees to take his weight. Sensing his brother's defiance, Dean stopped talking, stopped rubbing his back to let him focus.

Eventually Sam started to slow down, hope draining out of him along with the rest of the energy he'd had. Tired, Sam drooped limply against Dean, sullen over after having failed. As much as he wanted to wash up, he didn't want to be dragged to the bathroom to do it.

"I... I can't," Sam finally said, his voice trembling. He licked his lips and closed his eyes, ducking his head against the back of Dean's neck. He felt Dean hug him and he had to bite back a sob. Dean hugged him tighter.

"All right. It's okay," Dean whispered calmly, making Sam give a watery laugh. Dean's voice had that quality to it that he hadn't heard in ages. The one he would use when he was a kid.

"Okay. Yeah... um... can you put me down? This... isn't gonna work," Sam said shakily, upset this was a no-go. He'd just have to deal with getting a fresh change of clothes and wait until his strength came back.

Sam hated this. He just wanted to feel clean and not like he was consistently stewing in his own germs and dirt and dead skin. It wasn’t much to ask but the universe seemed determined.

He felt Dean rub his back again. Despite everything, it was soothing.

"Okay Sammy," he said again, consoling. He stepped forward and suddenly shoved Sam off him onto the bed. Alarmed, Sam yelped loudly in the air before landing on the soft surface. The springs made themselves known, Sam bouncing gently up and down as he looked up to stare daggers at his chuckling older brother. “What the hell, Dean?!”

"Ah!" Dean mimicked Sam's yelp, his chuckles turning into full-fledged laughs as he walked out the door.

"You're an asshole!" Sam yelled after him.

"Shut up. I'll be right back," Dean waved dismissively.

"Where are you going?!" Sam called back. Dean didn't answer, having already vanished down the hall.

Sam huffed but figured Dean was grabbing him a clean set of clothes. He slumped back to lie down. Having expended all his energy trying to stand, he was exhausted. He focused on his breathing as he stared up at the ceiling.

He thought about the third trial and wondered what the hell they were going to do about it. Hopefully Cas would be able to save Kevin so he could translate it. That was out of both his and his brother's control at the moment though. All they could do right now was just languish in these trials-related symptoms that disturbingly mirrored those of a bizarre terminal illness. Sam was alive though and Dean was working on keeping him that way.

How long was this really going to last though?

Sam rubbed his eyes. He wasn't tearing up anymore which was good but then again he suspected he needed to hydrate. He made a mental note to ask Dean for water when he got back.

...

Okay so it was miserable to have made Sam go through that but it was a necessary evil in order to build ammunition against Sam for when the kid would get all antsy about receiving his help to the bathroom.

Not to mention if Dean had brought the wheelchair around before letting Sam try to walk he never would have heard the end of it. Sam could be a contrary little beast if he felt like he was being robbed of agency. Of course he was but not by Dean.

So yeah, sure: Dean knew the odds were incredibly low that Sam would've been able to make it all the way to the bathroom... but damn. The kid couldn't even take his own weight.

Dean reached the bathroom and opened the door. Warm, humid air hit him as he passed by the long double-sink counter and the fogged mirror above it. Vanity bulbs above the mirror radiated warm yellow light and cast comfortable shadows around the spotless white-tiled floor and porcelain. A tower of large terry-cloth towels were folded and stacked on top of one another on the counter’s edge closest to the tub. They were worn-in, threads hanging and the colors dulled but they were soft and clean, ready for Sam.

The toilet was situated between the counter and the tub, the tub embedded along the side wall of the room. Dean had decided on this bathroom because it was close and the tub was long enough to fit most of his sasquatch-sized little brother. Also most of the other tubs in this joint were the ones that weren't part of the floor. Those huge clawed-feet antiques were cool but not suitable for the weakened and less dextrous. Not to mention those things had deep bottoms; if Dean opted for that kind of tub he wouldn't be able to leave the room considering Sam couldn't muster the strength to stand up.

Dean bent over the tub and felt the bathwater's temperature. He grunted his disapproval: it’d gone too cold. He removed the plug to let it drain, unconcerned about the wasted water. The bunker's power source was magical. They weren't going to run out of hot water.

Dean wiped his hands along his shirt as he stood back up. Just before opening the door to go, he stopped to look at the condensation on the mirror. Not one to waste a perfectly good opportunity, Dean reached out and drew "Sam's ugly and stupid" with his finger. He grinned at his handiwork as he closed the door and moved down the hallway. He passed by his room and Sam called for him sounding peeved.

"Yeah, yeah I'll be there in a second, dude!" He called back without altering his pace, heading for the storage room.

"What are you even doing?" Sam whined.

"So needy," Dean chuckled to himself as he entered the supply room. The wheelchair was up against a wall behind a few other odds and ends. He pulled it out, making the rest of the stuff against it crash to the floor loudly. Dean swore as he maneuvered his way out of the fallen pieces.

"Dean!? Are you okay?!" Sam's croaky yell filtered through.

"Yeah! All good!" Dean returned. Last thing he needed was Sam crawling out to get to him.

Dean wrenched the wheelchair away from the debris and swore again at the sheer weight of it. This thing was vintage steel; none of that lightweight aluminium they used these days. This was an antique.

Dean tried to pry it open and grunted with the effort. This was a rusty, sharp antique. It creaked and squealed open, the seat's leather cracked straight down the middle to reveal dusty, horizontal straps. Dean sneezed and grunted his disgust as he wrangled with it. Finished with opening it all the way, he started pushing it back and forth, trying to make the wheels steadier but they were out of alignment, squeaking and jumbling the movement of the chair seat.

Dean gave up and sighed. "Guess it'll have to do," he muttered aloud before turning it around and pushing it through the door.

...

Hearing the sounds of his brother approaching matched with the grating sound of metal rollers of some kind, Sam called out again.

"Dean what the hell are you-"

Sam stopped speaking, the ancient wheelchair coming into view just before Dean. Sam watched, mouth agape, as his brother angled it into the room.

"Okay so," Dean said as he struggled to make the wheelchair take a nuanced veer to align along Sam's bed. Failing, he lifted and kicked it over until it was. He tried to put the brakes on the wheels but the hinges were rusted. He used his palms to slam the things home anyway.

Watching Dean mistreating the contraption, Sam snorted with skeptical amusement. Slightly out of breath, Dean got up and gave an expectant smile to his brother. Sam blinked owlishly at his brother in return.

Dean's brows furrowed and gestured to the wheelchair's seat. "Get in."

Sam snorted again and shook his head.

"I'm not getting in that thing."

"Why not?"

"It looks like a medieval torture device.”

"It's a wheelchair!"

"-For the damned?"

Dean covered his mouth so Sam wouldn’t see him smile. Sam knew Dean found it funny anyway though. He grinned at his brother, pleased.

Dean collected himself. "Look, you can't stand up but you're fine otherwise. You just need to be in it for two seconds to get to the bathroom," Dean tried.

Sam held his gaze for a second, thinking it through. Silence filled the room, the rusted piece of metal standing between them.

"You're gross, Sam," Dean added helplessly, gesturing at him. Sam's eyes flared in anger for a second but then he found himself suppressing a smile. He shook his head and sighed deeply in defeat, looking at the wheelchair.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, looking for verbal confirmation.

"Yeah," Sam offered tiredly.

"Okay good," Dean replied, jumping over to a shelf with blankets on it and grabbing one.

"What're you doing?"

"Well," Dean flipped open the blanket and draped it over the chair, covering up various rusted metal. "While this thing's not a torture device, I feel like it wants to give you tetanus."

Sam snickered his agreement and let Dean get on with it, adding several blankets to cover the invention’s weak spots. When he was done the thing looked a lot less scary and more like an actual wheelchair, its edges and dirty rails and handles covered by the topmost blanket, a cozy green cotton. Dean tried the brakes on the wheelchair to test how much he could expect it to move while transferring Sam's weight from the bed to the chair. He hummed, moved around and fell into the chair. It didn’t budge and Sam laughed.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m pretending to be you.”

Sam chuckled as Dean got up and pulled the sheets off his little brother.

"Okay c'mere," he murmured. Sam sighed and shuffled forward weakly, moving down on the bed and reaching for his brother. Dean leaned in and wrapped his arms under Sam's to get a good hold around his back.

"Okay good? Ready?" Dean asked, rubbing Sam's back in anticipation.

"Yeah.”

"Okay - try this again on three. One, two," Sam tightened his grip around Dean’s shoulders. "Three!" Dean lifted Sam up to slide him across the mattress before lifting him all the way up. Sam gripped him harder but after a second he realized he'd stopped moving, hanging in the air between the mattress edge and chair seat.

"Sammy what if I dropped you like, right now," Dean asked teasingly. Sam writhed and squeezed Dean closer for fear his brother would follow through on the threat.

"Dean! Put me down!" Sam yelled through gritted teeth, furious.

Sam could feel Dean's laughter in his chest just as well as he could hear it right in his ear. Dean hitched Sam closer as a tacit sign that he wasn’t going to go through with it and resumed his little brother's transfer onto the chair seat.

Dean put him down easily and withdrew, still chuckling as he crouched to battle with the brakes again, this time to release them.

"You're a... jerk, y'know that?" Sam said, out of breath. Dean laughed and grinned up at his brother, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He slammed the second brake open and got behind the chair.

"Yeah whatever bitch," he replied, wheeling them out.

Chapter Text

As they wheeled into the bathroom, Sam squinted at the mirror.

"Sam's... funny... and... a pig?" Sam read. The condensation had dripped and warped the letters. Dean cuffed him and Sam snickered as he pulled them to a stop and put the brakes on.

"All right," he murmured, stepping forward and grabbing a towel to wipe the mirror down. He pulled a few items off the counter too.

"Hey," Sam broke into a couple light coughs, "I need some water," he said, hoarse. Dean glanced at him before grabbing a small basin and handing it to Sam. Sam took it weakly along with the toothbrush and toothpaste Dean held out for him.

"Feeling okay?"

Sam nodded.

"Just a little dehydrated."

"Okay. Wash up. I'll get you a glass," Dean replied and took off.

When he left, Sam was free to stare at himself in the mirror. He couldn't even recognize his own face. Hollow and gaunt, with several days' stubble, dirty dark hair sticking in clumps against his face. Sam looked dead. No wonder Dean wanted to get him cleaned up.

Sam cupped a hand over his mouth and took a whiff after exhaling. He let out a breath of disgust and couldn’t help but chuckle. He bared his teeth in the mirror and couldn't move fast enough to shakily push the toothpaste onto his toothbrush. This was going to be an exercise in breath management. He vaguely wished Dean was with him to make sure nothing went wrong but he'd be right back.

He started brushing, carefully and slowly rocking the utensil against his front teeth and back, trying to get every angle even though the focused effort was sucking a surprising amount of energy out of him. Eventually he had to switch hands, using his left to get the last of the plaque and stale taste out of his mouth. For a second he gagged, then decided he needed to spit anyway and used the basin.

Dean returned just then. "Here," he said lightly, offering the plastic cup of lukewarm water. Sam breathed a ‘thanks’ and took hold of it. It was a tentative grip. Dean kept holding it.

"You got it?" he asked. Sam coughed and shook his head. “Take your time.”
"Okay. I got it now," Sam murmured, gripping tighter now. Dean let go and Sam's hand dipped for a second, the full weight of the glass still too heavy. Dean's reflexes shot out to grab it before it spilled.

"What the hell, dude," he bent down to level with his brother. Sam sighed and threw his hand up.

"Sorry," was all he could muster.

"Your strength is coming and going."

"Yeah it's shifting like every few minutes. I swear I was fine brushing my teeth," Sam promised, head hanging low. He wasn't sleepy exactly, just... weak and downtrodden about it. It felt like he was using the last of his reserves every time he made a concerted effort to do anything.

Sam felt Dean palm the back of his head comfortingly.

"Okay, it's okay," he whispered, "just stay like this for a sec," he squeezed the back of Sam's neck before he got up and took the basin off his lap.

"Wait, I need to-" Sam didn't finish his sentence, the basin back in front of him and he managed to spit out residual toothpaste into it.

"Here," Dean said, placing the glass against Sam's lips and tilting it a fraction upwards. Dean was good about not giving him too much. Sam swished the water around his mouth.

"Good?"

Sam spit lamely and nodded. Dean pulled the basin away again, then the toothbrush and toothpaste. He rustled around more as Sam just focused on his breath, getting his heart back to normal. One of the sink faucets turned on then off and Sam felt Dean's hand on his head again.

"Kay, tilt your head back?" Dean asked and Sam tried, finding that Dean was actually just doing it for him. Sam blinked his eyes open for a second before feeling a warm wash cloth cover his face.

"Ah, Dean-" Sam sputtered, feeling the warm water trickle into his eyes and mouth.

"Shut up and just let me do this," Dean replied, pushing the cloth up against Sam's forehead and trailing it down his face, eventually down to his neck.

"I'm," Sam coughed, "not... five, Dean!" Sam protested again, raising his hands to bat Dean away but he was so zapped of energy he just ended up clawing at air.

"Calm down, Sammy," Dean said softly, cutting through Sam's griping. Sam huffed and relented, letting Dean have his way. After a minute or two, as much as Sam wanted to sulk he had to acknowledge Dean was being clinical. His expression was neutral and focused and it put Sam at ease.

"Turn your head to the side," Dean murmured and before Sam knew what he was doing he obeyed and Dean was scrubbing the side of his face along his hairline, his ear and on to the back of his neck.

"Ugh," Dean murmured comically, looking at the once-white cloth. Oblivious, Sam blinked up at his brother.

"What?"

"Nothing," Dean replied immediately but Sam had already seen the washcloth. He winced.

"Sorry," Sam muttered as Dean gently nudged his head to the other side.

"Don't worry about it," Dean reassured, finishing up by scraping the cloth along Sam's neck. Sam swallowed nervously and Dean put an affectionate hand on Sam’s head. "You're good, you're good, Sammy," he murmured and Sam closed his eyes, giving a feeble nod and sighing.

"I'm not strong enough..." Sam swallowed and looked longingly at the bathtub. Dean glanced to follow his sight before unlatching the brakes on the wheelchair and settling behind it once more.

"Nah I'll get you there, bud," he said, swivelling the wheelchair around to face the toilet seat.

"What?" Sam asked, surprised, his eyes widening as Dean came back to crouch in front of him, arms extended.

"On three we're gonna get you on the toilet seat," he said. He glanced at the tub and decided to twist the faucet on.

"Dean... What?" Sam said again blankly, watching his brother testing the temperature before turning back to him.

"What?" Dean asked, looking at Sam as he extended his arms again. “C’mon.” The tub’s running water was loud, echoing around the muggy, warmly-lit bathroom. "I'm not going to pull you into the tub from the wheelchair, Sammy," Dean said, a little louder to be heard. “It’d tip over.”

"You're not going to pull me into the tub at all, Dean," Sam argued, flustered.

"What? Why?"

"Because!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam, c'mon, you're sick as a dog, you smell, and you're sweating and sloughing more dead skin than a fucking skinwalker."

"I... so?!" Sam sputtered, mortified.

"So it's fucking bath time, man! You're right here! C'mon!" Dean almost whined, gesturing to the bathtub which was filling up slowly, the water radiating tempting curls of smoke from its heat.

Sam looked at his brother plaintively but Dean didn’t fold. If Sam didn’t bathe he’d end up getting even more sick off his poor level of hygiene alone.

"C'mon," he nodded, putting his arms out for Sam to take, "it's go time, let's go. C'mere," he gestured for Sam to come forward.

Sam's jaw set and he folded his arms across his chest, looking like he did when he was a toddler refusing a bath.

"No," Sam said levelly, fixing his brother a determined stare.

"Why not?" Dean huffed.

"You're not giving me a bath."

"This is not a big deal, Sam. I used to give you baths all the time! "

"Yeah, when I was four!" Sam replied angrily. "I'm not doing this with you."

"You can't even stand up, Sam," Dean fired back. Sam held his pain in his eyes most and for a fleeting moment Dean felt acutely sorry for what he’d said. Then Sam puffed back up with indignant fury. Before he could reply, Dean kept going. "You've been bedridden for days now, Sam. You need a wheelchair. You need to get clean.” After a second's pause, he added, "and I mean, how do you think other people in your situation take baths? They need help and they get it from family. From their brothers. And so do you now. It’s nothing to be ashamed of," Dean finished sharply, realizing this speech had gone on a little longer than he'd intended. He just felt strongly that Sam needed to get over himself about this and let Dean do his thing.

Halfway through his little diatribe Sam had broken eye contact to stare unseeing at the wall, his breath getting more irregular, sulky anger building as he was forced to listen to every word out of Dean’s mouth because he couldn’t walk away. When Dean was done, Sam remained stock still, refusing to address his brother’s tirade.

"Sam?!" Dean snapped, riled by Sam’s silent treatment. Sam flinched and much to his dismay realized his eyes start to water at the injustice of it all. Was Dean really yelling at him to let him give him a bath? When did this warrant Dean's outrage? Dean wasn't the one suffering; Dean wasn't at anyone’s absolute mercy. Dean wasn't getting bullied to relinquish every ounce of autonomy he'd ever held dear much less the sense of privacy typical adults exactly like him had grown to appreciate.

This was bullshit of the highest caliber. Sam took a breath and looked at his brother, stubborn refusal in his eyes.

"No," he stated, shocked to hear the tremble in his voice for just one single syllable. Hearing his own voice crack rattled him more than anything Dean had said; the fact that he was getting emotional about this instead of standing his ground more scary than anything. His resolve was crumbling. It took an even worse turn as he watched Dean react. His brother just softened, his earlier sharp eyes losing their edge and slipping into pure compassion. Sam pressed his lips together, felt his chest constrict, his heart breaking further and his own wrath and resentment turning into worry and fear. It was all he could do not to beg Dean to just let it go. Wheel him back to the bed so Sam could cry himself to sleep.

Dean sighed and moved to sit on the toilet seat in front of his little brother.

"Sam, Sammy, c'mon, man. This is not the end of the world, okay, bud?" He said, trying to coax the rational side of Sam's mind out.

Seriously, Sam needed a reality check. This really wasn't a big deal. Dean just wanted to get Sam clean, get him in some nice pajamas, help him feel better about himself. He knew Sam would look in the mirror afterwards and treasure the improvements. He’d probably be able to pass as a healthy adult, even.

For all that Dean wanted that moment, he knew he wouldn’t get it if Sam continued to angst all over himself in his own little self-deprecating bubble of sweat, tears, and smeared leftovers on his clothes and skin.

Seriously the kid was so gross. Dean hid his smile. He reined himself in so he wouldn’t think about Sam’s filthiness though. Sam was in a vulnerable place right now and Dean’s comical revulsion of him would go down like a lead balloon.

Lightening the mood could work though. Somehow...

"Sammy," Dean started. Sam looked over to glare at him. Dean huffed. "Sam, c'mon you can't seriously think this is a big deal. Think about it-" Dean wheedled, trying to get Sam to smile.

"I am thinking about it, Dean, and the answer is no," Sam replied, sounding and looking much too much like the mulish sourpuss of a child he once was, the one Dean (kinda sorta totally) adored and liked to remember. Dean couldn't help but snort at his brother's juvenile obstinacy. It slowly built into genuine laughter.

"This is ridiculous, Sam. C'mon, dude," Dean said, smiling at Sam’s glowering face. "Just let me give you a bath!" Dean laughed. Sam's cheeks reddened. Dean couldn’t tell whether it was out of anger or embarrassment. He suspected both though and wanted to roll his eyes at it. He didn't though; he remained steadfast on the general light-hearted laughter he was trying to make infectious.

"No!" Sam shouted, not having any of it.

"C'mon," Dean leaned forward, grasping Sam under the armpits, still chuckling, "I'm so done with this conversation-"

"Dean, no, stop it!" Sam yelled back. He hit Dean but Dean barely felt it. Still, he stopped trying to pick Sam up and instead started messing with where he knew Sam was ticklish, a last ditch attempt to get Sam to lighten up and laugh.

Sam gave a feeble whine, writhing and huffing angrily, moving around in the chair, grunting with the effort of getting his brother off while Dean continued his goofy antics.

"Dean, stop! STOP!" Sam bellowed, trying to drown out Dean's insensitive, grating laughter that just made him feel like this was a joke and his sick, little cripple of a brother was the punchline. God, this was too much...

"Stop laughing Dean, it's not funny!" He cried, his voice breaking into pieces, his body giving an unmistakable shudder and Sam suddenly realized with horror that he was on the verge of tears.

Unable to battle his brother any longer, Sam just caved. He let go of getting his brother off him and slumped over to cover his face with his hands.

He bitterly realized Dean had stopped and pulled away. A second later the tub’s faucet turned off and it was quiet, just the sounds of the water lapping at its porcelain sides.

Chapter Text

Of all the things Sam had gone through, maybe this was the worst. He had become so reduced that he couldn't even take a fucking bath alone and his own callous brother was just laughing about it like it wasn’t humiliating.

He couldn't even hold his own head up to wash it properly but hey at least he could amuse Dean.

Everything Sam was, his very basic agency, was getting destroyed by his own body's lack of faculty and Dean was just treating it like it only served as comedy fodder.

And Sam had no recourse on this. Dean was the only caretaker Sam had.

Didn't Dean get it? Didn't he understand how this experience was cutting Sam down on a deeper level than just physical incapacity? Didn't he get that without the strength and ability he'd grown up developing, Sam felt worthless?

And yeah Sam knew this was part of the trials. That, in the end if they get completed, it'd all be worth it. But that was a big 'if.'

Kevin might come back and give them the third trial and Sam might not even be able to complete it. What if the trials were meant to be completed one after the other quickly so as not to allow the human body to deteriorate like his was now? What if they were too late already and none of this gets better?

Sam would die weak and frail and a failure in his big brother's memory-foamed bed in this subterranean bunker lair no one knew existed, staring into Dean's eyes and communicating silently the truth and acknowledgement that these infirmities and his subsequent death had all been for fucking nothing.

Sam gulped and swallowed, leaning forward in the wheelchair to hide from Dean's scrutiny and getting his emotions in check without much success. Fear, insecurity, desperation, and furious resentment that his brother wasn't taking this seriously all overwhelming his senses and pitching him overboard with no lifeline.

These trials were breaking him.

Dean was just laughing about it.

Sam cut off the sound of a sob but his body jerked with it. It was subtle but Dean caught it and the next thing he knew Sam felt his brother's arm wrap around his back. Sam refused to meet his brother’s eyes.

"Sammy..." Dean whispered sympathetically, rubbing up and down. His tone made it clear he still thought Sam was being unreasonable. It was just a more serious extension of why he'd been laughing at Sam in the first place.

Sam took a deep shaky breath, fresh tears dripping off his face. At the sight of it, Dean huffed loudly, stopped rubbing his back to instead grip him tighter. He softly tugged Sam towards him and while Sam kept his head ducked, he felt something break inside as he caved against Dean.

Sam gave up all pretense and slumped into his brother, letting Dean envelop him in his arms.

"It's... just..." Sam choked. Dean hugged Sam tighter.

"I know, Sammy. All right... I know, little brother, it's okay," Dean soothed, his voice calm and consoling. Sam finally let go and reached for Dean, his body sagging against his big brother, shaking with grief and worry and fear that he wasn't going to be able to deliver on anything when the time came.

Dean angled more towards Sam and let the kid cry, holding him steady. "You're gonna be okay, Sammy. We just gotta take things as they come, all right?"

Sam weakly grasped Dean's sides with his hands, wishing that the wheelchair's railing wasn't digging into his side. This was an awkward hug but when you couldn't get out of a wheelchair on your own and you have a meltdown while your brother's trying to transition you to the toilet seat to eventually give you a friggin bath, concessions get made.

Despite the uncomfortable positioning, Dean held him together and Sam slowly recovered, making sense of the scene before them and the plan laid out in front of him. He repeated to himself this would all be okay, things would all work out, undeniably helped by Dean’s continued pledges and promises reinforcing the same message.

There was a brief pause in Dean's gentle reassurances so he could listen and get a gauge on how Sam was doing. Sam was coming back to him, small sniffs and controlled swallows indicating that the worst was over. Dean leaned his head against Sam's.

"I... I could... y'know, knock you out," Dean offered, acting like it was a genuine compromise. He felt Sam chuckle under him and Dean breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"No," Sam croaked, his throat raw from tears, voice muffled against Dean's chest. “Not funny.” He began to move away from Dean's embrace but kept his head bowed to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"You sure?" Dean pushed lightly, playfully, and Sam huffed.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice crackly and wet.

"Okay," Dean grinned and pulled Sam against him again. Sam leaned into it, his head still bowed, and felt his brother push his hair off his forehead roughly to compensate for the quick kiss that followed. Sam stared down, felt the affectionate kiss and gave a patient smile as he sniffed and wiped his face more.

"We're gonna get through this, Sam. But it's a team effort, okay?" Dean squeezed his fragile little brother.

"F'it's a team effort why're you laughing at me," Sam challenged, trying to make it sound like banter but failing. It was clear he was hurt by his brother's earlier insensitive humor. Dean sighed.

"I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing with you."

"Did you see me laughing?"

"Well whose fault is that?" Dean shot back. Sam gave a skeptical chortle.

"That's..." Sam swallowed and exhaled without any emotional tremor, "I don't think that's how that works, Dean."

"Well I was trying to get you to not cry," Dean whispered soothingly, his tone apologetic.

Sam wiped his nose and looked up. His face was red, his eyes watery but no longer tearing. "Good job with that," Sam said dully.

Dean snorted. "Yeah thanks," he replied, knowing Sam was regaining full composure. He withdrew from his brother carefully, got up and moved to sit on the tub's rim. Sam remained quiet, waiting for Dean to move things along.

"Listen, Sammy, obviously you don't have to do anything you don't want but... you need to clean up, man..." Dean gestured lamely to his brother. "...and I promise I won't laugh," he added, making Sam twitch a small smile to match rolling eyes.

Sam sighed, shaking his head, still somewhat unwilling so Dean searched his mind for any other compelling argument.

"Look, hey, if the roles were reversed, I'd totally let you get me into a tub if I'd gotten as gross as you are now," Dean lied. Fortunately, he lied well and Sam, bless him, trusted him.

"Yeah right," Sam puffed, rolling his eyes even further.

Okay, so maybe Sam was better at reading Dean than he thought.

"Shut up, I would," Dean pitched but Sam just shook his head tiredly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dean waited until the silence felt oppressive. He tilted his head down.

"Sammy-?" Dean prompted hesitantly.

Sam sighed again and angled his bowed head to look at Dean, then beyond to the half-full tub behind him.

"Fine," Sam murmured.

"What?" Dean's eyes lit up.

"I said... fine." Sam cringed when his brother clapped his hands together, grinning broadly.

"Yes!" Dean pointed at Sam with renewed enthusiasm and moved to get up and into position to transfer his little brother to the toilet seat.

"I'm gonna regret this, aren't I?" Sam said bleakly, his tone devoid of life but Dean just let out spirited chuckles. Sam was amazed how Dean was just moving on, acting like Sam hadn't just had a meltdown in front of him.

"Nope. Do you even remember when I gave you baths as a kid?" Dean asked happily as he picked Sam up with no trouble at all. He turned them around and set Sam down on the seat.

Sam was actually impressed how easy that'd been.

"Not really," Sam lied, unwilling to give his brother the satisfaction.

"You always looked forward to it. Always conked out immediately afterwards."

“Why?”

Dean made the gesture for Sam to lift his arms up. Sam tried to reach up but he only got about waist high before his arms started shaking.

“S’okay.” Dean touched his hands lightly, indicating for him to keep them there before he moved over and reached for the bottom of Sam's t-shirt to peel it off from the back.
"You were always tired after bath time because," Dean dragged out, but then stopped talking so he could focus on getting Sam out of his shirt.

When Dean got the neck of his t-shirt over his head, Sam looked up, eyes narrowed.

"What was it?" Sam prompted with a wry smile, anticipating something good.

"You don't remember 'Prison'?"

Sam's brows furrowed and he shook his head. Dean held off on explaining, glancing over to the pile of towels on the counter and getting up to grab one. As he unfolded it, he resumed the story.

"You kept trying to escape from 'prison,'" Dean air-quoted, "during bath time and guess what, in your tiny little peabrain, represented the prison?"

Sam laughed. "Really?"

Dean draped the towel over Sam's lap and murmured "hold on to that" and Sam did.
"Yup. You'd escape like four or five times too 'cause you were so friggin slippery," Dean replied, injecting false frustration into it and successfully amusing Sam further. "Lift," Dean asked lightly and Sam did, letting Dean pull his track pants and boxers off with the towel still covering him. "Anyway so after that you were always pretty tired," Dean finished the memory, landing his palms on Sam's bare knees. Grinning, he looked up at his little brother. "Lucky for me you're too fucked up to play Prison right now, huh?"
Sam gave Dean a withering look, unimpressed. Dean chuckled good-naturedly. Sam sighed and bit his lip, looking over at the tub.

"How's the water?"

Dean took a deep breath and exhaled, leaning over to push his hand in and sweep waves across the surface. The warm water lapped innocently against the sparkling white porcelain.

"Really nice actually," he offered, starting to think about taking his own bath after he'd finished up with Sam. There was this one time while he'd been on a hunt in St. Cloud, Minnesota. It'd been like twenty below zero and nothing but gray scale light; dreary as all hell but oh, what was her name? Lacey or Lane... Elaine! Elaine had invited him up to her apartment and the bathroom setup was stunning. Dean was no slouch when it came to sex but erotic was the most fitting description for that night. They even opened the huge window right above the tub afterwards because-

"Dean?" Sam's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife, sinking the indulgent reminiscence like an anvil. Dean glanced up at his brother. Sam's eyebrow was raised high, his expression looking a lot like it did when Sam would say things like ‘wow man, not the time.’

"What?" He asked innocently. Sam rolled his eyes and Dean wondered how the hell the kid could read him so well like that. He sighed as he got up, shifting back to the situation at hand.

"Okay so the towel's gonna fall off you at some point while we do this. Don't freak out. Promise I won't look."

Sam let out a light laugh. "Whatever dude," Sam acquiesced, lifting his arms up to let Dean wind his arms around Sam. When Dean had a good hold on him Sam tightened his grip around Dean's shoulders too.

"All right on three. One, two, and," Dean crouched a little lower, glancing back to the tub to make sure he was angled right for this, "three!" He lifted. Sam stayed pretty limp in his arms but Dean had this down to an art form by now. He swiveled around, hearing more than feeling the towel fall to the floor, and felt Sam's legs hitting the rim of the tub as he started to lower him down ass first.

"Y'okay?" Dean asked through gritted teeth. Lowering him down was more difficult than anything he’d done before now. Especially because it occurred to him at some point he'd have to let go and have Sam fall the rest of the way.

"Yeah," Sam grunted and Dean felt Sam's legs scrambling for purchase. Dean had gotten his hands and Sam's back wet with water but they were still too high up for Dean to let go.

"Don't do that- Don't do that- Sam!" Dean ordered urgently, feeling his grasp around his little brother slip. Sam's writhing weight won out and even though Dean had been so close to a perfectly controlled landing, Dean lost his grip and the rest of the kid's body splashed down into the tub.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean yelled, realizing Sam's head was under water. He splashed water all over grabbing him and pulling him back up. Sam sputtered and blinked the water out of his eyes.

"Sam! You okay?! You good!?" Dean demanded roughly.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam coughed, feebly grasping at Dean's arms. "Let’s," Sam coughed again, "not do that again."

Dean smiled and looked at the water level, lower now they’d splashed it everywhere.

"Maybe we'll put you in the tub before the water next time," Dean proposed.

"Good plan," Sam quipped comically before breaking into another cough, spurting more water out of his mouth as Dean held him so he wouldn’t sink under the surface again.

Chapter Text

Sam sat up with Dean’s help. He hunched over bent knees and scooped water up to splash against his face. He let out a deep sigh, relaxing into the water and feeling considerably less compromised. He hadn't felt this uniformly warm for ages and it felt like heaven. He rested his head on his knees facing the wall, away from Dean for a moment, absorbing the heat and letting his muscles loosen and relax. The sound of the water lapping against the sides of the tub was calming. Sam idly stared at bits of light reflecting off the porcelain tiles and listened to the sound of his brother bustling around behind him. He wasn't above falling asleep right now.

Eventually he sensed Dean settle down next to him.

"You okay?"

"Mm," Sam hummed and nodded, not wanting this moment to end.

"I wanna get your hair."

Sam opened his eyes and turned to look at his brother, expression pinched.

"What? Why?" Sam asked, his tone unexpectedly whiny... which was embarrassing but whatever. He really just wanted to stay still so he could keep these small moments of comfort and peace going for as long as possible. He didn't want to be waited on or examined or cleaned. He wanted to keep just this simple thing now that he had it: curled in under hot healing waters with nothing but the bath's tinny sounds and the knowledge of his brother's presence nearby.

Sam slowly rested his head on his knees again, this time facing Dean. His eyes were fluttering shut, clearly intent to doze and Dean bit his lip to stop from laughing at him.

"You can't lift your hands all the way up," Dean explained, playfully tilting his head to match Sam's sideways vision. Dean came up closer against the rim of the tub and Sam self-consciously huddled in more. Dean snorted with amused sympathy before dipping the cup into the tub's water near Sam's feet to fill it up. "You don't have to do anything - just stay like that and it'll be two minutes tops, okay?"

The bathroom’s augmenting acoustics picked up his quiet voice. "Okay."

"Okay cool," Dean replied easily, sitting up straight over Sam, ready to pour the cup's contents over the back of his head. "Cover your eyes?"

Sam nodded and put his forearms over the top of his knees, pressing his forehead against them as a slow cascade of warm water flushed through his hair. His body gave a jolt of surprise but after the initial shock he realized it felt good. A fit of nostalgia hit him that it was just like when he'd been little and Dean had given him baths.

Sam sputtered suddenly, feeling his hair turn into a wet curtain falling over his face, longer now that it was wet and so it draped over his shoulders too. Sam gave a shiver and held his breath when he felt his brother's hand land lightly against his back.

"Breathe, Sam," he said, giving his words emphasis with a fleeting back rub that Sam sheepishly realized he liked and wouldn’t mind more of. "You okay?" Dean murmured, his voice low and steady.

"Yeah," Sam replied and stifled a small cough. Dean rubbed his back again, much to Sam’s secret appreciation.

"Okay one more time," he whispered quickly just as he went ahead with another cup full of water. This time Sam was more prepared and he handled the flood of water well enough. Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw Dean rolling his sleeves up and inching over the rim of the tub. He listened to the sound of a cap snapping and his brother's breathy ‘okay’ before he felt Dean’s palms working shampoo into his hair.

Okay. This was heaven.

Sam closed his eyes and couldn't help get lost in what was essentially a head and temple massage.

Dean could sense the exact moment Sam folded into loving this. It was somewhere between when Sam lost all tension in his back and shoulders, becoming a dead weight slumped over his own bent knees, and when Sam unconsciously started to lean up against the rim of the bath towards Dean.

Besides being halfway funny and halfway adorable, that latter move was a godsend because Dean was seriously bruising his ribs leaning over the tub’s rim trying to make sense of his little brother's hair which had developed a woeful excess of knots and tangles.

"Dude your hair is like a... dead..." Dean messed with the tangles but only succeeded in generating more lather, "...rat..."

Dean pulled a knot to see if that would work and Sam yelped.

"Sorry sorry...I'm sorry," Dean laughed guiltily, patting down Sam's hair nicely.

"You suck," Sam moaned, leaning about two inches away from the porcelain rim. Even though Dean couldn't see Sam's expression, he knew his little brother was smiling too. This entire thing was just so ridiculous.

"You suck - do you use conditioner, dude?" Dean asked quickly, trying to slip his genuine curiosity in with the playful insult. Seriously though he hadn't even thought to find conditioner; he'd literally never used conditioner himself but it occurred to him that Sam might with longer hair.

Dean always thought it was a flowery accessory Sam liked but if it was because he constantly needed to un-knot his hair in the shower Dean realized he'd maybe just finally figured out after several years that the stuff was in fact a practical call.

Sam huffed in response, leaving Dean to interpret.

"Seriously dude, I can't..." Dean tried to thread his fingers through Sam's hair like a brush and Sam cried out again.

"Stop!" Sam laughed plaintively and Dean laughed too as he pulled his hands from his little brother's hair, placed his palms up in front of him.

"I can't fix your hair right now, man!" Dean said helplessly. "Where's your stupid conditioner? I know you have some!" He accused, comically fed up with continuing without the product.

"S'in the other bathroom," Sam answered, smiling.

"Okay be back in a sec."

In the period following Dean's departure, Sam wiped his face free of suds and languished in the bath, exhausted. He idly noticed the waterline against the porcelain was leaving small layers of grime; he'd have to get out soon before he'd just be soaking in dirty water. Sam weakly reached up to touch his frothy hair and breathed heavily, knowing he still had a long way to go before Dean could rinse everything out, apply the conditioner, and finally rinse that out too.

He felt his heart skip a beat. A streak of fear slipped through him and he waited on tenterhooks to see if it happened again, each new steady beat reassuring him it was a one-off.

Then a slow wave of heat rolled over him. It wasn’t the result of the water’s comfortable temperature but again Sam suspected it was a one-off. Still, he focused until he was confident he wasn’t overheating.

Sam leaned down and laid his temple against the rounded, cool surface of the tub's rim. He sank deeper into the water, his muscles loosening to a greater extent than normal. At some point he opened his eyes and realized how close his face was to the water’s surface. Slightly concerned about lapsing into some kind of heavy physical fatigue, he trying to move his hand around in the water. It took a lot of effort - his body now definitely overheating with the exertion - but he managed to do it before tucking it back against his stomach.

Okay.

This still felt wrong. Something was wrong.

He was getting worse, weaker, and if he lost much more strength he'd easily be able to slide under the surface.

Sam needed Dean. Now.

Sam gathered all his energy and channeled it into extending both arms out and over the rim. If he lost all strength, the weight of his arms would hopefully counterbalance his body so he wouldn’t slip below. At the same time, Sam called out to his brother.

"Dean!" He yelled but it wasn't a yell, more like a strangled rasp. Sam coughed between huffs of breath, his own panic messing up his system's reserves. "Dean!" Sam shouted again, his voice stronger this time. His head dangled down over the rim, cheek pressed up against the cold outside porcelain of the tub, his chest heaving as it pressed uncomfortably over the bath's rim.

"Dean!"

"Coming!" Dean shouted and Sam heard his brother running in the hallway. All strength gone, Sam hung over the rim staring at the floor when the door banged open and Dean's authoritative voice filled the empty humid air.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Dean asked and Sam heard what was probably the bottle of conditioner drop to the floor near him before Dean's hands got under his arms and lifted him up off the rim. "Sam?" Dean said gruffly, pitching Sam backwards with an arm around his shoulders. Sam was shivering so Dean put him in a controlled sink back into the warm water. Sam's head flopped back against his brother's elbow and he grimaced in pain as Dean's hand wiped leftover bangs and suds off his face.

"I-I don't know. I couldn’t..." Sam whispered, trying to look anywhere but at Dean's worried expression. He would’ve been self-conscious too, totally spread out nude in the tub with Dean hovering over him keeping his head above water but after a drowning scare Sam didn’t really have the energy to care.

"Okay but you're okay? No pain?" Dean gripped him securely, keeping Sam’s body steady, his head braced. Sam shook his head and swallowed.

"Yeah no, I'm okay. I just..."

"What?"

Sam closed his eyes, frustrated.

"Didn't want to slip. I got really weak," he explained sadly. Dean pursed his lips with sympathy as he held Sam.

"Yeah, okay," Dean replied, "Well I got you now," Dean smiled and Sam nodded slightly, resigned to the relief that washed over him. Dean sighed and stared at the wall across from him to come up with a plan.

"Okay, so..." he started, bringing his gaze back to the little brother in his arms, "I think what we're gonna do is rinse you off and just get you out, all right? We can make your hair pretty later."

Sam gave a wan smile and nodded.

"Sure."

"I'm gonna get you up and you can hang over my arm here, you ready?"

Sam grunted assent and Dean gently pulled him up. His arm braced Sam along his ribs just below his chest.

"Just hold on - just let me brace or... balance you, whatever," Dean instructed distractedly. Sam nodded. "You good? Feel secure?"

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Dean pulled Sam closer to the rim of the tub. Sam found himself able to lean his head against Dean's shoulder.

"Okay, that’s cute but you can't do that, dude," Dean laughed kindly, pushing Sam's head off. Sam let out a comically incoherent whine. "Sorry man," Dean laughed before grabbing the rinsing cup. Careful not to jostle Sam too much, he started pouring water over Sam's head until the suds were gone. The knots and tangles were still very much in place but Dean just wanted Sam out of the tub now with the drowning scare he’d just had. They could get Sam’s hair detangled later. When he was done Dean sighed and tilted his head at Sam, evaluating.

“You still super weak?"

"Um," Sam moved around to test, holding onto Dean's arm still for leverage, "yeah..." He answered, a little out of breath.

"Okay uh..." Dean trailed off, thinking. “If I try pulling you out with the tub filled like it is, there’s gonna be a suction effect so let’s have the water drain first, okay?”

Sam blinked and Dean wasn’t sure if he got all that. “Okay.”

“Okay,” repeated. He’d take it. He leaned over and batted Sam’s feet away underwater to pull the plug.

Sam's huffed with humor, limply having moved his feet to help Dean. When Dean resumed his position, Sam laid his head on Dean’s shoulder like he’d been waiting for it. This time Dean let him. A few beats of silence passed, the drain gurgling as it downed water, the two of them in an awkward embrace over the bathtub's rim but neither of them cared.

Sam sighed. "This is so miserable Dean," Sam shared, voice dull. Dean exhaled loudly, nodding his head. He moved his free hand to rub his brother's curved back. His skin was getting goosebumps.

"Yeah it does," Dean agreed gently. "It's gonna be okay though," he added resolutely, moving his hand up to Sam's wet head and leaving it there. Sam leaned in more, ducking his head further against Dean's chest, willing to accept the gesture because he was really starting to need it.

Dean felt lame as hell over the deep wave of affection washing over him for Sam. They'd grown up so fast but if there was one thing that brought the two of them back to the shards of innocence they had experienced during their childhoods, it was this most basic dynamic between them. Dean messed with Sam's wet and knotted hair.

When the water was drained enough Sam pulled away slightly and Dean straightened.

"Okay, you about ready?"

Sam nodded weakly and rubbed his eyes with pruny fingers. Dean swivelled around and grabbed a towel. He draped it over Sam's shoulders and started rubbing water off when Sam spoke up.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean replied distractedly, drying Sam as much as he could.

"What if these trials weren't meant to be done slowly?"

"What do you mean?" The water level was down so low that Dean could drop the towel into Sam’s lap now for modesty. Sam breathed an absentminded ‘thanks’ to his brother and resumed his question. "I mean, like, what if - how sick I'm getting - what if it doesn't get better because the trials are supposed to be done faster?"

Dean had gotten another towel and was just about to wrap it around Sam’s back when the significance of Sam’s question hit him. He met Sam’s eyes and saw real distress there. Dean bit his tongue at the thought of trying to lighten the mood. Sam needed a serious answer.

Dean winced and went ahead covering Sam with the towel. He started ruffling the terry cloth over Sam’s hair, his other arm pressing Sam’s chest, signaling to Sam he could lean forward more and Dean would brace him. Sam slumped against his brother’s arm with a sigh.

"We can't go faster, Sammy," he said.

"Yeah I know. But what if this is what happens when you don’t complete them in time? What if this isn’t part of the trials and instead a self-destruct mechanism to all those who start but don’t finish them?"

Dean looked at Sam. Sam’s worried gaze was fixed on Dean, depending on him. Dean pulled his mental arguments together as he shifted to dismissive judgment.

"No, man. That doesn't make any sense."

"Why?"

"First, because if there was a self-destruct mechanism, you’d just destruct. And we’re not even close to that. No,” Dean added as he saw Sam open his mouth to reply. “Let me finish. Second reason: the tablets were written eons ago. Back when it took weeks to travel two towns over. Everything took forever back then so unless God wanted the trials completed only in the twenty-first century, he would’ve given the hero’s quest a hell of a lot more time than this.”

Sam’s eyes brightened as Dean spoke. So far so good, Dean figured, refusing to acknowledge the glow he still felt when he could tell he was making Sam feel good with his arguments.

"Well," Sam shrugged, "what if God did only want it to be possible now?"

Dean raised his eyebrow. Sam narrowed his eyes, trying to keep face before he let out a snicker.

“Okay, okay.”

“Clutching at straws. Stop it,” Sam huffed a laugh and shook his head. Dean pulled a third towel out to add to the bundle already surrounding Sam in the tub. He wrapped Sam up and hugged him, his head against Sam’s.

“Don’t be scared. You were meant for these trials, Sam.”

Sam’s head hung low as he listened and shivered under his brother’s faith in him. He sniffed and nodded.

"Jerk," Sam gave him the escape from the unintentionally intimate and meaningful moment.

"Bitch." Dean grinned, pulling away.

Chapter Text

Alone in the bathroom and sitting on the toilet, Sam managed to get his boxers on but he was so worn out by that feat alone he could barely get the neck of his plain white t-shirt past his head. Panting, he stared down at the bunched cotton around his neck, willing himself the strength to pull it and get his arms through.

After a couple minutes working with the sleeves, he had to admit he’d been wrong when he’d insisted he could dress himself and shooed Dean out of the bathroom.

“Dean!”

Almost immediately the door swung open.

Sam looked up at his brother with comically sad eyes. Dean was alert but not overbearing, deciding to just lean into the bathroom to see him.

"Yeah?"

"I can't..." Sam trailed off, weakly gesturing at the shirt, still pooled on his shoulders.

"Okay," Dean replied easily. Dean shut the door behind him. He came around and fiddled with a sleeve until he found the hole then took Sam’s hand and guided it through. He repeated the process with his other hand and before Sam could do it himself, Dean pulled the rest of the shirt down to his waist with a few good tugs. Sam could’ve done that last bit but it’d happened so naturally that neither batted an eye. "Good?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. Dean turned to grab the sweatpants from the counter and Sam shrugged inwardly about leaving the rest of his ensemble to Dean. He sighed and looked around the bathroom as Dean bent down in front of him to work on putting his feet through the legs.

"What time is it?" Sam asked suddenly, turning back to look down at his brother. Dean didn't look up as he was working Sam's left foot through the tunnel of fabric.

"Uh... like maybe one or two in the morning?" He replied distractedly, turning to the other foot. "Why?"

Before Sam could answer, Dean spoke up again. "You need socks?"

Sam frowned. "No."

"You do. I forgot socks," Dean disagreed absently. Sam didn't care enough to argue. Dean pulled the sweatpants up to Sam's knees and left them there. "Can you finish while I go get 'em?"

"Sure, yeah," Sam replied. Dean nodded and got up from his crouch, throwing an affectionate hand over Sam's down-turned head before leaving.

"Be right back," he said lightly and turned to leave.

After a few small body-jumps off the toilet lid that depleted his energy, Sam finally got his sweatpants on. His boxers were uncomfortably bunched now but he figured he could fix that situation later.

Dean returned soon after, carrying thick camping socks along with a blanket. He threw it over Sam and got started on his socks before Sam could protest.

"It's colder out there," Dean muttered the explanation and Sam rolled his eyes. Subtly, so Dean wouldn’t notice and insist it cover him, Sam took the blanket off his shoulders to keep in his lap instead. Dean finished putting the socks on and looked up. "Okay, wheelchair time?" He said, more to warn Sam what he was doing as he stood up to wrap his arms around him and do the quick transfer onto the seat.

"You're getting too good at this," Sam coughed, then looked up at his brother with glassy eyes. Dean turned to grab the unused towels off the counter. "I think you might have a future career in hospice," Sam deadpanned, trying for easy banter.

Sam watched as his brother paused all movement, then threw the towels at the shelf and avoided Sam's eyes as he walked behind the chair and grabbed the handles.

"Dean?" Sam queried. The chair twisted back sharply to pivot towards the bathroom door. "Hey!" Sam called quickly, annoyed with Dean's handling as the chair shot forward. "Dean what-?" Dean leaned over Sam to open the door, shoving Sam down and to the side in his chair. "What the hell, man?" Sam complained as the door slammed open. Dean pushed Sam through it without another word.

As much as Sam wanted to get to the bottom of why Dean was suddenly an asshole, his brother had been right: it was cold out here. The bathroom had heated up with the bath’s hot water and Sam hadn’t noticed until a gust of chilly air slammed into him as Dean whisked them down the hall. Sam’s wet hair was making it worse and goosebumps started rising on his skin.

Unwilling to give Dean the satisfaction now that he was acting like a tool, Sam just gripped the blanket in his lap tightly, willing his body to adjust before Dean could sense anything off. The priority was dispelling Dean's pissy attitude, not Sam's perfectly healthy and normal reaction to room temperature after a hot bath.

The wheelchair rolled quickly down the hallway, one of the broken wheels squeaking and catching, jerking Sam at every rotation. It was uncomfortable and Sam was having a hard time denying the need to shiver.

"Uh... Dean?" Sam called in an undertone, clearly communicating that he thought Dean was running with a few screws loose here.

"What?" Dean replied quickly, his voice severe. Sam made a face as a chill ran up his spine. He tried to quell the shivers but failed miserably just as they reached the threshold of Dean's room. The wheelchair stopped.

"My room or yours?" Dean asked harshly, eyes cold.

Sam unconsciously gripped the blanket tighter at the question. "What?" Sam asked unsteadily. A few drops of water streamed down Sam's neck and under the back of his shirt, sparking another frigid chill rushing through him. Sam heard Dean let out an annoyed huff as he came up around to the side of the chair and snatched the blanket from his brother's grip.

"Damn it, Sam," Dean said, flipping the blanket out sharply. Sam watched his brother with trepidation, not sure what was going on. Dean stayed aloof, unwilling to meet Sam's gaze. Dean roughly pushed Sam back down so he'd lean forward in the chair and draped the blanket around his back.

"Ow. Dean?" Sam’s voice was weak with insecurity before getting shoved back so Dean could wrap the thing so tightly around him that his arms stuck to his chest. Sam tried to catch his brother’s eyes but Dean didn't look anywhere but the blanket, obviously only willing to complete the task of warming Sam without any of the normal or tender care he'd always had for him.

Dean stood up, turned away from his brother before finally turning back around to face Sam.

"Seriously, your room or mine. Your choice, Sam," Dean said. The brightness in him had vanished, nothing upbeat, no self-aware humor. Sam looked at him warily. This was like... a test or a trap or something.

"I... what? Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why're you giving me a choice?"

Dean shrugged and looked down the hall to Sam's bedroom.

"I don't know. You might be more comfortable in your own room is all," he said, his tone airy now. "I'm cool with it if you want to go back. I'll still be around. It's not a big deal."

Sam bit his lip and considered. For all intents and purposes, Dean seemed to be coming from an honest place. The mood swing was jarring but maybe Dean had just resolved something in his head. It happened sometimes for everyone. Maybe Dean had settled out with the concept that Sam could have this independence, a sense of privacy after the bathroom thing, despite his illness.

Sam grasped the folds of the blanket and looked down at the ground, thinking about whether to take the offer. Intellectually, if Dean thought he could handle being alone then he should take that opportunity, right? If there was one thing Sam always yearned for it was his brother's blessing he could manage on his own.

He glanced into his brother's room, warm with lamp light and cozy with so many blankets strewn around, so well-decorated with pictures of their family and their most prized weapons. Those were the weapons that'd saved theirs' and others' lives from pure evil since their childhoods... and Sam's history was wrapped in with Dean's so closely that nothing in this room came off as unfamiliar. Sam had lived with scraps and pieces of all these things showing up in the motels with Dean at one point or another. In fact Sam honestly regarded them all as jointly owned.

Sam wanted to stay with Dean in Dean's room with all their stuff and with his brother in easy reach should something go wrong. Sam was constantly scared, constantly worried he wouldn't be able to do this. He was constantly trying to come to terms with how he’ll likely die even if he successfully completes the third trial.

Then again, Dean had just given him this option to switch rooms and he wouldn't have done that if, deep down, he didn’t want Sam to take it.

Conflicted, Sam shrugged and looked up at his brother.

"I... don't know."

Dean nodded with an approving frown.

"Okay," he said, moving around behind Sam to grab the handles. "I think you should go to your room," he said blithely as he started pushing the wheelchair past his door and down towards Sam's. Sam's heart dropped, realizing too late that something was still wrong between them. The phrase 'you should go to your room' hearkened back to his childhood just as much as everything else had with his brother since this had all started and it never meant resolution. It was embarrassing how that childhood phrase could evoke such desperation against going to his room even though just having his own room, his own sanctuary, was highly desirable in literally every other context for him at the time.

Dean continued to wheel him down. Sam was uneasy when they got there and he swallowed nervously as the wheelchair tripped into his room. He'd forgotten how bare his room was, how the lighting was a cold fluorescent white. He took it in stride as Dean jammed the rusty brakes home once the chair was settled at the side of his bed.

Sam knew Dean couldn't just leave him there. He still had to get Sam set up so there'd be plenty of time to goad him into revealing his grudge. Then they'd be able to hash it out and go back to Dean's room... maybe. Hopefully.

"So," Sam started, watching Dean as his brother pulled more blankets out of a closet to drape over his bed. He flipped them out, a pleasantly neutral expression on his face, acting as though he hadn't heard Sam at all.

"What's... up with the change?"

"Oh, I don't know," Dean replied easily, kneeling on the bed to pull the covers open for Sam. "Just thought you'd like a change of scenery," he huffed, getting off and coming up to Sam. "Okay, ready?" He asked, reaching his hands out and Sam automatically mimicked the move.

Dean then transferred him to the bed fast, faster than he'd ever done before and without - and wow, Sam felt weird acknowledging this - but without hugging him. Dean got Sam out and over perfectly fine by gripping him under the arms and lifting him from the chair to the bed without any need to bring him closer. Sam hadn’t even known it could be done that way but now that he did, he missed the other way.

"Okay, you good?" Dean asked matter-of-factly, pulling the blankets up over Sam's body. Sam swallowed and tried to hide his hurt expression. He nodded mutely. "'kay. I'll be right back." And with that, Dean just took off down the hall.

Sam bit his lip, hearing Dean's casual, almost cheerful footsteps disappear.

Okay, so Sam wasn't an idiot. He knew he’d referenced hospice care and Dean was pissed about that but it was only meant to be a joke. Dean was blowing things way out of proportion. Sam sighed. For all the shit Dean gave him about being a drama queen, Dean could be the most passive aggressive bitch sometimes.

By the time Dean came back, Sam was seething with righteous indignation. He wanted to beat Dean at his own game now.

Dean raised an eyebrow, sensing Sam’s temper, but quickly regained his manner of indifference as he moved over to sit in the wheelchair. That was another deliberate distancing move, Sam noted, because ordinarily Dean would sit on the bed next to him.

Dean showed him what he’d brought: two walkie-talkies. He put one in Sam’s lap. "Channel six,” Dean said and Sam tentatively picking up the hand-held radio and switched it to the right channel, fuming but keeping a lid on it for the time being. “You need anything, you call. Got it?" Dean said, his voice a mixture of the practical tone he used on hunts and the fake agreeable one he'd been using.

Sam's jaw clenched. "Got it.”

"Good," Dean said, standing up. He surveyed the room. "Need anything right now?" He asked.

"No," Sam replied quickly, plastering a spiteful smile at Dean, then tipping the radio up to Dean. "I'll call you if I do."

Dean looked down and nodded slowly. "Great," he replied, but it wasn't, and his voice made it clear. But it was too late to back down now so without a backwards glance, Dean simply left.

Chapter Text

This had to be one of the dumbest ideas Dean had ever come up with. Throwing Sam into his own room when the kid was obviously not up to it was an unbelievable move on his part and as Dean threw a few blankets down in the hallway and went back to get some pillows, he kept running the self-recriminating litany through his head.

Thing was, he'd had enough of Sam's bullshit about dying and hospice care and all these depressing theories that painted a way-too-clear picture of Sam's inevitable demise. Before all this started, Sam had been brimming with determined resolve to survive. He’d used it to convince Dean he was better suited to do the trials.

Dean needed Sam to get that whole thing back because otherwise all of this was a foregone conclusion and he'd lose his brother to his warped penchant for accepting death too soon.

Dean cursed Sam for that particular trait: he'd never taught nor modeled that particular aspect of Sam's personality. To a certain extent he figured he could blame their father. While the man had normally valued his life during regular hunts, when it came to Azazel, all bets were off. At early ages his sons understood John was willing to give up the ghost as long as Yellow-eyes was put down first. And just because John sacrificed himself for Dean instead didn't change the sanctioned precedent he’d set, the inadvertent blessing he'd given if either of them decided to follow in his footsteps and resolve to die to end an evil.

Dean knew both of them had made peace with the memory of their father. However, where Dean had managed to take a step back and recognize his father's faulty teachings without resentment, Sam had managed to rationalize them, even maybe embrace some of them, in order to settle out.

Dean didn’t even realize he was shaking his head as he thought about it. He wasn’t sure if he was more disappointed in their father or Sam. In truth, it didn't really matter where Sam's thought processes were coming from, only that they needed to get derailed.

So this - this idiotic plan of his - was to give Sam exactly what he wanted.

If Sam really wanted to frame this shit like he was dying and not surviving, Dean was gonna give him the full package. Sam wants to "die with dignity"? He can get the hell out of Dean's room and keep his precious privacy and so-called ‘independence’ alone. If Sam wanted to draw parallels between Dean and hospice care, Dean will damn well play the part and let Sam feel exactly what it's like to have a pleasant but altogether indifferent caretaker at his beck and call.

Dean stood over his bed, staring at it, rage and resentment roiling as he replayed Sam's opening line of ‘banter’ back in the bathroom. He knew it was supposed to be a joke but it just happened to be the last straw. Sam had been pitching his insecurities at him and Dean thought he'd been knocking them out of the park. However much Sam was scared and worried, Dean thought his presence had been helping and snapping him out of it. Instead, Sam had apparently just decided to extend his bullshit doubts over everything else including Dean's care for him. It was frankly insulting that he'd cast Dean's efforts as something so trite as an impersonal duty. Like Dean was obligated by some other force than his own personal wishes that Sam be safe and healthy.

Dean was taking care of Sam and Sam only - would only ever take care of Sam. There was no one else on his priority list. For Sam to take that and distort it so he could take it for granted was just too much.

Fuck Sam.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He grabbed a couple pillows and brought them out to the stupid nest he'd made for himself about two feet from the threshold of Sam's door. The walls were thick: if Sam called him for something the kid wouldn't hear feedback or his voice doubling up from Dean's radio.

Inwardly Dean hoped this deadlock wouldn't last long. He was already missing his mattress.

...

Sam was cold and the barren aesthetic of his room made the comparison to an arctic tundra all too easy to make. He just lay there thinking how if he were in the soft light of Dean’s room, his brother would be sitting next to him keeping him warm.

Sam looked around his room for a distraction. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with him? Why hadn't he done something with the walls yet? He could've at least thrown a map up there. Sam liked maps and they were all over the bunker.

Sam rubbed his face with chilly fingers and tucked his hands under his armpits.

"Change of scenery, my ass," Sam muttered bitterly as a small shiver shot down his spine. He figured the chill was a normal result of his wet hair. He tugged the blankets up higher and tried to scoff at the punch of loss he felt when he realized that Dean normally did that. He was going to have to twist and turn to get the blankets wrapping around him all the way now that Dean wasn’t here to arrange them.

Sam rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was missing Dean this much already. Pathetic.

Unsure what to do now that Dean wasn't his primary form of entertainment, Sam eyed a stack of books to the side of his bed. He read the titles on the bindings, dismissing each as he went down the list. They were all heavy tomes of lore, myth and legend that held relevance to their work but a dearth of amusing stories Sam could enjoy before falling asleep.

Sam wasn't really tired now anyway though. Not with Dean's new attitude and the shift to his bedroom. He felt like Dean was punishing him but that was too weird, or maybe just too embarrassing to admit.

Sam always felt guilty for being a burden to his brother. With such unpredictable symptoms he’d basically invaded his brother’s bedroom for round-the-clock supervision and on top of all that he bothered Dean too much with his own doubts and fears. He was hitting Dean on all sides on every spectrum and he knew it was wrong.

Thinking about it that way, Sam was feeling better about his current circumstance. Dean having his own space back was a good call. Giving Dean more free time away from Sam was also going to make him happier and after everything he’s already done for Sam, he deserves that. And Sam… Sam could deal with his own empty bedroom and erratic symptoms alone unless he needed help, in which case the radio was right there next to him on the bedspread. Easy.

Only problem was the pit in his stomach that kept sinking heavier at every rationalization.

Dean had pulled away from him and deep down, no matter how much Sam tried to justify it, that felt more wrong.

Sequestered and instructed to only call on Dean when he was needed, this wasn’t how they treated each other. These new boundaries hurt. For as much as Dean wanted Sam confident and motivated to survive, with this setup, survival was the last thing on Sam’s mind.

Dean probably didn’t get exactly how tangible it was for Sam. How Sam could feel the icy hands of death wrapping around him at every choked breath, bloody cough, skipped heartbeat. Innately destabilizing, Sam had been trying to come to terms with it and that’s where his darker ruminations and jokes to Dean stemmed.

Sam got that bothered Dean. Well, now he did. He could deal with it alone if it bothered Dean so much though, he assured himself. Every man dies alone anyway. Sam probably should have realized it was his task and his alone to reconcile life with death. Dean would never truly be able to hold Sam’s hand on that even if they weren't distancing each other right now.

Sam's reflections were interrupted by his stomach making a noticeable rumble. Following protocol, Sam reached for the walkie-talkie he'd set on the bedside table.

"Dean?"

A quick crackle came on followed by his brother's reply.

"Yeah?" Dean grunted.

"Um. I'm hungry." Sam wished he didn't have to ask. For a fleetingly morbid moment,he went so far as to wish he had the strength to give up asking for anything that'd keep him alive.

"Great. What do you want?" Dean asked, tone bland and perfunctory.

Sam bristled. He wasn’t ordering from a friggin’ diner.

"I don't know, Dean. What've we got?" He gritted out.

"Everything. Let me know when you figure it out," Dean replied back quickly, his tone friendly but dismissive.

Anger flared in Sam and he jutted his chin out, huffing his next response. "Dean will you just get in here?"

Sam waited for the answer. It came after a long, torturous pause that only further incensed him. The radio crackled and Dean's voice came out smooth.

"Sure. On my way."

...

Dean licked his lips, a guilty-but-not-really smile slowly forming as he flipped closed one of the old school pin-up mags he'd found and took his time getting up from his spot on the floor.

As angry as he was at Sam, he was never above finding amusement in getting a rise out of his little brother.

...

After five minutes, Dean knocked on Sam's door. Sam didn't say anything, assuming Dean would just bust in like he always did.

He didn't.

"Come in, Dean," Sam toned, annoyed.

Dean opened the door and took a step inside. He stopped there, kept the door open and leaned against the jamb.

"You figure out what you want?" Dean asked, folding his arms against his chest. Sam stared daggers at him. Acting like a waiter taking an order was possibly the most maddening thing Dean had ever done.

"Grilled ham and cheese," Sam answered, voice strained. He gripped the blankets tighter as another chill swept through him. It took tremendous effort but Sam suppressed any outward physical indication.

"Okay," Dean replied happily and without one word more practically skipped out of the room and shut the door, leaving Sam alone in silence once again.

Sam stared after where Dean had been, jaw clenched.

"Fuck you," he breathed and reached to grab one of his books to get his mind off his complete asshole of a brother.

...

Dean closed the door and made his way to the kitchen at a fast clip. Grilled ham and cheese he could do but he’d have to do it fast before Sam's feistiness got lost in fatigue or anything else that might dull his hunger.

Shit, if he'd known this would bolster an appetite in his little brother he should have pissed him off earlier.

Dean set the frying pan on the stovetop and got two slap-dashed buttered pieces of bread going on the surface. He pulled out strips of swiss, slices of ham, moved the pieces around to get things toasting and melting and in the blink of an eye he managed to finish.

Dean noticed his hands were shaking when he pushed the slices off onto a plate, cut the sandwich into quarters, and set it on their meal tray. He almost knocked the protein shake off the counter. Quick reflexes served him well as he saved it from shattering to the floor.

The stressed haste was Dean’s own emerging fear that if anything happened to Sam, not only would Dean be at fault but it'd be happening in the midst of Dean's bullshit ploy to make a bullshit point.

He didn’t even know how much he was rushing back to Sam’s room until he got there and realized it had been less than ten minutes. His last thoughts before pushing the door open into Sam’s room were that he wasn’t making a bullshit point. He knew how to play Sam. He’d been doing it since the kid had the wherewithal to get played. This would work, damn it.

Dean took a deep breath, shored up his worries and let his admittedly disturbing persona of cheerful apathy override everything. He walked in to find his little brother safe and sound in bed.

Sam pulled his eyes away from the book he'd been reading. The whole time he’d just been reading one small passage because he couldn’t stop his own internal monologue fuming over Dean distracting him. His brother carried the tray over and didn’t say a thing. He didn’t meet Sam’s eyes either.

"Thank you," Sam said, straightening up against the cement brick of the wall. His bed didn’t have a headboard.

Dean bit back his usual retort when Sam would needlessly thank him.

"You’re welcome," he gritted out, hating it. He set the tray down on Sam's lap. "You got it?"

Sam nodded and pulled himself up as best he could. This was about the time Dean would've pulled Sam up and made sure he was comfortable. He fought the urge to do it this time. The kid’s wet hair was a tangled mess sticking to his face.

"Yeah," Sam murmured, slouched more than Dean liked but grasping the tray's handles. Concern flashed through Dean at Sam's shaky hands but Sam didn't see. He was busy balancing the tray properly in his lap.

"Great. Need anything else?"

Sam kept his head down. "No," he sniffed, picking up a sandwich quarter.

"Cool," Dean muttered sourly. At every step he took to get out of Sam’s room, the pressure mounted in him to stay, make sure Sam ate, make sure Sam was hydrated, warm, and even maybe as close as he could get to happy given the circumstances.

None of those things seemed in the cards for Sam if Dean left. The fluorescent lights were too bright if Sam wanted to sleep after he ate. Sam was going to get so slouched the food might not go down smoothly… and slouched against the jagged, scratchy concrete of the wall no less, which couldn’t be comfortable. Dean hadn’t added the memory foam to Sam's bed yet either so he knew Sam was sleeping on his usual piece of shit mattress. Additionally, Sam seemed cold but he hadn't asked for any more blankets and to top it all off, his room was so blank and devoid of things that even Dean felt a spasm of need for some interior design homes-and-gardens type shit.

How were they even related? How was Sam so spartan when Dean's room had mementos and tools and weapons. It even had unsolved and possibly dangerous mysteries in it because whenever they went through the Men of Letters artifacts, Dean always just took stuff he thought looked interesting to keep in his room for later scrutiny. It was pride in the past, a recognition of the present, and an assumption of a fun and interesting future. Sam could look around and find all that random crap in Dean’s room to think about on every layer of time that existed but in Sam’s room? Four walls and an uncomfortable bed and stacks of books that may or may not hold relevant information about the gates of hell.

Come on, Sam.

By the time Dean got to the door his heart was aching and racing in equal measure. He took a deep breath and without a backwards glance, opened the door.

"...Dean?" Sam called suddenly. Dean’s jaw clenched. He turned his head to the side to show he was listening. One direct look at his little brother right now and he’d cave.

"Yeah?" he grunted.

"Seriously. Thank you," Sam said softly.

Chapter Text

"Seriously. Thank you."

The unfathomable gratitude in his brother's tone fed what had been the dying embers of fury in Dean. The depth and sincerity of it wasn’t meant for the sandwich alone. Dean was not going to let Sam use his grilled cheese as a metaphor for everything he’d ever done for him. Not only was that absurd but it was utterly unnecessary for two reasons. One, Sam wasn’t going to die. Second, you don’t thank your brother for doing shit brothers are supposed to do.

Sam shouldn't have thanked him unless it was a disingenuous snipe. Dean would've been able to handle that because that was his brother. That was Sam acting on all four cylinders: fighting, getting digs in at Dean like he was going to live long enough to apologize for them later. Sam was a stubborn entitled asshole that refused to take no for an answer, not a frail loser with a martyr complex.

Dean knew exactly where to hit if he wanted to get Sam there. He'd have to pull back the curtain a little earlier than he'd have liked but then again maybe not. Sam was either in full recovery (please God, Dean thought) or Dean was pressing the window of opportunity to have this out with Sam before he'd have to triage any new symptoms at the same time. Now was as good of a time as any and really, the sooner the better.

Dean turned to look at Sam for a second, nearly snarling his reply.

"Hey it's my job, right?" he said bitingly and moved to slam the door behind him.

"Dean!" Sam shouted back. “Come back here!” He demanded, his voice strong and irate. Good, Dean thought as he swiftly turned on his heel and re-entered Sam’s room.

"What?" Dean locked eyes with Sam. Oh yeah. Sam was angry.

Sam wished dearly he could stand up, get in Dean's face. Instead he had to remain in bed, the tray of cooling grilled cheese in his lap, looking for all the world like death warmed over, a full on zombie given his wet, tangled hair and gaunt face. Sam was sure Dean would be laughing at his expense right now if he wasn't returning the fire in Sam's eyes with his own.

Sam always lost their staring contests. He looked around the room helplessly, gestured to the tray and finally looked up at Dean, desperation starting to mingle in with his frustration and anger.

"What the hell, man? I'm sorry I made the stupid joke about hospice care thing, okay? But-"

"That's not it, Sam.”

"Well what is it because I don't know how to fix this otherwise. It's like you're fighting with air right now and I have no idea how-"

"No idea how to what, huh? How to settle out with me? You want to die knowing we're cool, Sam?"

"Yes!" Sam shouted, exasperated. Dean glared at his brother, silently promising that wasn't going to happen. "Dean, we're almost there. Don't you get it?!" Sam’s cheeks flushed even though the rest of him was practically freezing.

Dean studied his brother for a second, then theatrically clapped his hands and opened them out to his brother's place on the bed.

"Yeah you know what? I get it now, actually," he said, plastering a fake smile onto his face, his gestures taking on a sarcastically charismatic appeal. "We're good, Sam. Totally good," Dean cut the air wide with his palm. "No problems. Nothing."

"Oh man, seriously?" Sam started, disgusted, "Don't give me that shit. This is so-”

"No, really, Sam. You just keep on with what you're doing. Just give me a call when you need anything. I'll let you know if Kevin comes by with the third trial," Dean paused, exaggerating the second thought that occurred to him, "Oh - that is, if you're even still alive. Now you’ve got my blessing to die, you're all set to go right now."

"Dean..." Sam tried weakly, suddenly too shaken by Dean’s words. His brother’s flippancy towards his death paired with the acid in his words ate at Sam's defenses. Dean wouldn't - couldn't possibly - hate him for dying. It was out of his control. Neither of them knew what would happen.

"Yeah," Dean nodded along with his own thoughts. He huffed, licked his lips and shook his head. "That's you, isn't it?" Dean tilted forward, unconsciously moving like he was getting under Sam's skin just as much as he knew his words were. "Just gonna go quietly into the night." He finished softly, his contempt sliding out smooth and steady.

Sam's head was spinning. No, he didn't want to die but if he did...

"Sam!" Dean yelled, making Sam flinch.

"No," Sam replied carefully, his voice so controlled that it came off low and flat.

It sure as hell didn't sound like resolve to Dean.

"Mm... No," Dean repeated, dragging Sam's monosyllabic answer out disdainfully. "You sure about that?"

"Y-yes," Sam stuttered, feeling like Dean was ripping this out of him, making him feel like shit for truly not knowing the answers. Dean didn't know them either so why the hell was he demanding Sam to respond with a sense of certainty over things both of them knew they could only hope for?

Dean sneered. "Really?" He asked skeptically. "I mean, hell. You're so ready..." Dean paused, looking around the room, then back to Sam, eyes narrowed. "Do you even want me around? I could just step away altogether. Let you die in peace, right? You've got my approval now. We're fine. Right?"

Sam felt his eyes start to water, that pierce in his sinuses before full-fledged tears. He had to look down at his food before Dean could see. He bit down hard on his lip as he inhaled a shaky breath. Another chill blew through him.

"Do you even want to complete the third trial, Sam?" Dean whispered cuttingly and waited for Sam's answer. He didn't miss the tear that fell from Sam's face onto the tray.

Shit.

"Yes," Sam whispered at the tray. A knot had formed in Sam's throat, suspending the ability to say anything steadily at a normal tone.

"What? I didn't quite hear you!"

"Yes!" Sam cried back, his voice shattered. He gasped tears back but he stared right back at his brother, puffy, smudged eyes slit with hate.

"Good. Well that's great." Dean offered snidely. "Death always comes into it somehow with you though, Sam. So after, are ya gonna die? Is that what you expect?"

"I don't know," Sam shouted, red-faced, cheeks glistening with tears.

"Well shit. Is it gonna happen before or after the last trial, Sam? I'm just asking because you're prepping like you know so it'd really help me out." Dean’s voice dripped with contempt, his anger boiling into something more - something that needed a target. "You know, seeing as I'll be able to finally rip off the fucking burden of hospice care, right?" he screamed. Dean had balled his hands into fists awhile ago but it wasn't enough. He whipped around for something to punch, found the wall, and slammed into it at every emphasized word: "-For my poor, fucking useless piece of shit little brother!" Dean shouted, scattering paint and bruising plasterboard, eyes bright with rage. Sam flinched at every hit and couldn't keep it together when Dean finished his last two words.

Sam broke and covered his face with his hands. His whole body felt frozen but it was nothing compared to the pain of Dean’s outrage.

Dean seethed, staring at the beaten wall and listening to Sam's desolate sobs behind him.

The two of them remained silent for awhile, not saying anything to each other. The room's ventilation seemed to roar loudly in the midst of it. The heat was working on full blast.

Dean regained control, his anger draining and regret surfacing. His fist stung. It was a little bloody. He’d have to wrap it.

That had been inappropriate.

Dean’s stomach roiled and bile threatened to rise up. Dean bent over, panting, as he pressed his palms against the wall, steadying himself so he wouldn’t throw up.

Sam could barely see, his vision blurry from tears and though he desperately wanted to read Dean his own riot act, he was too exhausted, too cold, and too ruined to get anything coherent out.

Dean let out an audible sigh. He wanted to acknowledge his mistakes right now but he was too raw to actually do it.

"Listen Sam," he said to the wall, unable to face his brother. "You either live like you want to live or live like you want to die. S'up to you. I'll be on the radio," he finished quietly.

Sam swallowed and hiccuped, wanting to respond before Dean left but Dean was too fast. He gently shut the door behind him, cutting Sam off from any possible retort.

The cold seeping through Sam's shuddering frame had been the last thing on either of their minds.

His shakes so much worse now and his appetite gone, Sam managed to get the tray off him and onto the floor. He pulled the blankets up and over his head so he could cry his way to a restless sleep.

Chapter Text

Dean washed a hand down his face, exhausted. He checked his watch. It was a quarter to seven in the morning. He honestly wasn't sure what the hell he was doing or why he was staying up. He'd checked in on Sam an hour ago and the kid was sleeping soundly. It would've been the perfect time to grab some shut-eye in keeping with Sam's schedule. He'd run sick-Sam marathons before... only when the kid had been young obviously but he still remembered the crucial rule to keep up his own health.

Something was just nagging at him though and it wasn't guilt, although holy shit was he feeling that too, but it was more this unerring sense that he needed to stay on standby.

So he did.

By staring at the wall in the hallway, wishing he had a tennis ball.

...

Lucifer's words dripped into Sam's ears, freezing him to the bone.

"Most people think I burn hot. It's actually quite the opposite," he whispered before breaking into dark laughter. Sam's whole body shivered as the freezing gust of wind from the Morning Star's voice blew through him, ruffling his damp hair and crystallizing whatever water was still kept in the knotted strands. His joints locked in the frost, his breath catching as he inhaled shallower and shallower gasps of frigid air.

Sam was in the cage. It’d only been in the cage that Lucifer could be like this, incorporeal yet completely omniscient. Michael's existence had barely ever registered, the angel's grace gone - snuffed out in the fall down to the deepest cube of hell with his eternally damned brother.

Sam could barely think. His body launched into several spasms before the screech of sharp metal rented the gray white emptiness where he lay suspended. The Morning Star braced Sam's back along his spine, his touch like liquid nitrogen instantly searing him open from the back of his neck down. Sam screamed and tried to move in the nothingness but he was frozen solid already, his body uncoordinated, unable to obey his mind's commands. Sam's screams turned silent as he realized he could barely take any more frozen air into his lungs.

...

Even if Dean had a tennis ball, he'd be worried it'd wake Sam up bouncing it against the walls. He sighed and picked lint off his sweatpants, read his own palms and tried to count the number of women he'd slept with. That last one was a winner but quickly turned inappropriate were Sam to suddenly need him. He reluctantly gave up that train of thought in exchange for the last game he'd watched on TV.

...

Sleek white silver - the flat of a scythe - winked its reflection and Sam watched in horror as it lifted up and swung down, plunging the curved blade directly into the space just below Sam's throat to hook itself in, curve and latch under his sternum.

Lucifer's burning cold touch pushed and the scythe pulled. Sam gasped as he flew forward, letting out a garbled cry. He could no longer scream under the unimaginable pain as he was thrust and slammed face down onto a long slab of metal grated with jagged pieces of rusty spikes crafted to look like icicles. Frost sparkled on them in the grey whiteness and before he could anticipate the pain the scythe wrenched him up and dragged him. Sam gagged his scream which choked into a long, guttural moan as his flesh tore open and left the rusted metal icicles dripping, then quickly absorbing, the warm blood of a righteous soul.

...

An alarm went off down the hall and Dean checked his watch. Normally Sam was up around this time but they'd gone off schedule with the bath so Sam's time for meds was going to move up in favor of catching the Z's he'd missed.

Dean hummed, bored, and exaggerated a groan as he got up to go turn the alarm off. He absently wondered if Sam even knew he kept the Sam's meds on a clock; he usually hit the snooze button within the first beep and disabled it before Sam woke up.

Dean padded down the hallway lazily, rubbing an itch on his ass as he entered his bedroom to shut the device off. He stopped, looking around his room, and began to deliberate over which items he'd be willing to part with to make things up to his brother.

...

In the cage, it wasn’t only Lucifer that craved the taste of a righteous soul.

Their surroundings seemed to swallow everything - every sound, every move, every thought Sam could possibly have - and need more. Everything was hungry for him, his existence in this realm was so rare. He was so full of potential, his soul begging to be corrupted. Sam was the purest delicacy in the cage.

Sam didn't know how he knew, but the gray flurry of mist forming in front of him was Lucifer. The particles of frost and snow shaped itself in front of his one eye - the other had been gouged by one of the metal shards he'd just been torn across - then transformed into a wavering, bending sheet of ice that swooped over him slowly, sensuously, to wrap around his entire body and settle over his face and mouth. When next he spoke, Sam felt the cold air of Lucifer’s breath.

"Ready to come home, Sammy? 'Cause you're coming back to me."

...

Looking around, it was hard not to realize how deeply attached Sam was to nearly every item in here. Dean couldn't have missed the ball more about Sam when he'd reamed him out.

Sam didn't have a death wish. If Dean had had his head screwed on straight, he would've known it; known his little brother had always seen the bigger picture. Sam saw the panoramic where Dean could only see linearity: the journey and each challenge as they met it together. And Sam didn't see conflict as inevitable in the face of these challenges. Sam always wanted to do the right thing but unlike Dean he never thought battle was a requisite.

Dean preferred establishing sides for everything. It made things simpler, easier to put to bed, but Sam... Sam needed to acknowledge complexity; assess and analyze all perspectives in order to reach his own conclusions.

Death was not an option for Sam to Dean. Case closed. But for Sam, his analysis of what it meant for a heart to stop was obviously more intricate and nuanced. Sam probably wanted to meet death with the same spirit of fearlessness he'd exhibited in life. It was honorable. Dean should never have faulted it. Sam found strength in it.

...

Sam tried to scream at the frozen air pushed into his lungs by Lucifer's voice. The Morning Star's sheet of ice pressed into him closer and on all sides, the violation crushing gasped sobs and tears out of Sam's single eye to mingle with blood from the other. The grated metal slab soaked it up when drops fell and seemed to breathe out further storms of cold wind, whirling rain, hail and sleet down upon him.

Yet it was all muffled by the veil of ice Lucifer kept tightening around Sam's body like a vise.

"I'm taking you back," Satan promised adoringly.

...

Dean knew Sam also found strength in him. He'd lived nearly his entire life to depend and rely upon Dean's presence and support. Taking that away from Sam had been inexcusable.

Dean understood now he'd been lashing out in fear. Sam couldn't possibly die alone... so if Dean left him alone, he wouldn't die.

Which made no fucking sense.

It occurred to Dean that maybe nearly thirty years of living side-by-side with the kid would've been enough time to keep Dean's head clear when it came to Sam but damn did it cloud things when Dean was afraid.

By talking about his own death Sam had managed to hit more of a nerve in Dean than himself. It was fucked up but Dean had never and would never let go of that nerve. And he sure as hell wouldn't apologize for it.

He still owed Sam an apology though.

...

Sam's eyes snapped open to perfect and absolute darkness, still freezing cold, unable to move, Lucifer's icy pressure still bearing down on him. He heard a wheezing gasp sound out like a whistle. His own breath. Sam registered he was somehow drawing in air... and with the no doubt fleeting sensation of filling his lungs before the Morning Star's next scenario, Sam tried to scream out every piece of his soul that he thought had been claimed by heaven, not hell, this time.

He'd been damned all along. Tainted by Azazel, possessed by Lucifer, and slated for hell since the day he'd been born. There'd been no hope of redemption for him. He'd been laboring under the most dire false pretenses all his life...

So Sam screamed, his voice raw, like he'd already forgotten how to use his vocal chords. He wailed and shouted in anguish over the benighted hope he'd had for heaven and the last exchange he'd had with his brother. Did he want to die? Sam's thoughts were garbled and incoherent but he managed through the pain, screaming and writhing, suffering from loss and despair, tears flowing as he thought I didn't want to come back here! I never wanted to go back to hell! I don't deserve this!

Sam's heart twisted. Dean! He screamed. Dean! Help me!

...

Dean cinched his lips to the side and considered a couple pure-iron machetes. He knew Sam had saved his and his father's life with one of them. He tried to remember which one it'd been. He thought maybe the one with the blue grip but the red one looked cleaner. It’d look better in Sam’s room.

Taking both weapons down, Dean figured they could both go to Sam. The feel of the blue one felt good in his hands and... oh man, Dean was dying for a hunt. He missed getting dressed: jeans, heavy work shirts, his leather jacket... He missed the pure, simple kill and the whisky that went down so good after. No-name bars with his brother at his back, sitting next to him matching Dean's shots with sips of beer. The two of them making jokes at each other's expense.

Maybe Dean could bring the Colt out to the hallway to clean it. It'd pass the time while Sam slept.

...

Lucifer was going to grow bored of Sam's sounds soon and limit him to thoughts. Pick out his voice box with a blade of ice or maybe just end up stabbing him with it and leaving it there to slowly melt and flood his lungs with blood and water.

So Sam made more of an effort to punch through the silence, taking advantage of his voice while he still had the luxury to use it.

...

Turning to the Colt's resting place in its case, Dean flinched as he heard some an ungodly bellow coming from outside his room and down the hall. It choked out a second later into complete silence and Dean waited, praying it was just sleep-deprived insanity.

He stood stock still, listening with his head angled to the door of his room.

Again. This time a scream, frantic and pitched, shot out and echoed through the bunker’s halls, reaching Dean's room clear as day.

The sound shredded through everything, the older brother's brain reduced to only one imperative. He flew out of his bedroom.

"Sam!"

Chapter Text

Dean clipped his shoulder on the door and flipped the lights on. The room bleached out under the fluorescents. Dean slipped and hit something, the world tilting then righting itself and Dean ignored the sharp sting in his hip as he rushed to Sam's bed, his heart beating out of his chest, blood rushing in his ears. He reached Sam and landed heavy hands onto the unmoving, blanket-covered mound that was his brother.

"Sam! Sam!" Dean shouted. Sam didn’t wake but his face was in a rictus of pain. Dean ripped the blankets off. There was no blood, no apparent injury. He remained prone, curled into a ball, face pale and sweaty, messy hair still damp, and gasping silent screams.

Dean braced Sam with one hand on his waist, the other on his shoulder. His sharp eyes scanned Sam again, trying to figure out what was wrong. At a loss, he went back to Sam's strained face. "Sam! Sam!" Dean called. "What hurts!? Where's it hurt, Sammy, c'mon!" Dean yelled futilely. Sam’s eyelids fluttered and he inhaled deeply before letting out a piercing scream, shattering Dean's eardrums. The cords and tendons in Sam’s neck stressed as he contorted in bed, his back lifting off the mattress. He stopped screaming and slammed back down to the mattress, panting.

"Fuck," Dean whispered, shaken. What next? Pea soup?

Dean grabbed the kid's coiling body and put him onto his back. With firm hands on Sam’s bony hips, Dean dragged him down towards the center of the bed to give himself more room to work. Sam's damp tangled hair tracked along the pillow, splaying out against the pale blue sheets. Sam gasped, his eyes opening wide, so dilated Dean could barely see his brother’s hazel coloring.

"Sam! Sammy c'mon look at me, damn it!"

Sam writhed and spasmed, still caught and essentially immobilized by whatever horror show was playing behind his eyes. He kept up the cries and choked screams, breaking every few seconds to gather more breath before starting up again.

"Sam!" Dean yelled directly into his brother's face. Sam only flinched and shook more. Tears broke and streamed down his face. Sam gasped another breath and the next scream tore through Dean's heart when he heard his own name barely enunciated in a desperate, hopeless bid for help.

"Sam! Sam, I'm right here! I'm right here!"

Sam coughed and gurgled on a choked sob.

"Fuck Sam, c'mon!" Dean bellowed, nearly in tears himself now. He pulled Sam's feet and arms out, laying him out so he could examine him more closely. Sam continued to tremble, panicked eyes glued to the ceiling but he didn't react. Dean trailed pressure along Sam's shoulders, chest, stomach, hips and legs all the while watching for any classic pain responses. Nothing but goose bumps along bare skin and sharp spasms and trembles that shook his little brother’s frame. Sam had no reaction to anything. Dean finished his exam with Sam's ankles and feet. There was no way he could have anything broken or dislocated.

Head injury? Dean chided himself for not checking that first but how the hell would Sam have gotten a head injury? None of this made sense though so Dean just leaned forward and placed gentle pressure around the kid's head. He watched Sam's already terrified expression for any flinch or indication of physical pain and got nothing. He moved on to his brother’s forehead, temples, cheekbones, jaw...

In hindsight Dean couldn't believe he'd missed it for so long. In his defense, his hands were practically numb with panic and he was running on the expectation that he'd trigger pain to find a specific injury in Sam. He wasn’t even thinking about what he found next. Dean placed his palm against Sam's neck and slid down to his collarbone. It took him a second to register ice cold, clammy skin.

"Holy shit," Dean murmured heavily, "Sam, you're freezing cold."

Dean leaned back for a second, dread spreading through him as he assessed the kid for hypothermia, a condition that hadn't occurred to him because it was absurd. The bunker was normally in the low seventies fahrenheit and Dean had raised it even higher before getting the kid out of the bathroom earlier.

Beads of sweat rolled down Sam's face and straining neck, mingling with tears and spit as Sam continued to holler himself hoarse. His pale, papery skin was a whole new level of white and stood out starkly against his dark hair. Dean couldn’t stop his own tears when he realized Sam was repeating garbled 'D' sounds in between anguished wails.

Sam continued to scream out frantically, his garbled words and moans nearly indecipherable but still with that cursed 'D' sound intact, haunting Dean. Dean refused to acknowledge that sound, knowing he'd be incapable of handling the situation if he thought too much about his brother's blind, panicked begs. Sam was undergoing torture of some kind, Dean was sure of that. To be so destroyed that Sam would openly call out for him, desperate... No. No, Dean couldn't think about it.

Whatever was happening it was plainly obvious that it was removed from reality. It was something separate, something psychological. Dean didn't know if he felt better or worse about that.

Dean bit his lip, stared at Sam and weighed priorities. Whatever the cause of Sam’s unresponsiveness and hypothermia, it was going to have to take a back seat. He had to just treat the symptoms and get Sam's temperature up.

Dean hated himself for leaving Sam in tears alone on the bed crying for him but he couldn't waste time. As he left Sam’s room to scour the bunker for supplies, an appalling revelation hit him that probably should’ve hit him sooner. With all of Sam’s symptoms supernatural in nature, no hospital would be able to help. With Castiel unavailable right now, Dean was all alone to keep his brother alive.

...

Sam only registered light flashing into his retinas and staying there, a signal that Lucifer had begun the next scenario. Trapped, he waited in despair, using his lungs and breath and vocal chords.

Sam heard his brother, a faint call in from beyond and all around the frosty misted eternity. He shouted back, suspecting it was false but willing to enjoy the ghost of his brother’s voice. Sam’s wheeze sounded out briefly before getting swallowed up by the vast, clouded monochrome nothingness, everything falling back into cloudy muffled silence.

...

Dean tore through the hallway and into his room to grab the thermometer on the nightstand along with all the blankets and covers he could hold. Nearly tripping over the edges dragging along the floor, he rushed back to Sam, dropped his cargo at the foot of the bed and climbed in to kneel over his brother. Dean's heart constricted when he thought he could see Sam’s lips turning blue, a macabre match with his bed sheet.

"Fuck," Dean whispered, voice breaking. He braced Sam from jolting around so he could press an ear over Sam's heart: the beat was too fast, as expected, but more importantly and actionable, Sam's t-shirt was soaked through with sweat.

A scream burst from Sam suddenly, scaring Dean backwards before he scrambled back.

"Damn it, Sam, shut up and hold still," Dean begged, moving to take Sam’s wet t-shirt off. He threw the t-shirt aside and turned back to focus on the crushing sounds and expressions of Sam's terror, panic-filled face. Helpless rage boiled up in him and he had to look away. There was nothing to punch or stab or shoot and he couldn’t shout or shake Sam out of this. He blanked the situation out and took a deep breath to temper himself.

Slightly rebalanced, Dean left his shivering, oblivious brother to grab the blankets he’d dropped at the foot of the bed. One after the other he spread them over Sam. Before the last blanket settled, Dean climbed in and tunneled under. Sam had turned on his side at some point, having done his best to curl into a ball despite his body stiffening from the cold. "Sam! Sammy!" Dean rasped, gingerly sliding up against Sam’s bare, chilled spine. Dean grimaced as he pressed a warm palm against Sam’s freezing cold ribcage. Sam shuddered under the touch.

"Dean, help. Help me please..." Sam whispered, tears streaming, his grated voice having shifted to raw sorrow. The words were articulated and quieter than any he'd said yet but they damned Dean. Grief-stricken and despairing appeals like that, Dean knew Sam didn’t think they’d be heard; didn’t think Dean would actually help him.

Dean cautiously rolled Sam onto his back as he lifted himself to hover over him. Their foreheads nearly touched as Dean tried to get through to his traumatized brother again. "Sammy! Sam snap out of this! You're hallucinating!" Dean demanded. He leaned on his elbows and cradled Sam’s head in his hands under the covers. Sam choked on tears, squeezed his eyes tight, and actually shook his head like he’d heard Dean, like Dean’s voice was finally cutting through whatever veil of unreality was keeping his brother trapped.

Sam’s hypothermia was well on its way to reaching extremes but the elation of seeing his brother responding to him was too strong to ignore. Dean needed to take a baseline temperature and come in closer for skin-to-skin contact but he was so close.

"It's not real! Sam! I'm right here! Right here! You're safe!" Dean cried, repeatedly brushing Sam's hair back. He shoved his arms up under Sam's shoulders and wrapped him in closer. Sam's face screwed up into disbelieving grief, shaking his head as if refusing to give in. "C'mon, Sam, c'mon back to me now, Sammy!" Dean whispered, a tear of his own slipping. Nothing more happened. "Damn it," Dean sniffed and swallowed his emotions as he let go of his brother so he could rearrange their positions.

Dean briefly recalled the memory of him and Sam attending courses in emergency medical care their father would schedule for them throughout their teens. They'd acquired the practical, if unofficial, training equivalent to that of a paramedic. Perhaps even better, having been educated on recommended procedures for a wide range of disaster survival scenarios, many of them assuming a lack of resources and supplies. Sam and Dean held these courses and workshops in high regard. They always received full marks. But they couldn’t ignore the more awkward life-saving techniques like CPR and using skin-to-skin contact to warm someone up in the event of limited supplies. They had jokingly promised each other they were cool with letting the other die in the event.

Dean huffed at the memory as he used his arms and legs to line his brother up against him. "Holy shi-" Dean gasped, starting to shiver now as his bare skin pressed flush against Sam’s frigid flesh. "Oh my god, Sammy," Dean breathed, upset, and tried to adjust. He funneled the instinctive reaction to pull away from the cold dermis into gripping Sam tighter against him, warming him up. He tangled their legs together and willed his warmth into his icy brother.

...

Dean's voice echoed through to Sam again and again. Grief swept him out from under, robbing him of screams and leaving him shattered with heaving sobs and cries. He wanted Dean so badly it was a separate ache all its own.

This wretched eternity had never allowed Sam to forget his brother's voice, pulling it out into the atmosphere at the worst moments of torture to crush desperate tears out of his eyes, breaking him every time.

The idea that Dean could be near lent itself to a hope that he could save him in this deep, locked corner of hell. That hope had always destroyed whatever vestiges of strength Sam still had, reducing him to a terrified beggar reaching out to the hallucination of his big brother for salvation. He'd scream for Dean for all he was worth and the Morning Star would cackle with glee as he cut into Sam deeper until there was nothing left of him.

And then it'd start again.

...

Dean would never have imagined that he'd prefer to hear Sam crying over anything else but the way Sam screamed… It was horrifying. He’d never heard Sam like this. Like it was beyond torture. All while he was freezing cold...

That’s when it dawned upon Dean. The memory of Lucifer's words in Detroit cut through him like lightning, neurons firing as the connection made itself known.

Sorry if it's a bit chilly. Most people think I burn hot. It's actually quite the opposite.

Sam's hypothermia might have triggered his memories of the cage. He could be in some kind of a flashback nightmare, the sleep keeping him trapped and at the flashback’s mercy to flesh itself out in hideous detail.

"Sam! Sammy you're here with me in the bunker, bud, c'mon!"

Sam cried out in fright and started bucking against the heat and pressure against him. “Sam! No, it’s okay!” Dean shouted but Sam resisted. Dean had no choice but to snake his arms around Sam's chilled body in a firm embrace. He leaned his head against Sam’s as they rode it out.

"Shh calm down, calm down, Sammy, I've got you, I've got you," Dean whispered, his words rising and falling at every frantic jerk and jolt Sam made to get away. "Come on, relax, Sammy. Easy, Easy, Sam, c'mon, it's just me," Dean continued.

Sam eventually settled with a hopeless, miserable sob. "Good job, Sam, good, you're okay," Dean murmured as Sam dissolved into soft, quiet cries.

Dean felt around to get his little brother's heart under his palm. It was too fast but Sam was still with him, still fighting. Now that he was quiet, Dean hoped he’d be able to hear him better. He kept Sam clutched tightly in his arms as he spoke as calmly as possible.

"Okay, okay, Sammy listen to me. You're not in the cage. You're not with Lucifer. You're never going back. I've got you," Dean started rocking them slowly. "I've got you, Sam - there's nothing to be afraid of. Nothing can hurt you. I promise, Sam. C'mon, Sammy, c'mon, come back to me." He kept talking, praying that he'd get through soon.

...

Sam could barely sense anything in the cage, his spirit shattered, mind in pieces. At his most rudimentary core he just wished for Dean's voice in the mists to continue. It was his only comfort in this level of hell, hardly audible.

Slowly, sluggishly, the cold began to recede. He had felt the ghost of a full press of something soft but solid against his back earlier and it seemed to be coming back again. He considered whether it was Lucifer but it wasn’t hurting him. There was no pain, no prior injury of a split spine torturing him as it just remained there against him, doing nothing but existing. Sam couldn't sense warmth exactly but something was improving in him. Something was different about this presence around him.

Sam’s despair dulled, allowing a few scarce sparks of hope to light up as he realized he couldn't sense Lucifer anymore. The Morning Star's sheet of ice that'd wrapped itself around him had lifted and he felt his own intact limbs twitch and spasm.

Sam squirmed, moving around as much as possible, still listening to the wisps of Dean's voice. They were real words in strings, sometimes full sentences all encouraging, reassuring, promising him his big brother was right there with him somehow.

Sam felt the first sharp shock of warmth up his back and immediately wriggled towards it. Dean's voice broke through again, his tone urgent and excited and praising as if he was reacting to what Sam had just done. He narrowly felt gentle warm pressures moving around and against his chest.

Sam didn't know what was going on but with another whimpered prayer for strength, he tried to do it again.

...

Sam gave a sudden shudder. He gasped a cry and, still shaking in Dean's arms, managed to move around under his brother's hold, nudging against Dean’s back.

"Yes! Sam, good, good, c'mon, c'mere, I'm right here, Sammy, I've got you," Dean called, thrilled to feel his brother moving around. Sam's eyes were closed, his expression still full of pain and fear but the kid had started trying, had finally picked up on Dean's presence well enough to move towards him and his warmth.

"C'mon Sammy, you've got this, c'mon, c'mon," Dean pushed and pressed against his brother with his arms, trying to trigger more awareness that he was there. With another short, sharp cry of effort, Sam's arms shot out to grab onto Dean's, his fingers like icicles wrapping around and clutching his wrists.

"Yeah Sammy! Sam! Good job, good boy," Dean said, accidentally regressing his praise but at this point who cared? "Do it again, Sammy, c'mon, wake up, wake up for me, I'm right here," Dean pushed, tears of desperation and relief rolling down his face as he whispered into his little brother's tangled hair.

Sam was devastated but Dean could tell he was fighting to surface, to get back to him. Crying out, shaking and terrified, he still molded himself against Dean, slowly melted under Dean's weight and warmth. Dean held his little brother tight, rocking them, whispering to him he was in his arms and safe.

...

His brother's hushed, gravelly voice kept whispering into his ear, the sound getting louder and clearer. Sam gasped wetly and swallowed. Still trembling, he was growing disoriented. Trying so damn hard to figure out what was going on, he writhed and wriggled into the warmth he now felt in fleeting streaks and pressures all over his body.

"Wake up, Sammy. I'm right here. I've got you," Sam felt his body hugged, warmth and comfort seeping into him just as his brother's words resumed, "You're safe. I'm right here holding you. Right here. You gotta come back to me, Sam. You gotta hold on… You gotta hold on for me, Sammy..."

Full reality slammed back into Sam.

Chapter Text

Full reality slammed back into Sam.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean shouted into his ear and Sam jumped, eyes squinting and blinking around trying to orient himself under the covers. They slipped off and he registered shards of light, damp bed sheets from sweat, what had to be Dean's body practically on top of him. Sam started coughing, unable to take a full breath in the still-frigid surroundings, shell-shocked from the nightmare.

"D-Dean-," Sam whispered. Dean tightened his grip and rubbed his back harder.

"C-cold-" Sam could barely get out.

"Yeah we're trying to get your temp up, Sammy, don't worry," Dean replied, then pulled Sam with him to grab the thermometer off the bedside table. Sam twisted around, jerky and spastic. He needed to see his brother - see he was real. Lucifer's presence still felt so true. Like he'd appear any minute again with a cheerful ‘surprise!’ before catching and pulling him back down to the cage for the rest of eternity.

Dean let Sam just stare at him as he settled back down with the thermometer in hand.

"We’re under six blankets and-" Dean trailed off just as Sam felt a foreign plastic point enter his ear. He flinched away but Dean grabbed him around the shoulders. "Hey-hey-hey it's okay, it's okay, Sam, it's just the thermometer, s'just me," Dean reassured, keeping the thing in his ear. Sam cringed, gritting his teeth as he shook in Dean's arms, trying his best to stay still despite the invasive feeling of the device. It beeped and went away. Dean swore when he looked at it, then dropped it to the side and pulled Sam impossibly closer to him.

"W-wha-"

"Nothing. Don't worry. We'll get it back up, Sam, just hold onto me, okay?"
Sam trembled but nodded and attempted to wriggle his arms and open his palms against Dean's back.

When he couldn't even open his palms it dawned on Sam then that he might not make it this time. This time, where he felt like any minute one of his frost-bitten limbs would break off and get carried back down to the pit. Piece by piece, atom by atom, he'd be dragged screaming back. This time, where he couldn't feel his body warming up under his brother anymore.

And Satan had promised it would be soon...

"H-he said..." Sam breathed, "I'm g-g-gonna go back, Dea-" Sam cried, tears starting to fall.

"You're not. You're not, Sam. It was a nightmare - just a nightmare-"

"F-felt r-r-real-"

Dean gripped the back of Sam's head.

"It wasn't real, Sammy, wasn't real," he whispered, "you're not ever going back there. You've got a one-way ticket to heaven, you know that," Dean finished, his voice cracking at the acknowledgement.

It was almost like Dean deserved this for having said what he had to Sam. He wanted Sam to reject death, yeah, but... not out of terror. Not because the kid would think he'd go back to hell.

"N-no," Sam quaked, "he s-said-"

"What did I say?" Dean interrupted sharply. "It wasn't real, Sam. C'mon get it together." Dean hefted Sam up, gripping him roughly. Sam was weak though and didn't even react to Dean’s harsh treatment. He just kept shaking, frail, limply absorbing Dean's bruising holds. Dean softened and brushed his hair back as Sam gagged and tried as hard as he could to gulp tears back.

"Sorry, c'mon," Dean squeezed the back of Sam's neck and bent lower to kiss the side of his head, "you're gonna be just fine, Sammy. Just work on warming up, let's just keep you warm, okay?"

Sam wept into Dean’s neck, as much from the hypothermia as his fear of dying and going back to the cage instead of heaven. His body wracked with spasms without any sign of letting up. Dean held them together, tight, and talked them through it. A solid presence keeping Sam in the here and now... but Sam could feel it. He knew Dean would soon too. The battle was coming to an end.

They remained silent for a couple of minutes, the fear sinking into Dean more and more that Sam wasn't warming. His circulation wasn't getting better. Sam best of all could sense streaks of painful ice jolt through him despite Dean's efforts. It was like Dean's warmth was only hitting the surface and retreating back again. It felt futile; Sam's body just wasn't warming.

After a few minutes, Sam had to speak up. His mind was fading, he knew. He couldn't allow this to happen without saying something to set things right. He wouldn't be able to talk eventually and he couldn't let Dean think he was going without a fight.

Sam bit back a sob.

"D-Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam felt tears slipping off the sides of his eyes. "If... f'I... die..."

"Sammy," Dean warned but his voice trembled and Sam grabbed Dean's arm feebly, cutting him off from saying anything more. Dean held his breath, willing to honor it.

Sam panted, waiting to steady his voice for what he was going to say next. He licked his lips and leaned his head back to look into his brother's eyes.

"Dean. I don't wan' you to..." Sam trailed off, fresh tears streaming from his eyes. He didn't... he wasn't sure what he was trying to say. Dean was looking at him with so much fear and love, his eyes glistening. Sam gasped a breath, demanding it of himself to get it out. "Dean, I'm so sorry," Sam whispered desperately.

Just as Sam finished, his spine gave another spasm and his torso jerked out of Dean's hold.

"Sam! No-no-no, Sam, come on!" Dean's arms grasped Sam under his back and pulled him up so he was lying across Dean’s lap. Sam's hands, shaking and curled into loose fists, got pushed up and lodged between their chests as Dean held him like he weighed nothing across his chest.

"Don't apologize, Sam. You have nothing to apologize for, do you understand me? I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry," Dean whispered into his little brother's ear. Sam cringed into Dean's shoulder and let out another sob. He tried to wrap his arms around his brother and couldn't. Dean helped him get his arms around his neck though. Sam cried. Dean braced the back of Sam's head as his body continued to shiver. Panic tore through him as he realized Sammy was actually getting colder.

"I-I... might..." Sam choked, freezing against his brother's warm skin, "th-this time, Dean." Dean hiked Sam up closer against him. He licked his lips and closed his eyes.

"It's okay. That's okay. I'm right here, Sam. I'm not leaving you," Dean said, inwardly begging Sam not to try to say it out loud again. He hugged Sam close, "remember, Sammy? I'm never gonna leave you."

Sam wept and nodded.

"Good, Sam, just stay with me for as long as you can, okay?" Dean's voice cracked.

"Okay," Sam garbled, struggling to breathe.

Dean battled with his own denial. If this was what was happening he wouldn't be able to stop it and if that was the case, Sam had made a few things crystal clear about what he wanted from this moment.

Dean's eyes welled. He couldn't take that away from Sam even though he so desperately wanted to...

"Sammy I'm right here, you know that right?"

"Y-yeah," Sam gasped.

"All right and you're gonna hold on to me - you're gonna keep holding on to me until you can't hold on any more, right?"

"Y-ye-"

"Say it, Sammy, what're you gonna do?"

"H-hold... h-hold on," Sam cried, "t'you." He gripped Dean lamely as Dean hefted him up higher. Sam felt how strong Dean was every time he did that and wished that he could rely on it forever. He didn't want to die and he didn't want to go to hell.

He just wanted to be safe. He wanted to stay with Dean.

"Good Sammy, good job," Dean blinked tears back, his voice barely audible. Sam heard Dean choking up and it scared him. He tried to show Dean he was still there, still listening at least. He tilted his head and snugged in closer. Dean met the movement with his own.

Dean only ever covered him, protected him, promised him things that Sam never really thought he was worthy of having.

"Now Sammy you gotta listen to me, okay?" Dean asked, his voice crackling with emotion.

Sam gave a soft, barely discernible nod against Dean's neck.

"If you die," Dean held Sam tighter, willing against it with every fiber of his being, "you're going straight to heaven."

Dean felt Sam jerk with a sob. He wanted to believe it, but-

"I promise you, Sammy, you're not going back. You're gonna go straight to heaven, do you understand?" Dean felt Sam shakily nod against him. "Good. Now tell me. Where are you gonna go?" Dean coached through his own tears. Sam cried harder against his brother.

"C'mon Sammy where are you gonna go?" Dean prompted roughly, overcompensating for his own breakdown.

"Heaven," Sam wept through his own convulsions.

And after saying it, somehow Sam realized he was believing it.

"Good boy, good job," Dean hugged Sam, letting out another sob and kissing the back of his head. Sam felt a childhood thrill of hearing Dean's approval for just a moment before lapsing back into focus and concentration when Dean started talking again.

"Okay... one last thing, Sammy," Dean sniffed wetly, his voice breaking across the board. He waited for Sam to quiet.

"Say 'I love you, Dean,'" Dean whispered innocently between crying gasps and a self-conscious laugh, tears slipping and falling into his brother's hair. Sam's fingers clenched tighter in Dean's shirt, letting out a guttural sob at Dean's request. The kid gulped and managed to gather enough breath to say it.

"I... love y-you, Dean," Sam gasped through chattering teeth. He got to look into his brother's eyes. Dean stared back.

"I love you too, Sammy," Dean choked out, broken, and leaned Sam's head back to place a kiss to his little brother's cold forehead.

Dean crushed Sam back to him quickly.

"That's it. That's all, Sammy. I've got you. I've always got you," Dean whispered, digging his face into Sam's neck. He continued to rub Sam's back and rock his body as he held him, still hoping and praying that Sam's temperature could rise. Dean kept his voice going somehow no matter how raw his throat was, knowing full well that if Sam was slipping away, he'd know he wasn't alone. He'd never be alone.

Sam willed himself to feel the warmth surrounding him. He couldn't. He remained in his big brother's arms and just listened, gradually believing every single repeated promise coming from his brother until he started to feel consciousness start to slip away.

The bunker was quiet; all lights off save for a shaft flowing into the hall from the cracked door of Sam's room. Sleet and rain stormed down outside upon the Men of Letters bunker in the early morning hours. Dean could hear the muffled sounds pounding down upon their fortress. For all the safety and security this new home of theirs' provided, it wasn't protecting Sam.

Dean shifted, pulling Sam's limp form up higher against him. His bare back leaned against the craggy cement wall, Sam's back to his chest. His whole body was curled around his little brother's, the blankets wrapped around them as tightly as Dean could get them. The whispered platitudes he spoke against Sam's neck and into his ear were getting old. He'd been at it for an hour just talking to him, all the while keeping tabs on his slowing heartbeat with his palm pressed to his chest. He checked Sam's pulse at his neck and felt its increasingly sluggish pace.

He didn't know what more to do.

A slow tear broke from Dean's eye. He sniffed a few times before leaning Sam back and giving him a kiss on the cheek. He buried his face into Sam's neck. "I'm right here. I've got you, Sammy, just relax. You're safe. You're safe," he kept saying.

More time passed and while Dean was no longer recognizing Sam's temperature as still freezing against his own skin, he could only attribute that to his own numb shock. Sam had stopped moving or talking, it was long since he had formed a coherent sentence or even uttered a simple word. Sam gasped twice rapid-fire like he was suffocating then resumed his already distressed, shallow breaths. Dean held on.

"Sammy?" He asked fearfully. Sam wasn't crying anymore either. The older brother could only feel the smallest micro shivers working up and down his frame. "Sam?" Dean called again, his voice pitched with panic. He felt Sam's fingers move along his arm where they were tangled with Dean’s. It was barely any pressure at all but it was still there. Dean couldn't receive it as a promising sign but he was taking what he could get. Against all odds, maybe Sam could bounce back from this.

Dean sniffed and blinked back tears.

He licked his lips and took a breath.

"Sammy, remember when you were really little? I used to sing to you," Dean rasped, throat sore, mouth dry. He felt Sam's fingers twitch again. He took it as his cue to go on. "I don't know if I ever told you but it was the song Mom used to sing to me. You always fell asleep so fast when I..." Dean choked, unable to continue, thinking of the innocent, wide-eyed baby that'd reach out to him in awe as soon as he'd go a few chords in.

Dean sniffed and blinked as he rearranged his brother, tilting his Sammy back so they could meet each other's eyes. Sam's were glazed, his expression neutral, but the kid managed to angle his sight up at Dean as his brother kept him bundled up warmly, cradled in his arms.

Dean began the starting notes to "Hey Jude" and took it slow, getting comfortable with holding the tune. His eyes crinkled into a blurry smile as he watched Sam's miniscule reactions, his muscles relaxing against Dean's body, softening to the words Dean sang, his guardian's voice smooth and soothing and promising a better end than any he could've imagined.

Dean watched as Sam's eyelids fell to half-mast and, before they closed all the way, audibly bit back a cry before kissing his baby brother once more on the forehead before whispering into Sam's ear.

"Close your eyes, Sammy. It's okay. I've got you. I've got you," Dean hugged him and didn’t let go, clutching his little brother as he resumed the song to lull his brother to sleep... or death.

They remained that way for what felt like ages until Dean's arms wore out. He brought his brother's body back against him as he lay down. He kept one arm against Sam's back and a hand against Sam's head which now angled into the crook of his neck. Dean wouldn't let Sam's body fall away from him.

Dean kept singing, hoping Sam could still hear him yet refusing to check if he was even breathing anymore. He was too scared to have to face the truth if he wasn't. He wasn't ready for Sam to leave him. Not like this.

So Dean kept singing, his voice catching and scratchy as time - and the tune - wore on. His eyes were red and his skin pale from exhaustion, stress, and fear. Every now and then he'd tug Sam's limp form up closer to him and Sam would flop like a puppet according to Dean's touches. It terrified him but he still held on tight. Still kept Sam covered, protected, loved.

Dean trailed off weakly and drifted slowly into a haze of half wakefulness. He wouldn't dare fall asleep but he felt detached, a weary sense of calm coming over him as he simply waited. Quiet and still, he needed the resolve and strength to check on his brother. He didn't have it yet. So he just... waited.

Chapter Text

Sam's sense of sound came back to him first, the steady pace of Dean's heart and the soft wisps of his breath just over head. Sam's were shallow and slow, his mind scattered but he knew he was with his brother. He knew he was safe. Dean moved under him and Sam realized he was lying on him in an embrace, that distinct feeling of skin pressed to skin. It was odd but Sam was so murky that all he could make of it was how fantastically warm Dean was.

Sam pressed the pads of his fingertips into Dean’s arm. He didn't know if it was enough pressure for Dean to notice but he wasn’t reacting. He tried his other hand which was curled into a fist against Dean's shoulder. He used all his energy to open his hand but only managed to twitch his fingers. His knuckles pushed Dean's collarbone.

Dean gasped and jerked at that. Sam heard his brother's heartbeat rocket.

"De-" Sam breathed.

“Sam?!”

Suddenly Sam was lifted and jarred, jostled around and turned over onto his back. Sam squirmed under the force of movement. He tried to open his eyes and got streaks of pain in return, the thin, raw skin unable to break open the sleep sealing his lids closed.

"Sam? Sammy!" Dean’s voice was wet and frantic. Dean's arm was pressed under him, suspending him off the bed, hand bracing Sam’s head. Sam winced, tried to reach up and rub his eyes but he didn’t have the strength.

"C'mon Sammy, come back to me, c'mon," Dean begged, brushing hair from his face.

"With you," Sam croaked, eyebrows raised to compensate for his eyes.

Dean lowered him gently back down against his pillow. "Oh my god," Dean rasped, the panicked relief in his brother's tone confusing Sam. He didn't have much time to contemplate it though. Just as Dean set him on the bed he launched off it, leaving the mattress bobbing. He heard his brother rustling around beyond and grew more and more frustrated he couldn’t open his eyes.

"Dean?" Sam called, heartened to notice his voice was stronger. Dean instantly returned, Sam blind but sensing it when he sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna see how you’re doing,” Dean whispered. Sam made a face but allowed Dean to carefully tilt his head and insert the plastic tip of the thermometer.

“Ugh,” Sam whined, hating that damn thing. He twisted away from it in discomfort.

"Relax, relax, Sammy," Dean said softly. Sam stopped with a huff and nodded. The thermometer beeped and Dean pulled it out.

Sam wanted to know the results to get a sense of control or at least awareness of his condition. Had he been running a fever again?

He knew he didn't have the vocal stamina to ask outright but if he could just get a glimpse of his brother's expression while he was looking at the temperature read-out. Sam tried again to open his eyes and failed. It was like they were glued together, every time he'd try to lift a lid by the smallest measure it'd pull painfully at sensitive, sore skin.

Sam admitted defeat, figuring he might have to wait until he had the dexterity to use his fingers to rub his eyes clear.

"Your temp's up. We gotta keep it that way," Dean said. Any other person in the world would have thought his tone had sounded decisive and mighty. Sam perceived it differently. Dean’s voice came off strong but it was hollow, brittle, which most likely reflected exactly how his big brother was feeling at the moment.

Dean picked him up under the arms and pulled. Sam grunted, trying to help but listing. He was a dizzy, disoriented rag doll as Dean tried to get him balanced to sit up away from the wall’s support.

"De," Sam breathed heavily as he swayed precariously where he sat. Dean caught him and stabilized him as he pulled soft heavy fabric over Sam’s head. As soon as it got past his neck Dean let Sam slump forward against him. Dean pulled the rest of the shirt down Sam’s body. Sam let his head roll and settle onto his brother's shoulder.

Dean finished dressing him, pulling one limp arm through the sleeve and then the other. Sam shivered and Dean paused before pushing Sam up closer against his chest and hugging him.

"Dean, what's going on," Sam slurred against his brother’s bare shoulder, awareness filtering in more and more how this kind of affection was unusual for them.

Dean kept holding Sam in their hug as he leaned forward. Sam fell back in turn but Dean had him secure.

"Nothing, Sammy. You're okay," Dean said, grabbing something and brought them back up. Sam replayed the way Dean was speaking to him. Something was off. Something was really off…
His thoughts were derailed as a heavy sweatshirt got pulled over his head. Sam startled with surprise at first, struggling weakly against the heavy fabrics’ confines, feeling like he wasn't getting enough air as Dean pulled and the soft fleece interior dragged down Sam's face. Finally his brother got his face to the mouth of the hood. Sam gasped and clutched onto Dean, shaky and worried.

"De," Sam asked, getting scared. Of what, he wasn't sure. It was just that Dean normally talked to him more, reassured him. He’d let him know what he was doing and why, what was happening. Maybe he didn’t yet know Sam couldn’t remember anything but Dean must know by now that Sam was disoriented as hell. So why wasn't Dean helping him?

Sam figured he could wait his brother out but Dean remained silent. He pulled Sam close after the sweatshirt and let him take a breather though, rubbing Sam's back and rocking them side to side. Sam melted into it, losing all tension and feeling increasingly better under his brother’s demonstrative affection right now. He could sense the terror and desperation under it though, could feel how Dean was coming down from it. It’d have to be addressed: something terrible had happened and Sam couldn’t remember it.

Eventually Dean braced Sam and lowered him gently to the pillow. Sam's arms reached up aimlessly as Dean detached, searching for him in the dark. He felt heavy blankets land on him, pushing his arms down against his stomach. A second later he felt Dean's hands shoving the blankets around Sam's frame, cocooning him in, snug, with barely any space to move at all.

"Dean," Sam breathed, his voice much stronger now if not still raw and scratchy. He squirmed under the blankets that were too quickly immobilizing him.

"I'm right here, Sam. I'm getting you warm, that's all. It's okay - you're okay," Dean said softly and finished up tucking him in. Dean moved up closer to his head and pulled Sam's hood down further over his face.

Intensely curious to see his brother's expressions, Sam tried to pry sensitive eyes open again. They started watering as painful white light filled his vision at first then cloudy forms appeared. Despite the stinging brightness, the amorphous shapes began to sharpen.

"Dean...what..." Sam trailed off, searching for the blurry outline of his brother. Just as he landed on it Dean turned towards him and Sam squinted to see him. Dean was leaning over Sam's head, focused on hooking a bag of saline up to the bed post. Sam squinted and blinked, still unable to see the fine features.

"I need your arm," Dean whispered gently, carefully pulling Sam's closest arm out from under the covers.

“Uh, ‘kay,” Sam offered innocently, bewildered.

Dean got to work on the IV, poking and prodding until he could get a viable vein. Sam couldn’t see much but he knew Dean's hands were quavering.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean sniffed. "What do you remember?" He asked darkly. Sam shook his head. He let his eyes wander as he tried to recall, his sight improving as he swept the bedroom.

"Can you eat?" Dean asked without looking up.

"I think so. I'm thirsty though," Sam replied just as he felt the needle go in. Sam let out a light breath of surprise but it didn't really hurt. Despite Dean's unsteady hands it had gone in smooth. He taped Sam up and gingerly, with all the care in the world, set Sam's arm back down on the bed.

Finally Dean looked up at Sam and Sam tried very hard not to react. Dean looked absolutely dreadful. His skin was a sickly pale with a sallow tinge to it. His eyes were rimmed red and glassy. Black smudges circled his sockets making them appear sunken, almost skeletal.

"Okay I'll get you something on both fronts. I'm hooking you up here as a precaution," Dean gestured to the IV, "we'll be able to take it off soon if you can get something in you."

Sam swallowed his anxiety and nodded, rendered mute by his brother's appearance.

“Okay cool, just hold on a sec,” Dean said, getting up and rummaging around the room setting things straight.

Sam watched, appalled. Out of all the things wrong with Dean, Sam was most concerned by the dull, stoic expressions that remained on his brother's face and tone of voice. Dean usually provided active, rapid, adrenaline-based care when Sam was suffering. Instead, for the first time in Sam's life, Dean was coming off as too careful and slow. He wasn't doing anything wrong per se but it was unmistakably off-kilter. It wasn't Dean.

As if to prove him right, when Dean was done fussing with the room he turned back to Sam with a deep sigh, came forward and slowly pressed a palm to Sam's cheek then forehead, gauging his temperature by hand with such a gentle touch it felt almost sweet. Dean didn’t meet Sam’s eyes but he wasn’t hiding from them either. Sam was shocked to see how open and raw Dean was being here.

Sam understood Dean had been affectionate since the start of the trials but this was different. Dean was holding nothing back. He was uninterested in finding funny, witty excuses to justify these gestures of love, ambivalent to any defense mechanisms he may have had or facades he'd always maintained. Dean seemed to have lost whatever carefree, dynamic sense of humor he normally depended on to get through things. Sam knew he depended on it too.

Dean’s hand shook just then and their eyes finally met. It was just a flicker, a ragged shard of a glimpse. Dean’s gaze shone this pure, childlike vulnerability and frightened love for Sam.

Sam swallowed and struggled to get his hand out from under the blankets and cover Dean’s.

It was like the spell had broken when he did that though. Dean got up with a soft huff.

"I'll be right back. I'm just going to the kitchen, okay?" He checked quietly. Sam’s eyes, wide and dilated, nodded.

"Yeah," Sam said, deeply unsettled and admittedly somewhat scared too now. “Okay.

Chapter Text

Dean worked in the kitchen making chicken noodle soup from a can. He just set it on the stove top and waited, staring at nothing until the tremors in his hands got so bad he had to shake them out. The rest of him was numb. Sam was alive and he couldn't process it. So he just stared at the wall, listened to the muted sounds in the kitchen.

At some point the soup began boiling. He turned it down to simmer, found a bowl and spoon, poured a modest portion for Sam and set the pot back on the flame. He grabbed some paper towels and almost forgot to turn the stove off before he left.

He stepped through the empty, silent library where Sam had collapsed only days ago. He entered the main hall to their rooms. The colors were dull. The soup was nauseating.

He wasn't sure how long he'd taken but judging by Sam's surprised expression he assumed it was fast.

"Chicken noodle soup," Dean announced, voice scratchy, his throat sore.

He set the bowl down on the nightstand.

Sam watched his brother nervously.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I remember," Sam said meekly. Dean sniffed and nodded, unwilling to look at his brother. He wondered just how much Sam remembered. If he remembered exchanging I-love-you’s or Hey Jude. He didn’t know how he felt about it either way. He didn’t regret it nor was he proud. Getting Sam back though, it felt like the most hurtful trauma had gone its full course and then somehow had been taken back. It left Dean feeling inexplicably hollow and haggard.

"Can you sit up?" Dean sat down at Sam’s bedside. He took the bowl. It shook in his hands. Dean gripped it tighter.

Sam rustled under the covers, trying to sit up. With a quick glance Dean set the bowl back down to help. He lifted Sam up from under his arms and set him against the wall.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," Sam murmured, trying to catch Dean's eyes. Dean wouldn't allow it. His eyes lit on the paper towels he’d brought.

"Still not strong enough to hold the bowl?" He asked as he spread the towels over Sam's chest.

"I don't think so," Sam replied miserably.

Ordinarily Sam would've argued against getting spoon-fed at all but Dean was being so weird that Sam knew this wasn't the time to quibble. And there was no way this was anything remotely close to a prank. After remembering the hypothermia and Lucifer, Sam figured Dean was just running on the blunt imperative to get him something he could keep down that'd warm him up.

"That's okay," Dean reassured calmly. Sam watched his brother, his concern growing at each passing minute wondering if Dean was really going to feed him soup with that same bland, shell-shocked look on his face.

"Dean?"

Dean grabbed the bowl of soup, its contents sloshing over the rim. Sam realized Dean didn't seem strong enough to hold it. Dean winced with frustration, trying to steady out and sidled up closer to Sam so he wouldn't have to carry the spoon far.

"Dean," Sam repeated, alarmed, trying to get his brother to snap out of it and just look at him for a second. "Are you-"

Dean looked away and coughed, effectively cutting him off.

"Okay here," he mumbled as he came back, spooning the soup a few times. He raised his hand up and the spoon's contents fell over the blankets.

"Damn it," Dean whispered, annoyed, and tried to scoop another spoonful.

Sam’s brows furrowed, sympathetic eyes wide with worry.

"Dean."

Dean stopped and stared into the soup, trying to get his hands to stop shaking so he could feed his little brother. Sam was still cold, he hadn't eaten anything in the past day and he'd been on the brink of death not five hours ago. The saline had been a good start but there was so much he needed to do and it had to start with this damn soup.

He let go of the spoon and flicked his hands out angrily, trying to release stress and stop the shakes.

He couldn't even do this. He couldn't even feed Sam right now. How else was he going to fail Sam? How many more times could Sam come back from death’s door?

Dean pressed his lips together, clenched his jaw, blinked his eyes clear. He’d had enough crying for today, damn it.

"Dean, put the soup down, man," Sam said reasonably. Dean winced, shook his head and looked away.

These trials deceived. Sam could already be developing new symptoms that wouldn't show themselves for what they were until it was too late. Sam sounded fine - he sounded so good right now but how long would that last? And how badly would Dean treat him before he realized?

Dean sniffed and stirred the soup, stalling.

He felt like God was personally looking down at them and offering his own personal "Fuck you. You said your goodbyes. Sam was ready to die but I'm keeping him alive for one more day just to fuck with you. Give you twenty-four hours of hope and then I'm going to take him away forever where you can't reach him. Where you can't hurt him."

"Dean," Sam pressed, his voice insistent. Dean flinched at the sound, grimacing and shook his head. He didn't know if he was denying his thoughts or Sam's calls. He fought tears back but they broke free anyway. He had to get it together, bottle his emotions, lock his thoughts up because what mattered most - what always mattered most - was how Sam still needed him.

Dean tried as hard as he could. He focused on his breathing and tracked his heart beat but no matter how much effort he put forth, his hands wouldn't stop shaking. It rendered him useless with this stupid soup. Dean kept stirring, frustrated, breaking the soggy noodles into smaller and smaller pieces which he knew Sam hated but he couldn't stop.

Sam was alive, looking at him right now, depending on him and so Dean had to do something - he had to feed the kid soup - because as fucking simple and easy as eating was, Sam still just couldn't do it on his own.

Unable to cope with the loss he thought he'd be enduring right now, the weight of his responsibility to Sam was slamming home. Dean had been so sure Sam was going to die. Subconsciously it was the shakes and now consciously Dean had to admit to himself that try as he might, he had no final say in whether Sammy would die. He had no choice, no control, no recourse. Dean had just held him, doing nothing, without any regard for the future, every ounce of him feeling just as dead or dying as he'd thought Sam had been.

Dean had thought he'd lost Sam twice before in his life but it'd never been like what happened this morning. It'd never been just him and Sam together in the events leading up to it. Dean had never faced the cold hard truth that bad things could still happen to his baby brother even while he was on the clock, even while he’d done almost everything right.

Dean felt a hand land lightly on his shoulder. He flinched and looked up to find himself staring straight into Sam's eyes, unable to hide the unbridled fear in his expression. Sam had managed to lean forward and keep himself upright without using the wall for support. His eyes glistened with deep sympathy, sporting the expression Dean, if he were in any way composed enough, would call his stupid puppy dog look. Sam tried to pull himself closer to his brother by scooting forward.

"Dean, Dean I'm okay," Sam whispered, keeping his eyes locked on his brother. Dean stared at him, clenching his jaw, curling his lips in, knowing what Sam was doing but unable to put up a front against it like he normally could.

"I'm okay," Sam repeated and finally reached him, his fingertips then hands on Dean’s arm and shoulder. He tugged his big brother into him, weak but persistent. Dean remained unmoved, the last vestiges of strength keeping him still and unwilling to break.

"Dean, please? I'm okay, I promise, I'm okay," Sam begged, his own voice breaking, the sound of which finally managed to break Dean. His face screwed up and he looked away just long enough to lean over and set the bowl down. Coming back, he grabbed Sam around the waist and pulled him against him with a barely muffled sob.

Dean only ever cried silently. It drastically contrasted with Sam who tended to be a mess when he broke down. Dean was different. For Dean, you could only tell through hitched breaths and small shudders, breathy whimpers and choked off cries.

Overwhelmed, Dean hugged Sam to him. This embrace was different from all the other ones though. Dean was the one clutching Sam, not the other way around. Dean needed Sam right now whereas all the other times it'd been Sam needing Dean's stability and comfort.

Sam couldn't return the strength of Dean's embrace, his muscles fatigued and weak, so he did what he could with his voice as Dean hung onto him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Sam kept repeating, caught under his brother's hold as Dean started to rock them, needing to feel Sam alive and aware in his arms. Needing to hear Sam tell him over and over again that he was still with him.

Sam bit his lip, his own eyes prickling over the sounds of his brother's hopeless anguish. He realized that coming back had been a sort bittersweet victory for Dean. That nothing Dean had done had brought him back to health. That they were both so helpless in the face of this thing.

If something could shatter Dean's sense of control over anything, what'd happened this morning was it. Sam realized all that was left now was his big brother fraught with fear, clinging to him and praying to any higher power that'd listen to keep his brother safe and healthy and alive because Dean didn't think he could do it anymore.

Sam realized that had to change.

"Dean it's okay, I'm okay, I'm feeling better, I promise, Dean," Sam's voice teetered on the edge, feeling so sorry for ever having wished Dean would take the trials and his illness more seriously. He'd found strength in acknowledging his death but Dean... Dean only found deep, crippling fear and sorrow.

Dean held onto his little brother, unashamedly grasping him tighter as he listened to his brother’s voice, the voice he never thought he'd hear again.

"Dean, listen to me. You were right, okay? I'm gonna get through this. I swear I'll survive this. It’s just temporary - like you said. It was just... really... bad this time."

Dean choked off a laughing sob and Sam smiled and angled his chin over the back of Dean's neck.

Dean sniffed a few times and stopped rocking them. He rubbed Sam's back for a minute or so before he could speak.

"I thought you were dead," Dean breathed.

"I know," Sam replied softly, consolingly. "I'm not."

Dean gave another wet laugh and cupped his hand over the back of Sam's head.

"I know," Dean sniffed.

"And I'm not gonna be."

"Okay," Dean breathed weakly.

"Because you're with me."

With that, Sam felt Dean shake a couple times and he wasn't sure whether his brother was chuckling or holding back sobs.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean huffed and Sam could hear a hint of resolve in his tone. Sam tried to hug Dean a little more.

"Nothing bad can happen with my big brother around, right?" Sam asked earnestly, knowing Dean would like it.

Dean let himself laugh again. However lightly, however brokenly, he still managed to laugh.

"God," his voice wet and crackled from tears, Dean still dragged the word out using the same tone that he always paired with rolled eyes. He turned his head so Sam couldn’t see him wipe his face.

"Such a bitch," Dean sniffed, making Sam grin.

"Jerk," Sam whispered smugly. He felt Dean shake his head, feigning weary disapproval. Dean patted the tangled mop of Sam’s hair a few times before giving a heavy sigh.

That was Sam's signal to let go were this any other situation but Sam was still limp and ill-equipped to take his own weight back. Dean had still been holding him up the whole time even though Sam had been the one providing comfort.

"Okay I'm gonna... set you down," Dean said disjointedly, angling around to make sure Sam would land where he needed to.

"Okay," Sam replied softly, willing to be steered. Sam leaned forward and held on like a barnacle to his brother as Dean set the pillows up behind Sam’s back.

"'Kay, you're good," Dean murmured and Sam started to lean back, finding the pillows against his back an instant later. He watched his brother carefully as Dean tucked him in just as tightly as he had before. Dean's eyes were watery, red and swollen but the tear tracks along his face had mostly been wiped away. He was still sniffling but the aftermath of his meltdown was gently fading away in the same equable manner Sam’s had back in the bathroom.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, bent over with his elbows on his knees. He covered his face with one hand, let it hold his head up as he turned and looked at Sam with a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry, man."

Sam’s faced pinched and shook his head.

"No. Don't be."

"I'm just..." Dean trailed off, about to say, "tired," but knew that'd sound ridiculous. He left the sentence hang.

"I know," Sam said solemnly. He didn't offer anything more. He just let Dean get it together for a few more minutes. Eventually Dean looked at his hands.

"I'm still shaking," he said with a soft, disbelieving laugh. He clenched and unclenched, trying to get them to stop.

"That's okay," Sam said openly. Dean coughed and shrugged. It was okay. He'd just get Sam something else to eat that didn't require steady hands.

"You still hungry?" Dean asked, suddenly worried that Sam's appetite had lessened.

"Yeah totally," Sam lied eagerly. "Starving."

Dean's eyebrows lifted, skeptical yet hopeful.

"Really?" Dean asked warily.

"Yeah," Sam said, expertly faking his most genuine expression.

Dean watched and licked his lips before looking back down at the ground, nodding absently.

"What... um... what d'you think you could hold down right now?" Dean said hesitantly, struggling to resume his role.

"I don't know. What can you make?"

Dean shrugged, still looking at the floor.

"Oh I could... do those... those ham and cheese roll things, remember those?"

Sam remembered. Their bread would occasionally go moldy too soon, leaving them with ham and cheese only. Sam wasn't ever really positive about whether it was because they couldn't afford another loaf of bread or just because Dean was lazy - either way, Dean found an enthusiast in Sam for cheese rolled up into slices of ham when they'd been young. It'd be an easy snack. It still was.

"Yeah. Yeah Dean that's perfect," Sam encouraged lightly. Dean gave a small crooked smile and Sam thought for all Dean mocked him with the puppy dog eyes, it’s not like Dean didn’t have the same thing.

Dean broke the moment by slapping his knees and shoving up to stand. "Okay," he said, looking at Sam and his space, checking to see if there was anything more he could do before he left. "Okay I'll be right back."

"Okay," Sam said with an honest smile, dimples clear and deep after all the weight he'd lost. Dean noticed it and despite it, he still manage to return his brother’s smile with a genuine one of his own.

Dean turned away and left Sam's bedroom for the kitchen, slightly shocked about what just transpired... and even more shocked that he was already feeling better.

Chapter Text

Sam was propped against a mountain of pillows in bed with his plate of ham and cheese rolls. Dean had made several so the eldest was eating them too as he sat beside his brother.

They were both quiet for awhile, thinking their own thoughts as they snacked. Dean had absentmindedly asked if they were good and Sam nodded as he'd taken another bite. In truth, Sam still wasn't hungry but Dean needed to see him eat.

After a few minutes, after Sam had finished his third and reached for a fourth, he had to admit he was feeling better. That hollow in his stomach he'd mistaken for pain relating to the trials had actually been plain old hunger. It eased his worries as he munched. Things were clearing up. His confidence was coming back and he knew the next time Dean would furtively glance at him he'd return it with a smile.

Sam reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and shakily brought it to his mouth.

"So what do you want to do now?" Dean asked, startling Sam enough to have him dribbling water. Sam took a few gulps and set the bottle back on the table before answering.

"I wanna move," he finally said.

"What d’you mean?" Dean asked, mouth full.

"I wanna move back to your room," Sam stated with casual surety. He didn’t want to be sheepish about it. That’d give his brother too much of an opening. He wouldn't meet Dean's eyes though and he knew his cheeks were reddening so he just kept looking down, suddenly meticulous about folding his paper towel.

Dean didn't say anything, letting the silence hang until it got awkward at Sam's expense. Finally, Sam glanced up to see Dean's eyebrow raised, an amused, sly smile playing on his face.

"Shut up," Sam said wearily as he rolled the paper towel into a ball. He looked up again to see the same stupid knowing grin on Dean's face. "Shut up," Sam laughed and threw the ball at Dean's face. Dean laughed but surprisingly held his tongue. Sam, peeved that Dean's silence alone could still make him feel like a sap, failed to stifle the urge to justify himself. "If you didn't want me in your bed then you shouldn't have put me there," Sam defended, his lips tipping into a sideways smile. It was a good tactic. Unfortunately, a good tactic is only as good as its audience deems.

"Uh huh," Dean said knowingly, totally ignoring Sam's excuse as he continued to laugh at little brother's expense. Sam cinched his mouth to the side, trying not to smile. Dean's laughter was infectious.

Dean relaxed and leaned back, smiling. He picked lint off the bed sheet.

"It's cool. I'd prefer it if we moved you back too." Dean offered. Sam smiled, this time pleased and relieved, before launching into banter.

"So you can nag and bully me."

Dean looked back up.

"...into getting healthy," Dean protested indignantly.

"Yeah whatever. You're mean."

"Well you're weak so suck it up," Dean replied easily, his smile somehow kind despite the insults.

Sam made a face and moved the plate off his lap. He sat up straighter and started to assess his own strength while gauging the effort it'd take to get up under his own steam.

"What're you thinking?" Dean asked, seeing the determination that'd started to emerge on Sam's face.

"I... I think," Sam leaned forward and pushed the covers off while moving his feet to touch the floor. Dean sat up, eyes like a hawk watching but not altogether worried. "I think I can get up. I feel like I can," Sam said as he sat up straight against the edge of his bed, his feet planted firmly on the ground. Only then did he look to his brother, a tacit request for permission. Dean's eyebrows lifted.

"You sure?"

Sam nodded and shrugged.

"Yeah," he huffed a laugh, acknowledging how unbelievable it seemed. It felt like years since he'd been able to walk around on his own. Dean pursed his lips in consideration and got up.

"Okay let's take it one step at a time," he coached as he faced Sam and held his hands out.

Sam shook his head and leaned back. Dean was crowding him so he couldn't stand up on his own even if he wanted to.

Sam shook his head. "I don't need your help," Sam said and immediately regretted how he'd worded that.

"Tough," Dean shot back. He didn't sound mad though so that was good. Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes wide and plaintive.

"Don't give me that," Dean laughed.

"Dude seriously I don't need a walker," Sam promised.

"Well last few times you needed a wheelchair. And also I'm not a walker," Dean added matter-of-factly. He stared Sam down, arms outstretched. Sam sighed heavily in capitulation and grasped Dean's forearms.

"You are," Sam said, readying himself to get up. He gave Dean a double-take when he realized his older brother looked confused. "You're gonna be my human walker," he grumbled in clarification as he felt Dean's grip adjust and tighten. It was easier for Sam to hold onto Dean instead of the other way around; his older brother was only wearing a plain white shirt that allowed him a skin-to-skin grip whereas Sam was wearing a couple sleeved layers courtesy of Dean’s dressing skills.

"I'll let go once you’ve got it," Dean said evenly, ignoring his brother's tease. Sam idly wished he could blow off Dean’s teases that easily.

"Okay." Sam leaned forward and put his weight on his right leg, his strongest side, to get up. He felt Dean's arm give a little under his weight but then steady out as he made his way upright.

"Good job, you got it," Dean encouraged as Sam sorely lifted himself up with his brother's help. "Dude that's awesome," Dean said as Sam reached his full height. He was shaky and leaning into his brother but he was standing on his own two feet.

Grinning, he angled his head down at his brother. "You're short again," he breathed then started what could only be described as raspy cackling as Dean's empathetic expression of delight turned to a sullen glare.

"Don't try my patience, Sammy," Dean warned without heat. Sam looked away to finish laughing at his own joke. The mischievous glint in his eyes remained and Dean couldn’t have been happier.

"Okay... think you can walk?" Dean asked, resuming business. Sam's expression grew pensive as he looked down at his socked feet. They were both clad in lightweight sweats - Dean's were a slate gray and Sam's were maroon. Paired with the sweatshirt he was wearing Sam looked like he was back in college.

"Yeah," he said, starting to take a step with his left. Dean coordinated, backing up with his right.

"Good," Dean murmured, watching Sam shift his weight and plant his foot. "Now right," Dean instructed even though Sam was already halfway there. "Very nice, good," Dean kept it up as they moved past the foot of Sam's bed.

Sam found it unsettlingly easy to receive Dean's praise. It'd been years since Dean had taught or coached Sam on anything but he supposed it was just ingrained. Most of Sam's ‘firsts’ were taught by Dean: how to ride a bike, how to swim, make forts, brush his teeth, use a microwave, lock doors and put down salt lines, play sports, board games, and even how to read and write. Dean's teachings had given him an edge for years in elementary school and beyond. Later in adolescence, it was Dean that'd always had the patience and tenacity to teach his recalcitrant little brother sparring techniques he hadn't gotten the hang of when Dad had been there. How to shoot, how to drive, how to talk to girls, how to just generally handle their dad. That one Sam could never really get right though.

Dean continued the litany of positivity and instead of embarrassment or shame, Sam found himself just automatically shifting back into his role as student, his hope naturally boosting every time his big brother reported he was doing well. It was a weird reenactment of nostalgia that wasn't entirely unwelcome; surprisingly pleasant, more like. Sam kept his head down to watch as his own legs carried him in a shaky but rhythmic pace, Dean’s supportive commentary lifting him at every step.

It occurred to Sam then that Dean had been there for another crucial and relevant, given their current circumstances, ‘first.’ Dean had been there when he'd taken his first steps as a child. He didn't remember personally but he'd read in Dad's journal his first steps were into Dean's arms. Sam wondered if Dean remembered, if Dean was thinking about that too.

Dean wasn't. Instead, Dean was very focused on the present. Sam was using Dean more for balance and navigation than strength now and Dean would be dancing with joy if he wasn’t still needed. He had to look over his shoulder a couple of times as he walked backwards but they were in the zone.

Sam was looking at his feet which gave Dean a clear view of the kid’s miserably knotted and tangled hair. He had no idea how to solve that problem aside from cutting the whole rat’s nest off. Odds were low Sam would allow that. Dean just had to settle for being grateful that Sam was at least clean now.

They were in the hall, having cleared several feet from the doorway when Sam spoke up and broke Dean out of his thoughts.

"What the hell?"

"What?" Dean looked down and saw his pillows against the wall where he'd been camped out. He'd have claimed he must have dropped them at some point or another were it not for the walkie-talkie standing perfectly upright nearby. "Oh uh..." Dean tried to stall.

"Were you-?"

"Shut up."

Sam laughed quietly, still putting determined effort into their walk.

"I can't believe you did that."

"Dude, I was pissed. Wanted to make a point. Didn't mean I'd actually go AWOL on your sorry ass."

Sam's brow furrowed but he kept walking. A few seconds later and his balance went off-kilter, his emotions getting the better of him as Dean's words sank in and the significance of Dean's hallway camp-out really hit him.

"Whoa hey - you okay? Sammy?"

Sam nodded and barely managed to answer in the affirmative.

He'd really thought Dean had left him to deal with the trials alone. Dean had been so angry and then so distant. Sam had thought the whole thing was about Dean signing off on him, not wanting to take care of him anymore because it was too much.

Sam could admit to himself now that he'd felt lost and scared at the turn of events, at Dean's belligerent then dismissive attitude. And now Sam was learning Dean had only been four yards down the hall while Sam was trying to reconcile how Dean was making him face his worst fear. Because Sam’s worst fear wasn’t really dying from the trials. It was dying from the trials in a room that held no comfort, with no one to care enough to witness his last breath if it came on suddenly.

Mostly just dying from the trials without Dean.

Dean, who’d been on the opposite side of the wall the whole time.

Sam faltered again and squeezed his brother's arms.

"Hey, okay, hey Sammy?"

Sam didn't respond and Dean stopped them, worried.

"Sam?" Dean asked, dipping his head down to see Sam's face. His hair concealed his eyes but Dean heard him sniff and swallow. "Sam! Is something wrong - are you hurt?" Dean asked suddenly, his voice razor sharp.

"No," Sam responded immediately, always responded immediately to that tone of voice. Sam's 'no' had been raw though and Dean winced. He straightened and looked around.

"Okay, ahh..." he hummed, weighing his options, "okay yeah let's just... just take a breather, okay?" He suggested calmly, angling the kid's back against the wall. Sam's grip on Dean lessened now he had the wall for support. Dean kept his hold.

"Sammy?" Dean tried again, gently squeezing Sam's arm. "Sam?" He tilted his head to get a glimpse of his little brother's expression. Sam sniffed again, his eyes watery.

"I thought you'd really gone," Sam croaked quietly, still looking down.

Chapter Text

"What?" Dean asked, bewildered.

"I thought - when you left..." Sam trailed off, hoping that was enough to clue Dean in.

Dean let out a relieved huff of amusement. Sam narrowed his eyes, pressed his lips together.

"I can't believe you believed me." Dean came closer and squeezed Sam's arms. Sam didn’t look up but he could tell his brother was smiling, his gestures trying to reassure.

Instead of soothing it felt condescending though. He looked straight up at Dean, eyes wet, expression pained as he pushed his hands out sharply, palms up and shaking.

"What the fuck, Dean!?" He yelled. Dean blinked, surprised. Sam pushed him away. It was weak but Dean backed up, not wanting to crowd him while he was upset. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"What? Sam, I don't get why you're mad. If you really thought I’d take off, shouldn’t you be happy to know I didn’t leave you after all?" Dean asked, slightly annoyed but it didn't hold a candle to his fuming sibling.

"So it was just a ruse? You just wanted me to think you were a total asshole?"

Dean squinted, his eyes fixed somewhere above as he thought about it. It would've been funny under any other circumstance.

"Yeah-?" Dean dragged out, shrugging, then looking back to his brother with an apologetic wince.

Sam shook his head with disdain, his eyes drifting to the walkie-talkie. He recalled how Dean had used it to make him think he was absent, far away elsewhere in the bunker with clipped responses and taking forever to walk into Sam’s room once Sam had demanded it.

Dean had deliberately quarantined Sam, made him think he was totally alone, and risked him dying quietly, helplessly.

How could Dean have done that?

"What if I'd died?" Sam challenged.

Dean's lips curled in. He shifted his weight and pointed his finger in Sam's face. Sam didn't flinch, his own eyes staring daggers. "You almost did and I was there, Sam," Dean snarled.

"No, Dean," Sam gritted out. He shook his head and looked back at the nest of pillows. "What if I'd had a heart attack?" Sam suggested openly. “Choked. Paralyzed.” He looked at Dean, his anger dwindling. "What if something had happened fast. Too fast before you could get ther-"

“Sam,” Dean interrupted. Sam closed his mouth, his jaw clenching, eyes watery, waiting for a response but he knew by the way Dean was reacting that he’d rattled his brother.

"Sam,” Dean said and it sounded pleading, “all your symptoms have been slow. They’re all for the trials, so you can live to close the gates. I never thought-"

"No, you just didn't think."

"I was right there the whole time though!" Dean yelled, pointing down the hallway. “I would’ve known!”

Sam couldn’t figure out if he wanted to scream or cry more. He pushed his palms against his eyes.

“No you wouldn’t have!” Sam shook his hands at Dean, wishing more than anything Dean would just get it for once. “You’re not psychic. And I’ve been so weak I can’t lift a radio or shout for help. And you left me,” Sam’s voice cracked. He pressed his hands to his face again and swore at himself. There was no getting around it though. When Dean had sequestered him he had made Sam so much more vulnerable and Dean knew it, knew he was doing something wrong or else he wouldn’t have been camped out in the hallway.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered. Sam looked at him in shock and bristled, realizing Dean had inched further into Sam’s space, expression brutally sympathetic.

Sam leaned back, afraid to fold into his brother just yet. “It’s just,” Sam looked around, avoiding his brother’s gaze. He licked his lips and a tear rolled down his cheek. “I didn’t know you were there,” Sam explained, lips quivering. He looked back into Dean’s eyes, that same expression of sincere compassion. “It would’ve been different-”

"I know, I'm sorry," Dean said, tone loud and clear. It was a desperate and honest apology. Sam swallowed roughly, his hurt eyes a sickly hazel landing on Dean's. Sam's jaw clenched, overwhelmed, but at least he could see in Dean's eyes that his brother meant the apology. Dean started rubbing Sam's arms. "Sam, I'm sorry," Dean repeated in the same serious, consoling tone.

Hearing Dean's genuine apology affected Sam more than he expected. He'd grown up being called the sensitive one, the drama queen, constantly told to suck it up and quit whining. His emotions dismissed and discarded so often by his father, treated only with tolerance at most by Dean. For Sam, it was practically old hat to receive vague, unfeeling platitudes when he felt hurt or betrayed.

But now Dean was flat-out apologizing sincerely. Something like that came around so rarely. Instead of mollifying things it just felt like complete confirmation that Sam had endured a terrible injustice at the hands of his older brother.

Dean had taken advantage of Sam, used his condition against him to make him feel worse. He'd been mean and manipulative all while Sam could barely raise a hand, much less his voice, against him. Then Dean had let Sam think he was completely on his own, facing the unknown but possibly fatal, certainly painful future symptoms of the trials without any emotional support or even the bare minimum comfort of knowing his big brother was nearby.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, moving his hand up to Sam's shoulder. Sam cringed away.

“I don’t even want you near me right now,” Sam sniffed half-heartedly. Dean tugged Sam towards him anyway. "C'mon Sammy, I'm sorry, c'mon," Dean whispered and with a small cry Sam finally let Dean pull him into a hug.

Sam wrapped shaky arms around his brother and tried to absorb the affection and trust he'd lost as Dean just held him.

"You almost died this morning, Sammy," Dean said, "because I wasn't there. I would've known your temperature if I'd been by your side. We would've caught it before it got as bad as it did."

"I don't care that you missed the symptoms, Dean," Sam sighed tiredly. Dean hugged Sam tighter. "I just didn't want to die without you," he whispered, "on bad terms."

"You have no idea how sorry I am, Sam," Dean’s voice broke. Sam sniffed and blinked away tears over Dean's shoulder, reaching for a better grip on Dean. "And, listen to me," Dean added quietly, "we are never on bad terms."

Sam choked a disbelieving laugh and Dean's hand moved to the back of his neck. Sam pressed his cheek against Dean's shoulder and felt another tear break free.

"I'm serious. I... Sammy, I'm so sorry that I made you think we were," Dean said solemnly, rubbing Sam's back with his other hand. Sam’s chin pressed into Dean’s shoulder in acknowledgment before he curled further into the hug.

They kept the embrace for awhile; Dean didn't want to be the one to step back from it. He had to give Sam the time he needed. Finally, Sam spoke up.

"You should be," Sam croaked and let out a soft chuckle.

Dean closed his eyes in relief, understanding he'd just been forgiven.

"I know," Dean agreed solemnly but he smiled. “It’ll never happen again.”

Things were going to be all right. He rubbed Sam's shoulders and just as Sam thought they were going to detach, Dean kept a hold of Sam and cleared his throat.

"And Sammy... if you do die," Dean said calmly and Sam tensed in his arms, "I'm going to be right there with you. You're not going to die alone. I promise.” Dean’s tone was despairing resignation and Sam was surprised how much he actually hated it. He had wanted to hear Dean say that all along but the way Dean said it made Sam want to demand that his brother take it back.

"Okay," Sam sniffed. "But I'm not going to die," he said firmly and suddenly Sam nearly gasped at the new-found strength in Dean's hug. He let out choked-off laughter as he tried to return the embrace.

"That's what I like to hear," Dean murmured, smiling. They held their hug some time longer more. Eventually Dean loosened his grip to let Sam breathe. "Okay, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said, wiping his eyes, starting to pull away. He'd lost some tears but neither of them had fully broke down. This had been a bitter surface crack that had successfully healed between them without any full-on meltdowns.

Under any normal circumstances they would've just fumed and gone their own separate ways: Sam to a library or for a walk, Dean to a bar or something. They'd reconnect the following morning, the previous night's fight easily glossed over, any leftover tension bottoming out with each new discussion over where to eat breakfast or Smurfs versus Fraggle Rock or creating new code words during the drive.

Now they couldn't afford the luxury of these normal coping mechanisms, of being apart to cool down on their own. If Sam's near-death experience had proven anything it was how the only right thing to do was to stick together, meaning any issues that would've had them stomping away to get over alone would have to be treated differently.

Both of them were stressed and exhausted over the same things. Maintaining any sense of anger or angst towards each other required energy neither of them really had.

So instead of anger they'd unknowingly chosen and established a precedent for how to cope with one another in the hallway.

They'd just confront it, hug it out, and move on.

Through this embrace, this new standard was set solid. In order to be so close, they'd have to adapt and so at a very basic level of awareness, the two of them understood and accepted the terms as they pulled away from each other.

Dean kept his hand on Sam's back, watching with a guilty, crooked smile as Sam rubbed his eyes.

"You sure, now-? You're okay-?" Dean asked and Sam gave a wet laugh. Blinking up at Dean he gave a weary yet pointed thumbs up.

"Elated," he deadpanned and Dean smiled. "You?"

"Yeah. Awesome."

Dean pulled his arm away from Sam to rub his own eyes. When he finished he looked openly at his brother.

"You still feel okay? Should I get the wheelchair?"

"No-no-no. Don't get the wheelchair, I can do it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah just," Sam reached out, "help me," he murmured, leaning forward into Dean. Dean grasped his arms under bent elbows and took his weight. Sam took a step forward with relative ease.

"Hey all right, awesome," Dean said, impressed, and just like that they were back to it, shuffling down the hallway, Sam as focused as ever while Dean resumed his role as personal trainer and human walker frame.

"Almost there, tiger, you're doing great," Dean said. Sam grunted in acknowledgement.

"Feel like an old lady," Sam said, still looking down, his posture hunched forward over their arms.

"Y'look like one too," Dean offered. Sam huffed a laugh and kept moving.

Sam had broken the stream of Dean's coaching in favor of banter so Dean changed tack accordingly. "Dude your hair's a fuckin' mess, man."

"S'what... happens when... you don't use... conditioner," Sam managed. Dean wasn't concerned about his brother's halted response. He could tell Sam was just out of breath from sore muscles and lack of exercise. His strength was still there though.

"You realize that's a product only sold to women, right?"

"Bite me," Sam huffed. Dean smiled. They were getting closer to his bedroom. The banter was quickening Sam's pace.

"No, but I could give you a haircut in your sleep."

"Don't you dare," Sam whispered as if Dean had just said some unspeakable evil. Dean snickered.

"Okay," Dean finally said calmly, looking over his shoulder to gauge the doorway of his bedroom. "We're almost there."

"'Kay," Sam breathed.

"So what do you want to do after we get you set up?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head.

"I dunno."

"Hungry?"

"No."

"Tired?"

"Not really."

"Uhhh..." Dean hummed in thought, "oh shit, stop, hold on," Dean said suddenly, realizing he'd almost taken them past the doorway. He squeezed Sam's arms and angled him in. "You good?"

"Uh huh," Sam replied, still focusing properly and coordinating his movements well. They stepped into Dean's room and Sam glanced up to check out the familiar surroundings. His eyes landed on the mattress.

"Did you make your bed?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, what, you don't?"

"You don't."

"Well I don't give a shit about motel beds," Dean answered dismissively, leading Sam over to the side of the bed. "Nobody cares about motel beds-" he muttered then shouted, "Don't sit down yet!"

Sam had been about to collapse onto the mattress.

"What, why?" Sam flat-out whined over his brother, having lost all sense of his age and causing Dean to actually laugh aloud at the childish pleading.

"I wanna get the sheets right," Dean explained as he pulled them down. "Okay you're good," Dean said, still smiling. He tried to spot Sam's descent but Sam just belly-flopped onto the bed and laid still, appreciating the feel of the memory foam contouring to his body. He closed his eyes, trying to bliss out on at least this one good thing.

"Dude your bed is awesome," Sam said, his voice muffled but the genuine awe was unmistakable. Dean walked to the foot of the bed as he unfolded a second, heavier comforter he'd grabbed from a shelf.

"Dude, I know right?" Dean said just before he flipped it out. With a quick swish Dean blanketed all six foot four of his brother. The startled yelp from Sam underneath the heavy cover managed to get Dean laughing again.

Chapter Text

Dean was in bed under the covers, eyes closed but his mind ran and flashed through the past twenty-four hours. Leaving Sam in tears after his outburst, running to find him curled up in bed screaming in agony, hugging him against his chest willing every ounce of warmth to pass into his freezing cold body. Sam's wispy, barely-there 'I love you.' Dean singing their mother's favorite lullaby as he watched Sam fade away, his soft, final reassurance that Sam could sleep.

Dean cringed in the dark, trying to get the memories out of his head. He was already running on fumes. He needed to sleep. He breathed in and out, slow and steady, trying to release tension.

Sam was okay. Sam could walk on his own two feet now. Sam was asleep right next to him, breathing easily and warmed by the five blankets Dean had piled on top of them. They'd both settled into Dean's room quickly, Sam especially falling asleep before the aliens even appeared in Independence Day. Detached, Dean figured nearly dying like that takes a lot out of a person.

The older brother had watched the movie for awhile longer, the presence of his little brother sleeping soundly comforting him more than he cared to admit. A couple times Sam would twitch restlessly in sleep and Dean felt justified placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. It helped; Sam would relax and still under Dean's touch.

Soon Dean had found himself wavering on the edge of consciousness. He turned off the TV, lazily adjusted his pillow and settled down on his side. His eyes relaxed in the darkness. He could see the silhouette of Sam's body faced away from him on his side, his breathing even and calm.

Dean wanted to keep the moment. But then the memories came flooding back, playing and replaying in his mind.

After several hours of restless stirring Dean was on the verge of sleep when the mattress jerked. Dean's eyes snapped open to the sight of Sam's body twitching.

"Sam?" Dean whispered, reaching his hand out. Before he touched Sam's shoulder, his brother twisted onto his back with a gasp. Dean could see a light sheen of sweat on his face, his breath uneven and heavy like he'd been running a marathon.

"Sam?" Dean asked again, louder this time. He put his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed.

"Nah...no..." Sam breathed, tilting his face away from Dean.

Dean propped himself up and reached for Sam's face. "Sam, Sammy," he urged quietly, "wake up, kiddo," he asked, palming his cheek. Sam shuddered, shaking his head back and forth under his brother's hand.

"Please... no... please..." Sam was nearly crying.

"Sam, c'mon! It's a nightmare, Sammy," Dean called, still holding his brother's head and sitting up now to press his other hand to Sam’s chest. Sam writhed, scared and desperate in the dream until somehow Dean's words clipped it off. Suddenly Dean was staring into Sam's open eyes, full and alert and confused.

"Dean?" Sam gasped but his breath was normalizing already. Dean sighed with relief.

"You okay?" Dean asked, unwilling to move off Sam until he knew. Sam looked around then back up at his brother.

"Yeah I think so... What happened?"

Dean rolled his eyes and slipped his hands off his little brother to lie down next to him.

"Just a nightmare, Sammy. Go back to sleep," Dean whispered.

Sam tipped onto his side to face Dean in the darkness.

"How'd you know I was having a nightmare?"

"Because I'm batman," Dean said, smiling blandly in the dark. He felt Sam's hand shove his shoulder. "S'nothing, Sam. F'it happens again I'll let you know, okay?"

A long pause. Dean didn't know if Sam was deliberating over the agreement or falling back to sleep.

"'kay," was all that came from his exhausted little brother. The latter, then.

---

Sam jolted awake on his back, gasping for air, his throat clenching and releasing like he'd been crying. He didn't know exactly what he'd been dreaming. All he knew was that he felt weak, vulnerable... humiliated and tainted with something he desperately needed to purge.

"Sam," he heard his brother whisper at the same time he felt an anchoring arm wrap over his chest grounding him.

Sam assessed reality. He was in bed. In the bunker. Safe with his brother right next to him, the familiar weight of Dean's arm and the blankets keeping him down settling his nerves. Sam wanted to curl into it, hold back onto it until the aftereffects of the nightmare, whatever it was, wore off.

"Sammy," Dean's voice called out again sleepily. Sam lifted his hands to his face and wiped off tears. Dean's grasp around him grew stronger, a tacit request for his brother to answer him.

"Yeah," Sam said wetly, quickly trying to stifle sniffs and gasps from uneven breath. It didn't work and Sam could feel Dean's hand spread their fingers out along his side, his arm losing its sleepy dead weight and becoming more of a concerned, bracing hold.

"You're shaking," Dean said, his voice clearer now, his head lifting up off its pillow. Sam looked down and realized he really was. His hands shivered as he wiped his hair off his face and rubbed his nose.

"I'm not cold," Sam assured, gravelly and uneven. Dean got up next to him in the dark and felt his neck and forehead.

"You’re right. Another nightmare?" he asked softly. Sam swallowed, slightly embarrassed, and nodded.

"Yeah s'just a nightmare. Sorry," Sam said and turned around, his back to his brother. "'M fine," Sam added quietly. Dean patted him on the shoulder.

"Okay," Dean replied simply and Sam could feel him lie down again. It didn't escape his notice that Dean settled down closer to him in bed. Taking the cue, Sam pretended to adjust his position and moved a fraction of an inch closer to Dean too. Neither of them were touching but it felt better. Sam thought perhaps falling back to sleep with the conscious knowledge that his brother was so close would stop the nightmares this time around.

---

Dean was down for the count sleeping like a log when Sam woke him up again talking in his sleep. He could barely register what Sam was saying, his mind clouded, his subconscious screaming at him to just go back to sleep.

"Please... Please... No, not that, please..." Sam whimpered and suddenly the mattress shuddered, breaking Dean out of his stupor into wakefulness because Sam was jerking in spasms. It wasn't like a seizure though. His movements were sharp and reactive like if someone or something was inflicting pain.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean sat up and turned the lamp on. He swiveled back to his brother. Sam was curled into a ball, shivering. Dean burrowed under the covers to pull him into his arms.

"Sam! Sammy, wake up, c'mon," Dean coaxed, wrapping around his brother. Sam began garbling his words, rendering them gibberish. It didn't scare Dean until it started to sound like he was choking on his own tongue.

"Jesus, Sammy." Dean muttered shakily as he maneuvered his little brother around to fall forward over Dean's forearm.

"Wake up!" Dean yelled, now dismissing the possibility of a gentle re-entry into reality. "Sam!" He roared.

Suddenly Sam stopped struggling, stopped moving but for the heavy shivers Dean could feel wracking the kid's entire body.

"Sam? You okay?"

Sam kept quavering but he remained limp, just hanging over his brother's arm.

"Sammy," Dean whispered and pulled his brother back up to lie against his chest. Sam groaned and let out a whimper over the jostling.

"It's okay, it's okay," Dean promised. Sam clung onto Dean's arms wrapped around his stomach and chest. Dean pulled him up.

"You okay?" Dean asked, light but serious at the same time. Sam was still blurry but at least he was out of the nightmare.

Sam grunted and froze.

"Sam, what? What is it?" Dean asked, worried.

Sam made a wheezing sound that ended with a whimper. Quickly breaking out of Dean's grasp, Sam turned around to face him. He knelt on the bed, eyes wide, face pale with sleep and shock as he clutched at his throat. Sam opened and closed his mouth like a panicked fish, only small gurgles and whines issuing forth into the quiet bedroom.

Dean's stomach dropped at the revelation. No matter how hard he was trying, Sam couldn’t speak.

"Oh no," Dean murmured lamely. Sam put a hand to his forehead, overwhelmed, eyes flashing around to no particular place in frantic thought. Dean hurt for his brother when he saw Sam trying to scream. It only resulted in heavy, winded breaths.

Dean’s brows furrowed in thought, reconciling this new turn of events. While it was a concern that Sam couldn’t communicate verbally, Sam was still making sounds that Dean understood. He wasn’t sure what it said about them but he was nearly certain he and his brother could have a full conversation made up of nothing but grunts, sighs and other incoherent utterances.

Sam was still holding his head in his hands, distraught, when he heard his brother.

"Sam," Dean whispered, reaching out and gently taking one of his wrists. Sam let him, trembling, and understood when Dean pulled. Sam leaned and, already hunched into himself, crawled a knee or two in closer so Dean could give him a hug.

Sam's worry radiated out of him but he sunk against Dean's chest.

While Sam didn't remember the nightmare, it probably had to do with the cage again, especially if he was mute now with a sickeningly familiar sense of shame and rot. Sam had never told Dean specifics. Lucifer would cut out his tongue as a humiliating punishment and continue whatever horrific scenario he forced upon Sam until he got bored and left, only restoring Sam's body and senses right before the next scenario commenced. Needless to say, it had traumatized him.

Sam knew he was safe, that this was reality and he was no longer in the cage, but he held on to Dean tightly, needing his brother's presence to wash the sense of humiliation, the conviction that this was a punishment and that he'd been bad, away.

And Dean was getting better at this kind of stuff every hour, it seemed like. He never rejected Sam, always allowed Sam the time he needed, and instinctively knew how to use words and gestures to calm him down. Sam was a full grown man, as was Dean, but this experience was whittling through to the core bases of who they were and why they cared so damn much about each other.

Dean’s heart grew heavy as he whispered reassurances. Maybe it wouldn’t endanger Sammy because he and Dean had their own nonverbal shorthand that didn’t really matter when it came to how much this would compromise Sam. ‘Articulate’ didn’t even begin to describe Sam’s way with words, how he used them in a way that built layer after layer of confidence in his own intelligence and agency. The kid went to school to be a damn litigator after all.

It didn't matter. They'd deal with it. And Dean had to find the silver lining for Sammy because he was sure that no matter how hard he hugged him or whispered the platitudes he was throwing out like candy right now, this was still hitting Sam hard.

"You in any pain?" Dean finally asked.

Sam grunted lowly and shook his head against Dean's shoulder.

"Okay that's good," Dean replied easily, "right?"

Sam replied with a halfhearted, doubtful mewl and Dean couldn't help but chuckle quietly.

"It's okay. It's all right, Sammy. We'll figure it out, okay? If it's not painful, we're still okay. We just work around it," Dean promised. Sam sniffed and gave a small nod.

After a few more minutes, Sam started to relax, his heart beat going back to normal, the shakes easing under his arms. Dean rubbed his back.

"Must've been some nightmare, huh?" Dean joked quietly and Sam gave a derisive huff. Dean put a hand against the back of his head and Sam leaned in closer.

"Let's try to get some sleep. Maybe you’ll get your voice back in the morning, right?" Dean asked calmly. Sam looked up and hummed uncertainly.

"The nightmares won't come this time, I promise," Dean said, reading his mind. Sam pressed his lips together and sniffed one last time before he broke away from Dean.

"C'mon, get under the covers," Dean instructed, pushing his own legs down into the mass of blankets. He lifted the covers up, inviting Sam in from where he was still kneeling on the bedspread. Sam’s expression had turned skeptical.

"Sammy, I don't care if you're deaf, blind or dumb. It's two in the morning." Sam cinched his mouth to the side, unsure and nervous that with another nightmare like tonight's, his next symptom would be deafness or blindness.

"Sam. Trust me." Sam looked at his brother and Dean held his gaze. Eventually Sam blew out a sigh of surrender, threw his hands up and crawled forward to get under. Dean leaned backwards to turn off the light as Sam settled down on the same pillow in the same position he'd been in before only this time lying on the side facing Dean. It was with only a small measure of embarrassment that Sam wanted to be able to see his brother from now on tonight.

Dean’s eyes adjusted to the dark as he turned back and found Sam facing him. "No, no. Turn around," Dean ordered casually. Sam whined. “C’mon, do it,” Dean ordered again, not interested in explaining how he wanted them to sleep: the act of spooning Sam would be enough of an embarrassment.

Sam finally gave an annoyed huff and turned around. He hadn't even gotten his head settled on the pillow when he felt Dean come up against his back and wrap an arm around Sam's chest. Sam let out a small gasp and held it, surprised, which quickly morphed into deep guttural chuckling noises.

"Shut up," Dean retorted and Sam hummed giggles at his brother's expense as Dean pulled up closer against Sam’s back. Despite his laughter Sam snuggled up too. "If you tell anyone - Oh wait, you can't," Dean quipped smugly and Sam stopped laughing. At the abrupt halt of sound coming from his brother, it was Dean’s turn to crack up. He playfully wiped his hand down Sam's face, a thing they used to do to each other when they were kids. It drove them both nuts but using it now was a clear signal telling Sam Dean was just messing with him.

Sam still blustered and Dean chuckled as he gave his little brother a brief hug. Any remaining tension in Sam melted with it and he allowed himself to relax, sink into the mattress and feel the security blanket that was now just Dean literally cuddling him.

Sam could feel his brother's heartbeat, his warmth. He could hear the steady rhythm his breath. Sam was safe, taken care of, loved. All he needed to do or think about or worry over was going to sleep now. Dean could take point on the rest.

Sam idly tried to sync his breath and heart beat to Dean's. To his surprise, it actually worked and he began to float away to sleep, calm and secure, listening to the rhythms of his big brother's life beating and breathing against him.

Dean was right. If anything could stop his nightmares, it was this.

Chapter Text

At some point in the night Dean had rolled off Sam to spread out on his back. Sam was currently curled up, facing away from Dean. It would've been fine if he wasn’t lined up against Dean’s side, using Dean’s shoulder as a pillow and holding Dean's stretched out arm like a stuffed animal.

Sam blinked, groggy, looking around for his actual pillow. He lifted his head up slightly and that's when he realized he'd been drooling in his sleep, on Dean.

He hurriedly wiped his mouth and did his best to rub the drool off his brother's shirt before he noticed. It would still be damp but maybe Dean would think it was sweat or something.

In his haste he didn't realize Dean was waking up until he murmured lowly, amusement suffusing his tone.

"You were drooling on me weren't you?"

Sam tried to say no. Instead it just sounded like an indignant whine.

Oh shit, Sam thought, remembering he couldn't talk.

"Still can't talk huh?"

Sam shook his head. Dean sighed and nodded. Just one more thing, wasn't it?

Ready to get the day started, Dean pulled his arm out from under Sam.

"Sweet Jesus!" Dean hissed, clutching the limb and flexing his hand, "oh my god, dude, were you sleeping on my arm all night?" Dean asked, his arm twitching from the pins and needles as he turned the bedside light on. Sam noticed the clock. It was seven in the morning. They were miraculously back on schedule with the rest of the world.

Dean slumped back to his pillows to glare at his brother as he moved his arm around to get blood flowing. Sam, helpless and mute and with eyes that were looking far too much like a young canine's for Dean’s taste, shrugged.

"Don't give me that look," Dean admonished. Sam smirked and sat up straight. He scooted his way to the side of the bed and set his feet down on the floor.

"Sam, wait for me-oh," Dean stopped, watching Sam rise to a stand with perfect ease. The youngest brother turned around to look at Dean, practically glowing. He gestured to his chest with his hands and mouthed I'm okay! with a brilliant smile.

"Holy shit, look at that!" Dean laughed as Sam paced around freely, his natural grace intact. “This is awesome!”

Sam turned on his heel, ecstatically mouthing I know! He paced around some more, enjoying the freedom.

As Dean observed his little brother, he realized with a pang how Sam skinny Sam was these days. His six foot four frame looked skeletal.

"So what do you want to do? Food?" Dean asked hopefully, uncaring if he lacked subtlety.

Sam turned to face Dean, eyes wide and bright. He opened his mouth, then shut it as a shadow of disturbed confusion came over him, then snapped at Dean. Dean blinked and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Sam pantomimed turning something in front of his waist, then made what Dean thought what were explosion noises as Sam reached above his head and did jazz hands down over his face and body. He looked back up at Dean with an expression that could only be interpreted as “you get it, right?!”

Dean folded his arms and pressed his lips together, squinting. Sam rolled his eyes and stomped his way to get a towel before leaving the bedroom.

"Oh, I get it now!" Dean called after his brother in good humor. He walked into the corridor after his brother. "Sam I get it!" Dean called down the hall and Sam threw him a thumbs up before he disappeared into the bathroom for a shower.

Sam was moving fast and Dean didn't blame him. They didn't know how long his strength would last: best to get in and out as quickly as possible before anything went awry.

As the door clicked closed it occurred to Dean that he needed one more answer out of his brother.

"Ho, wait-wait-wait Sam! Sammy!" Dean called and banged on the door once. Sam opened it, eyes wide and curious. "What do you want for breakfast?"

Sam made a face, put his mouth to his hand and shook his head, then gestured at Dean. Dean could translate that pretty easily as I can't speak. Anything, dude.

"Gotchya," Dean replied comically and took off down the hall at the same time Sam closed the door.
---

Dean threw the last scraps of nearly everything in the kitchen into an omelette. It was almost finished frying when Sam walked in, hair combed, clean-shaven, wearing jeans and a gray long-sleeved Henley.

Dean turned and gave a double-take at his brother.

"Hey," Dean drew out the greeting, impressed, "lookin' good," he complimented. Sam grinned, delighted, and landed heavily onto his seat at the kitchen table. Dean tilted his head to the side and aimed the spatula at his brother.

"Y'all right?" He asked, using his serious voice. Sam was happy but still seemed a little unfocused. "Sammy?" Sam flinched at Dean, then nodded with an A-OK sign. He shifted around like he was looking for something, then turned back to Dean and pretended to write on his hand.

"You’d like the bill?” Dean nodded understandingly, joking.

Sam stopped miming and glared at Dean for deliberately misinterpreting him.

Dean chuckled. "You want me to go get you some?"

Sam nodded. He swayed his arms with his fists up, a recognizable gesture for running, then frowned sadly as he crossed his hands away and shook his head. Clearly he wasn’t up to go get anything himself.

"Okay hold this," Dean offered Sam the spatula, "I'll be right back. Make sure it doesn't burn," he added and Sam gave him a thumbs up.

Dean was back in less than a minute, one of Sam's legal pads and a pen in hand. He set it down on the table and they seamlessly switched utensils - spatula back to Dean, pen to Sam.

Dean could hear Sam scribbling and contented himself working the omelettes. Just as he was about to get it out of the pan and onto a plate, he heard Sam give a deliberate cough. Dean ignored it, focused on making sure the thing wouldn't slide onto the floor.

Sam clapped for attention.

Dean successfully transported the omelette onto the plate.

The legal pad hit him in the back and fell to the floor.

"What the hell, dude?" Dean laughed, turning to pick it up.

Sam looked at him, frustrated.

"Doesn't mean you can just throw it at me," Dean grumbled, looking at the front page.

"Have our phones been on or have you checked your email at all?"

Dean shrugged. "No. Been busy, why?"

Sam cinched his mouth to the side for a second in thought, then reached for the legal pad. Dean pulled it away from him.

"Promise you don't throw it at me again."

Sam smirked and crossed his heart with his hand.

"Uh huh," Dean replied skeptically, slowly handing the pad back to his annoying pain-in-the-ass little brother.

He'd missed this.

When Sam hunched over to start writing, Dean turned back to the omelette. It was a large serving that he was hoping Sam would be willing to try finishing. He placed it on the table in front of Sam with salt and pepper shakers and some paper towels. He wanted to see Sam’s reaction to the food but Sam was still determinedly scribbling. Dean let it go and turned back to the stove to pour the remaining yolk mix into the pan for his own breakfast. That's when he felt the legal pad slam against his back again and fall to the floor with a resounding slap.

"Uhhh I'm gonna kill you," Dean gritted out, turning around to pick the pad up from the floor without even looking at his brother. He could hear Sam's snickering as he read.

"Wherever Cas and Kevin are now they might've contacted us... or anyone else for that matter. I'm feeling fine except for the voice thing. Do you know if Garth is still AWOL?"

Dean shrugged again and looked up at his brother who was watching him anxiously... and hadn't taken a single bite of his breakfast.

"Sam, what-no, I don’t know. Eat, man," Dean complained, gesturing at the food. Sam wilted but nodded and turned to the food. He forked a large bite and ate it. Mouth full, he looked at Dean then his note pointedly.

“Okay,” Dean granted and re-read what Sam had written. "Okay, I don't know about Garth but yeah we'll check up and see if anyone's reached out. After breakfast."

Sam rolled his eyes with a smirk but gave an A-OK before surprising Dean by digging into his meal with enthusiasm when normally the kid would have argued to check the computer immediately. Dean figured it must be really good and turned back to make his own omelette, beaming. He would still be sure to ply Sam with snacks between meals but this was a tremendous start.

---

Not exactly a nutritionist, Dean was literally wondering Doritos? Would Doritos be okay? when Sam finished his meal with a satisfied grunt, pointed at his empty plate, and gave Dean another A-OK sign. It translated to high praise in this context though and Dean glowed.

Sam stood up and gestured to the general vicinity of the library and raised his eyebrows, tacitly asking permission. Dean was in the middle of swallowing a bite of his breakfast but nodded and waved Sam off. "Yeah go 'head dude. I'll be in in a minute," Dean managed.

Sam gave a quick smile and a thumbs up and left, giving Dean some time alone.

The older brother ate the last small bits of his breakfast and sighed, pushing the plate away from him. It was good. Too bad he couldn’t really remember how he’d made it. He leaned forward, head in hands, thinking about everything they'd been through. How this simple, uncomplicated moment alone knowing his brother was still alive, walking around on his own two feet, still sick but on the mend. Kind of. It had felt like an unreachable prayer just two days ago.

If Dean thought about where they'd been then compared to where they were now in only that small span of time...

Well, now Dean was thinking about it and he was getting emotional. He coughed, cleared the watery mist from his vision by rubbing his eyes. He got up to clear the dishes away before going to meet Sam in the library.

When he strolled in, Sam starting snapping his fingers. Dean turned towards his brother and found Sam freaking out over something on the computer. Still, snapping?

"Don't snap at me," Dean grumbled indignantly, picking up his pace. Sam gave him a look and switched to loud, cacophonous clapping for him to get over there.

"Okay seriously stop it," Dean laughed as he came around to face the computer monitor. Sam wasn’t amused. He had a video pulled up and clicked 'play' as soon as he knew Dean was watching.

"Sam, Dean. I've set up this message with some software on a remote server so it'd send itself to you if I didn't reset it with a command once a week. Which means I didn't reset it this week. And there's only one reason I wouldn't. Which means if you're watching this, then I... then I- I'm dead. I'm dead, you bastards! So screw you, screw God and everybody in between!

“Crowley must've gotten to me. And the one thing I know is that I won't break this time. Not sure how I know, but... but I do. I've been uploading all my notes, the translations, I'm sending you the links so you can get all of it. You guys are gonna have to try to figure out the rest. I'm sorry. I know it was my job but I - but I couldn't...

“I'm sorry."

Dean stared at the monitor for a second.

"Wait but he's not dead, right? Cas said he was kidnapped."

Sam looked at Dean, stricken, and shrugged. He hunched over to write on the legal pad.

"We don't know 100% either way."

Dean swore and slapped the table. He paced as Sam followed up, clicking on all Kevin's links. A minute or two later Dean heard more sharp snaps from Sam and walked back up to look at the computer. Instead Sam held up his legal pad: "I want to print this stuff out and do some research. Maybe we can figure out what the third trial is ourselves."

Dean lifted an eyebrow at his brother. Sam huffed back at him, determined. "Fine, Ariel." Sam made a face as Dean settled into a chair next to him. "The day you're good to get up and walk around I should'a known you'd want to research," he muttered and disregarded the shove to his shoulder Sam delivered in answer.

---

Dean made sure Sam had eaten lunch, then promptly zoned out as Sam resumed his nerd boy research mode. Feet up on the table, head tilted over the back of the chair, and still dressed in loose sweats, it was nice to just doze.

Sam kept on working, feeling much better and so pleased to be active and healthy enough that Dean could relax and get some shut-eye next to him.

Things went on pleasantly like that until Castiel appeared suddenly before them.

"Hello," he greeted, startling Sam with a gasp. Sam breathed ‘Ca’ and got out of his chair to greet the angel.
“Yes, it is me.” He studied Sam for a moment then winced. “You can’t speak?”

Sam pursed his lips and shrugged, nodding. He turned back to his brother to shake him awake.

"No-no-no, not like mermaids, you idiot," Dean grumbled. Sam snapped in Dean’s ear then shoved his feet off the table. "Ow! Dude," Dean grunted as his legs thunked to the floor. "What the hell!"

"Dean," Castiel spoke.

"Cas!" He called, unable to deny a smile at the sight of the angel. "Where's Kevin? Is he really dead?"

"No, I have him. May I bring him into the bunker?"

Sam nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah yes absolutely." Dean responded for the both of them. “Is he okay?”

"Somewhat," Castiel said evenly, betraying nothing. "I can only bring him to the entrance of the bunker. Humans are barred from entry without going through the portal first."

Sam mentally logged that as a question to ask later when he could speak: how could Cas just zip in and out of the bunker? Wasn't this place warded against everything including angels?

"Sure thing but-" Cas cut him off by disappearing. Dean huffed and turned to his brother.

"What the hell does 'somewhat' mean?"

Sam shrugged. Dean sighed angrily and stomped his way towards the bunker’s entrance. Sam followed and Dean glanced behind when he took his first couple of steps up the iron staircase. Dean could see it in the way Sam moved it was too much.

"Sam. Stay there. I'll bring him down," Dean ordered lightly. Sam paused, clearly debating whether to fight Dean on it. Much to Dean’s approval, he nodded with mature resignation and backed off to sit in the nearest chair in map room.

When Dean got upstairs to the entrance he cranked the door open and found Kevin unconscious and hanging off Castiel.

"Holy shit, Cas, is he okay?!" Dean asked, alarmed, as he reached out to help. They brought him through the threshold. Dean found himself alone suddenly as Cas just vanished with Kevin.

They reappeared together right next to a seated Sam. At their sudden arrival, Sam let out a guttural cry of shock and nearly fell over in his chair as he tried to stumble up and out of it. Dean would've been laughing for ages if they didn't have more important things to address.

Cas placed Kevin into a map room chair as Dean rushed downstairs. As Dean helped Sam back into his chair, Sam's concerned eyes glanced to him, a furtive look that guiltily conveyed his dependence on Dean to communicate properly for them both. Dean acknowledged it in stride, not missing a beat. He stood and turned to the angel.

"Cas. What's going on?"

"I can't stay long. I found Kevin, got him away from Crowley."

Sam started scribbling on his legal pad and Cas's face morphed into confusion.

"He can't talk," Dean supplied. Cas looked to Dean then back to Sam.

"Sam, just pray to me."

Sam threw his pen down and lightly smacked his forehead. He swivelled his chair to face Cas directly and prayed his question.

Cas’s eyes were engaged and open, clearly in the act of listening even as the room was so still and quiet.

"Crowley was trying to get Kevin to translate the second half of the demon tablet," Cas answered. Then listened. "No, he didn't. Or hasn't. I don't know, he might... be able to now..."

"Wait, what?" Dean interjected. “Bring me into the prayer radio loop, guys.”

"Kevin hasn't translated the third trial," Cas explained. "When he comes to, he might be able to. In the meantime I'm going to try to find someone."

"Who?" Dean asked at the same time Sam prayed the same question. Castiel blinked and sighed.

"Metatron."

"He's still around?!"

Castiel shrugged.

"He might be," he shrugged, an endearingly human gesture. Sam and Dean nodded. They understood. It was a shot in the dark. But as the only able-bodied agent between the three of them, Castiel felt the obligation to try rested upon him. In a way, it absolutely did.

"Crowley tried to kill Kevin. I saved him just in time. He's healed but still weak. He'll wake up soon. I want to leave him here with you, is that acceptable?"

"Yeah, 'course. You sure you don't want to take a minute too?" Dean offered, worried about how haggard his friend looked. Sam felt a similar sentiment and though he didn't pray it to Cas, the angel sensed it just the same.

For the first time Cas managed a small, infinitesimal smile, touched by the invite.

"Thank you but... no. I must go."

Dean kept his gaze fixed on the angel, assessing the sincerity of Cas's words. He seemed to rule them honest.

"You know where we'll be," Dean said evenly. Cas’s eyes pierced into Dean’s and Dean prayed to Cas that they were good.

For another brief moment the brothers both witnessed a vulnerable expression in Castiel, relief and love mingling together as he glanced between Sam and Dean. It was fleeting but it was as though the angel had been recharged. He straightened with confidence and determination and a smile appeared by just the smallest measure.

"Yes," he confirmed. “Thank you,” he added softly.

He disappeared.

Sam and Dean shared a meaningful look, Sam sympathetic and Dean resolved. Castiel had a place with them and would always have a place with them. They would make an effort to be crystal clear on that more often.

Quickly though, they had to divert their attention to their new charge, unconscious and sprawled on the chair near them. Sam inwardly cursed his mutism, wishing his appraisal of the poor wretched kid before them could be voiced. Then again, this was his brother. If anyone could read his mi-

"What a hot mess," Dean muttered, folding his arms and staring at the boy. Sam huffed a guilty laugh and nodded in agreement.

Chapter Text

Kevin awoke to something he'd never heard before: a soft-spoken Dean Winchester.

"-evin, Kev, c'mon, bud," Dean coaxed and Kevin felt a soft pressure along the crown of his head. He tilted, the pressure moved and startled, he recoiled like a frightened animal.

Dean's hand. It was just Dean's hand.

"Dean." Kevin looked around, gathering his bearings. He was lying on a soft leather couch, Dean seated in front of him on an expensive-looking coffee table. The place smelled good, a bit musty but good - cozy. It was warm. The room was… elegant.

Kevin blinked. The contrast seeing Dean Winchester seated comfortably in this environment was surreal. He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Where are we?"

"Men of Letters bunker," Dean supplied. He didn’t want to overwhelm the kid so he figured he’d just sit back and answer Kevin's questions, give him the space to put himself back together.

It was strange, Kevin thought. Normally Dean just barked orders and demands, grumbled obscenities and frustrations over Kevin's inability to comprehend things.

Kevin wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth though. He squinted at the high vaulted ceiling above. A beautiful chandelier hung over him reflecting warm yellow light.

"Uh," Kevin grunted, "you guys been holding out on me," he mumbled.

"Sorry," Dean murmured, smirking. He winced with sympathy and leaned closer to Kevin as he came around. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I think. What happened?" Kevin asked, slowly rising. He looked past Dean and spotted Sam for the first time, seated in an armchair farther away paying close attention. He hadn't spoken yet though.

"Cas zapped you out from Crowley's hands and landed you here to recoup," Dean said, succinct as ever. Kevin nodded vaguely, then shook his head in disbelief. "Do you remember any of it, Kevin?"

"Uh," Kevin stalled, rubbing a hand over his face, then shook his head and shrugged, "not much."

"Well," Dean said, leaning back to sit up straight. He swiveled to get Sam in his eye line, "that can only be a good thing, right?"

Sam looked at Dean and shrugged in consternated agreement. Dean turned towards Kevin again and leaned over to grab something that'd been laid out on the arm of the couch. Kevin rubbed his eyes, still foggy, but no he was seeing right: it was a stack of clothes Dean was offering to him.

"We looked around to find anything that might fit you. S'not much but you might want a shower, change of clothes," Dean trailed off. Kevin looked down at his jeans, black t-shirt, lightweight khaki jacket. All of it had been stained with blood and dirt and... whatever else. Kevin didn't want to think about it.

Shocky, he looked back up at Dean who added softly, "maybe a shave," as he gestured comically to his face. Kevin didn’t laugh. He just nodded and took the clothes.

"Thanks."

Dean smiled as he passed the clothes off and again Kevin felt like pressing 'pause' on this wildly uncharacteristic behavior.

Dean's smile had been kind… even sympathetic.

---

Kevin got out of the bathroom feeling better than he had in a long time. He walked back out into the study wearing a gray robe he'd found among the selection given to him. Dean had been balancing on only the two back legs of his chair. When glanced over at Kevin, he let go and accidentally slammed the chair down to the floor.

"Please tell me you're wearing something under that," Dean begged urgently. Kevin stopped, deer in headlights, then looked down at the robe. That was enough of an answer for Dean.

"That... That's my robe," he said weakly, then grumbled, "Damn it, Sam" to himself because Sam was nowhere to be seen.

"Sorry," Kevin replied, uncertain.

Dean blew out some air and waved at Kevin, dismissing the apology. He went back to his book as Kevin approached.

"Where's Sam?" He asked hesitantly, sitting across from Dean. Dean sighed lightly and looked at Kevin.

"Went down for a nap."

Kevin couldn't help but smile, incredulous. "Really? Sam takes naps?"

Dean's expression met Kevin's with no matching humor. "He does now."

The serious tone of Dean's voice tipped Kevin off that he didn't know the whole story.

"What do you mean?"

Dean took a moment to really consider whether he was going to lay it all out for Kevin. Kevin could see the wheels turning, the cost benefit analysis of telling him. Kevin didn’t begrudge it. In fact, this was so understandable that Kevin remained quiet and patient.

Finally Dean sat up straighter and looked him in the eye.

"Sam's sick, Kevin."

Kevin’s brows furrowed but he nodded. "Okay.” Dean stared at him. “I mean he looked fine to me before, but okay."

"Right now he can't talk and that’s his only symptom but more will come."

"How do you know?"

Dean sighed again and put his hands in the air in lazy defeat.

"Because it's the trials. Until he finishes the third, he'll be suffering. He's almost died a couple times..." Dean trailed off, unwilling or perhaps unable to keep going.

Kevin thought about it and nodded.

"So... that's what you guys have been doing all this time? Making sure Sam's okay?" He ventured. He wasn't judgmental, just curious.

"Basically," Dean replied, tracing the edge of the table with his finger. He looked at Kevin, an entirely new expression on his face. Like he was going to ask Kevin something nearly insurmountable. Kevin was surprised to be caught in it.

"You up for helping me out? I mean, with Sam."

"Yeah, of course!" Kevin replied instantly.

Dean pursed his lips together and nodded, kind of wary. It felt to Kevin like he was coming to the conclusion that he could trust him though and Kevin, despite himself, felt honored.

"Okay then,” Dean said, less heavy now. “I just have a couple favors to ask." Dean leaned forward over the table, closer to Kevin. Kevin did the same. "First priority, we have to figure out the third trial."

"That's a given," Kevin remarked dismissively.

"It may be a given but it's the very first priority, do you understand?" Dean didn't waver. Kevin swallowed and nodded, eyes locked on Dean's.

"Yeah."

"Okay good. Second priority?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you to go on a couple of errands."

---

Kevin wasn't completely on board with going out to restock food and supplies. He hadn't been out in the real world for ages, he'd been tortured and manipulated by Crowley. Quite frankly, he was scared. Of, well, everything.

Dean talked him around though. He gave him an amulet they'd found in the bunker that would hide his presence when he didn’t want to be seen. He even let Kevin drive the Impala which was a new one on him.

"Okay, who are you and what have you done to Dean?" Kevin had asked and Dean gave a small huff of laughter before warning him not to joke about shit like that.

But weirdly he just continued to be nice.

Dean basically gave him the day off after running errands “because Sam was fine and you need the rest.” Kevin had just blinked dumbly at Dean, stunned the man had noticed much less cared enough to give him a break.

So despite his fears, Kevin pulled himself together and went to the local mom 'n pop grocery store a couple of miles away. It turned out to be oddly therapeutic, feeling like a normal person walking around picking up such mundane items on a list with Dean’s all-capitals and Sam’s loopier and shakier handwriting on it.

That sentiment continued into late afternoon as he got familiar with the bunker’s kitchen trying to put the foodstuffs in the right locations. Grief struck him with a sharp blow, remembering how he’d always help his mom put away the groceries whenever she’d come home with them.

His thoughts, increasingly sorrowful by the moment, were interrupted by Sam walking in with his laptop. Kevin glanced and stopped to muffle his laughter at the sight of him.

Sam was wearing a hoodie and a pair of light blue boxers. Kevin had never seen either of the brothers in anything other than about four layers. It was off-putting to witness the forever guilt-ridden and troubled Sam Winchester in boxers, the angry self-righteous Dean Winchester in light tees and sweatpants.

"Hey Sam," he greeted hesitantly. Oblivious, Sam walked to the kitchen table. "Um, can you hear me?" Dean hadn't mentioned whether or not Sam could hear. He'd just said Sam couldn't speak.

Sam rubbed sleep out of his eyes and nodded absently as he set his computer down. He sighed tiredly as he sat down. Kevin just watched, not sure what to do. Sam was still waking from his nap so... So Kevin would just resume unpacking.

Finished, Kevin couldn’t help his own curiosity. Sam seemed a little more awake too now, clicking away on the laptop.

"So, is it a... psychological thing?" Kevin asked. Sam typed a couple more times and finally put his hands down between his knees, looking up at Kevin. This huge, powerful, tall guy suddenly seemed small and drained and it struck Kevin as wrong. Sam shrugged, an open expression on his face. He didn’t know if it was a psychological thing?

“Huh,” Kevin nodded awkwardly, not really wanting to press it. Sam turned back to his computer and started typing again. Kevin noticed a bag of groceries he’d forgotten and threw packages of chilled ground beef and sausages into the freezer, chiding himself for letting the cold meat get kinda warm.

Suddenly a computer's electronic voice sounded off loudly in the kitchen, making Kevin jump. "What do you want to make for dinner?"

Kevin turned around to find Sam grinning at him. Kevin returned the smile. Sam had figured out a way to speak after all.

Kevin wondered if Dean knew.

"Hey, where's Dean?"

Sam gestured towards their rooms then put his hands together against his tilted head. Kevin nodded. Dean had told him he was more or less on the same sleeping schedule as Sam so it made sense.

"So, dinner?" The computer asked. Kevin looked at Sam and shrugged.

"Sandwiches?"

Sam made a face, clearly displeased, then turned to the laptop to type.

"How about stir fry?" The computer's voice echoed through the kitchen chrome acoustics.

"Yeah sure," Kevin smiled, thinking about the ingredients and knowing they had pretty much anything Sam would want. Sam smiled again and gave a thumbs up.

Ten minutes later they were at the kitchen table chopping vegetables in preparation. Sam was of course silent but focused. Kevin could see he was going slowly with the knife and followed suit. The last thing anyone needed was an accident right now.

In the middle of chopping, Kevin figured it was as good a time as any to float his thoughts, maybe have some kind of friendly exchange. "So, um, Sam. Can I ask you something?"

Sam continued chopping the mushrooms but he gave an unmistakable nod.

"When did Dean become a Care Bear?" Kevin asked, laughing slightly at the last word.

Sam didn't look up. He just huffed, smiling, as he continued to chop.

"Seriously though. The last time I saw him he was... intense. Giving me meds, telling me to power through everything. Now it's like he's not even the same person..." Kevin trailed off as Sam sighed and stopped cutting.

Sam scrutinized the prophet then turned to his computer.

"What do you think he's like now?" Sam asked using the laptop’s electronics. Kevin bit his lip, not sure if he was getting baited but Sam's honest curiosity convinced him it was fine. He shrugged.

"I don't know. He's like, nicer. He gave me the day off of doing any research even."

Sam quirked his eyebrow.

"I know, right? It's... He's different."

Sam sighed again and shrugged. He turned to his computer and started typing out a long answer, choosing his words carefully. When he finished, he didn't let the computer speak for him; he just turned the laptop around so Kevin could read it.

"It's always been a facade. Dean's a good person. More than that, he grew up taking care of people. He's rough only as a defense mechanism. Lately we've had to deal with stuff that's been tearing it down. For awhile now he's been working in a different mode. It's extended to his behavior with you."

Kevin read and reread Sam's answer, then looked up. Sam gave him a wan smile, another shrug, and went back to chopping.

"What's... been tearing it down?" Kevin asked tentatively. Sam raised his eyebrows and casually gestured to himself. "Yeah... I, um, I heard you almost died?"

Sam stopped chopping like Kevin hit a nerve but before he could backtrack Sam resumed.

"You seem great now though," Kevin said immediately, injecting as much cheer into it as possible. Sam cast him a weary look and turned to type into the computer.

"Let's hope it lasts."

Kevin looked up from the monitor to find Sam giving him a sad expression. It was clear Sam thought of this as a temporary reprieve. Kevin didn't really know how to respond. He let the silence linger for longer than he probably should have. Finally, he spoke up.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice small and guilty for having brought it up at all.

Sam finished the mushrooms just then and huffed. He shook his head, amused, and reached for the laptop to type something in.

"Now who's the Care Bear?" The computer announced in a strange monotone. Kevin chuckled as he watched Sam add something to the message. "I'm totally telling him you called him that by the way."

Kevin's reaction made Sam actually choke out vocal laughter.

"No, Sam! Don't, please!" Kevin begged. Sam shook his head, grinning widely, and teasingly pointed at Kevin.

Sam unhooked the wok hanging on the wall and within minutes the stir fry was sizzling quietly. Kevin was at the table now playing on the computer while Sam handled the wok expertly. The delicious mix of ingredients and spices exuded an aroma that would probably travel and Kevin had said as much, adding that Dean would probably wake up for it. Sam smiled and nodded. He took a second to lean over Kevin to type out "we should add bacon for him."

Kevin agreed wholeheartedly and pulled some out to fry on the second stove top.

The stir fry was measuring up to expectations in every way, almost perfectly cooked; the first round of bacon had been flipped repeatedly, nearly ready. Kevin was still at the table and expecting Sam to turn to him and ask him to go get Dean. In fact, he was about to offer when the wok clattered on the stovetop over the flame.

"Sam?" Kevin asked, then jumped up from his seat when he saw Sam frantically turning the burners off. The bacon and stir-fry’s pleasant crackling sounds began to simmer down.

"Sam what's wrong?" Kevin asked nervously, coming up beside him. Sam was holding his hand as it flexed itself in and out of a fist.

"Sam?" Kevin repeated more firmly this time. Sam jerked to look at him. With his working hand Sam reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a piece of paper. He gave it to Kevin.

Confused about Sam having pre-written notes in his pocket, he opened it.

In Sam's loopy, shaky handwriting were three simple words all in capital letters that made Kevin's blood run cold: GET DEAN NOW.

Chapter Text

Kevin looked up from the piece of paper with wide eyes but Sam was already mouthing "go" over and over again.

Kevin raced out of the kitchen and left Sam, his last image of him standing despondently near the stove staring at his hand as it shook of its own accord.

"Dean! Dean!" Kevin darted through the library and into the hallway. "Dean!" He screamed, his own shrill voice freaking him out.

Kevin nearly collided into him at the threshold of Dean’s room but suddenly Dean was right there bracing his shoulders to cushioned his stop. Dean's eyes were sleep-shocked but he was alert. "Where is he!?" Dean rasped heavily.

"Kitchen," Kevin yelped and Dean let go to run down the hallway. Kevin tore off after him.

Dean used the side of the doorway to swing his body faster into the kitchen and somewhere in the back of his head Kevin was impressed by how cool it looked. When he got into the kitchen though, Kevin halted. He was desperate to help but he didn't want to get in the way.

Sam was still standing there in his hoodie and boxers. Kevin's worry escalated as he realized Sam's entire right arm was shaking uncontrollably now.

Dean came up in front of him, reaching out. He was whispering to Sam. Kevin couldn’t make it out but Sam wasn’t responding to him.

"Sam!" Dean snapped. Sam flinched but he didn’t look up. He seemed dazed somehow.

Dean stepped into Sam’s space further and braced him, hands on Sam’s ribs, watching Sam’s convulsing arm too now.

Kevin clutched himself watching them. He moved in closer, inching closer to see Sam's face.

Sam shook under Dean's hold but worse than that Kevin could see the dread welling up in Sam's eyes as he suddenly turned to stare into Dean's eyes.

Sam tried to speak. Confusion and fright bled into his already worried expression.

"Sam," Dean murmured then stopped as he saw Sam using his left hand to point at his head. Kevin was baffled. He prayed Dean would get it because the brothers were scaring him. Dean was still pale from sleep in his sweatpants and tee, so desperate as he struggled to understand his brother. Sam looking like he was on the brink of tears over his irrepressible arm spasms and unable to speak.

A split-second later something must’ve clicked because Dean immediately stepped into a full-fledged embrace, wrapping his arms around Sam's waist and back.

"Okay okay..." Dean muttered, suddenly sounding completely in control and Kevin let out a long, inward sigh of relief. It was short-lived though.

Kevin watched in horror as Sam's torso almost immediately twisted and jerked to the side. It looked like he’d gotten hit was a taser. Dean caught him in time just before Sam almost banged his head into the stovetop and for a moment so terrifying Kevin felt like he was seeing them frozen mid-air, the two of them just stayed crouching low like that as Dean spoke to his brother.

"Okay, okay Sammy just stay with me, dude, okay?" The words rolled off Dean’s tongue as Sam knelt to the floor with him.

Sam's eyes were only on Dean but he looked frightened and he kept trying to speak. Bizarre facial tics were surfacing now too. Sam gurgled and let out choked-off whimpers. His eyes were getting glassy with a faraway, distracted look like he was seeing something neither Dean nor Kevin could see.

Heart beating fast with adrenaline and the imperative to help, Kevin stepped forward to lend support. He reached out to help lift Sam up from where he was kneeling.

"Kevin, hey, no-no-no, Kev." Dean put his palm up, stopping Kevin in his tracks.

"But-"

"He's gotta go down," Dean explained softly. "Help me," he ordered, hefting Sam's body up against him for a better grip.

"Wait but...here?" Kevin asked, incredulous. Something about lying Sam down on the floor of the kitchen freaked him out. It was like… a real emergency if they couldn’t even move him to a bed or even just the couch in the study.

"Yeah," Dean grunted, disregarding Kevin's distress. Sam let out a garbled wheeze before Dean lowered his flailing, twitching body down onto the kitchen floor.

Kevin told himself to keep calm and moved forward cautiously to spot them, adrenaline keeping him hyper focused now.

"Okay, it's okay, just let it happen, Sammy. Just ride it out. Relax, just relax," Dean whispered coolly as he settled his brother onto the floor. Sam squirmed with uncoordinated movements and Kevin couldn't figure out if they were involuntary or if Sam was trying to get comfortable. Sam’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding, and his expression was both sorrowful and scared but still uncompromisingly fixed on his brother.

"Dean... Dean, his eyes," Kevin warned, his voice trembling as he watched the pupils of Sam’s eyes expanding, eyes going nearly black. Despite himself, Kevin leaned away from Sam.

"I know, Kevin, that's normal. Sammy's still with us right now though so just chill out. Nothing's wrong," Dean replied with the same tone he'd been using, still staring into Sam's wet gaze.

Kevin swallowed and nodded. Okay, good, Sam wasn’t a demon. Dean was the expert on both Sam and demons after all, so Kevin forced himself to take deep breaths. He watched and waited for any point at which he could be of use to Dean.

Dean continued hovering over his brother, kneeling along Sam's side, running his hand up and down Sam's arms and shoulders as the youngest brother's arm and torso convulsed on the floor.

"You're safe. You're okay, Sammy. You know the drill, man, you just have to let it play out.”

Sam spasmed into a freaky grimace and Kevin was impressed Dean was keeping his composure, exuding nothing but steady, even-keeled competence. More than that though, Dean was being affectionate. No frustration, worry or even face-saving humor shaded his demeanor right now. This was so raw that Kevin felt like a trespasser. He never thought he'd ever see Dean like this. Never thought Dean could be like this, offer this kind of care.

And the connection between the brothers right now. Sam under damn near full body convulsions yet what remained of his consciousness was seeking Dean out and then Dean meeting him with such unwavering confidence and tenderness.

It was more innocent and pure and loving than anything Kevin had witnessed in a very long time.

These men were monster hunters, thieves, and drunken brawlers as far as he’d even known so nothing could’ve prepared him to see this. To see this echo of what they’d probably been like as kids manifesting itself in full technicolor before him. This was them at their core, their source of hope, their reason for fighting, and Kevin’s eyes brimmed with tears as his grief for his mother became almost too much to bear.

Sam let out a pitchy whine. Kevin wiped the water out of his eyes and focused. Sam was just barely conscious now but still looking to Dean when he could, listening to Dean’s voice.

"You're doing great, little brother. You got this. Just keep-"

Dean's hushed words were interrupted by a severe spasm that marched down through Sam's entire right side to his right leg and foot. Sam let out a guttural whine of despair.

"It's okay! Sammy, this can happen, you know this can happen-" Dean murmured urgently. Sam jerked and writhed, then squeezed his eyes closed.

A new flash of terror ran through Kevin as he watched Sam’s back lift up for a second, issue a choked-off cry, and slam back down to the floor. Dean's hand was there to cushion the blow to the back of Sam's head. Dean swore.

"Dean-?" Kevin whispered, staring at Sam as the man's entire body started to seize and writhe.

"Fuck! Shit! Kevin go get a pillow!" Dean barked harshly, his whole tone and demeanor shifting drastically. He pulled Sam's body a little roughly into the center of the kitchen. To Kevin it felt like Dean was back to himself now. He jumped up and took off for a pillow thinking that other persona of kind caring big brother still just too weird for him.

When Kevin came running back with a pillow he found Dean frantically shoving the stools near Sam's feet away and letting them crash to the ground. Kevin flinched at the loud screeching noises that continued to reverberate around the kitchen's acoustics.

Dean stuff the pillow under Sam’s head and Kevin knelt to the floor with them. Sam was in the midst of a full-blown seizure now. Totally unconscious, his body shuddered into tight muscle contractions then relaxed and the process just kept repeating over and over again. Dull jagged grunts emitted from his jaw, his disheveled hair whipping around as the involuntary movements took him over.

Kevin remained still where he was, unsure what to do so trusting Dean would tell him if there was anything. Scared and charged up, Kevin’s mind whirred with observations, one of which was how thin Sam had gotten. The man was six foot four but his bare, pale legs had nothing but wiry muscle on them and his sweatshirt had considerable room to spare.

It took a second for Kevin to realize Dean wasn't making things better, wasn’t treating Sam, wasn’t holding him down. He was doing nothing, just kneeling next to his frantically writhing brother and watching.

"Dean, c’mon, you gotta do something!" Kevin prompted helplessly, scared Dean had finally checked out.

It looked like Sam was dying right before their eyes, his entire body wrecking itself with flailing limbs and bodily contortions and Dean was just sitting there?!

No, wait. Dean was checking the time. What a productive thing to do while your brother's having a death seizure, Kevin thought sarcastically.

"Dean!" Kevin screamed.

"Shut up Kevin," Dean bit back viciously and Kevin fell silent, watching the older brother in disbelief.

Kevin swallowed and kept his eyes on Sam now, praying to whoever might be listening that Sam wasn't going to die right here on the kitchen floor.

Kevin folded his arms and held himself, rocking back and forth. His eyes were tearing up. He sniffed and wiped them but he couldn't calm down as he watched Sam's seizure. He almost started sobbing when he saw bright red blood spatter out of Sam's mouth onto his lips and face.

"Fuck, Sammy, c'mon," Dean whispered vehemently but Kevin heard the tremor; the plaintive note in the man’s tone. He peered over and noticed Dean was paler and biting his nails.

Oblivious to the young prophet, Dean quickly reached over Sam's body to grab the washcloth that'd been folded and hung along the oven handle. He held off on touching Sam at all though.

How was Dean not moving?! All Kevin wanted to do was hold Sam down and scream at Sam to stop this! Stop scaring us! Stop scaring Dean!

More jolts and shock waves wracked through Sam's body; blood continued to get drooled, spit, or blown out onto his lips, chin, neck and hair.

Kevin felt like this was never going to end.

But finally it did.

After three minutes and thirty seconds, Sam's convulsions began to taper off.

And when Sam stilled, Kevin realized that corpse-like stillness was just as frightening as the seizure.

Chapter Text

Kevin's breath hitched as Dean slid in closer, hovering over Sam. He tilted his brother's chin up, wiping some of the bloody spit off his face, and put a hand on Sam's chest.

"Dean?" Kevin asked, his voice small and tinny.

"He's breathing," Dean whispered dully. With all the care in the world, Dean leaned back and shaped Sam's closest arm into a right angle on the floor. He moved to the other one, lifting it and bending it up and across Sam's neck so the back of his hand was along his cheek. Dean shifted down to Sam's lower body then. He pulled Sam's farthest knee up and over and started to turn him. With gentle grips along Sam's hips and shoulders, Dean rolled him into the recovery position.

"Kev get a blanket," Dean ordered quietly. He still had the wash cloth he'd pulled from the oven handle and used it, ducking low to wipe blood away from his brother's mouth. After a few moments, he glanced up. "Kevin," Dean prompted softly and Kevin broke his trance.

"He's okay?"

"Yeah, just get a blanket," Dean murmured. Kevin couldn't believe his eyes as he watched Dean use his fingers to open Sam's mouth wide so he could dab the cloth along his lips. Sam was totally unconscious through it, face pale in grotesque contrast with some specks of bright red bloody spit Dean had missed. His dark long hair was tangled and messy again, damp with sweat along the hairline.

Kevin swallowed nervously as he watched Dean examine Sam's mouth. "Get a small flashlight too, will you? It's in the duffel on the table in the library," Dean said, his voice quiet and serious as he craned to see Sam's tongue.

"Okay," Kevin breathed and finally ripped himself away from the scene.

He found the flashlight after rustling through the bag, gave a brief glance around to check if there were any blankets left in clear view and came up empty. He went to try a bedroom.

Kevin paused at the sight of Dean’s room. With an oxygen tank, an old defibrillator, a rickety wheelchair and a small plastic bucket along the sides of the bed and so many blankets strewn around the floor and bed, Kevin realized this was where Sam must be sleeping too. He didn't even have time to question where Dean slept as he grabbed the closest blanket, a heavy but soft cotton, and booked it back to the kitchen.

He arrived to find Dean sitting properly on the floor but hunched over Sam, rubbing Sam's back and carding his fingers through his hair. Dean’s focus remained undivided, unaware of Kevin's approach so he made an effort to be slow when he came to sit next to him. Dean flinched anyway.

"Got the flashlight?"

"Yeah here." Kevin handed it over. Dean got on his stomach and opened Sam's mouth. Kevin was both revolted and fascinated that Dean was gently using his fingers to sweep the red drool out of his brother’s mouth for a better view.

"S'not bad," Dean finally said, lifting Sam's tongue and angling the flashlight along its side. Kevin could see it now, a dark red gash along the muscle's normally pink flesh.

"Really?"

"Really," Dean reassured, flicking the flashlight off and pulling away from his brother. He wiped his hands on the washcloth which was getting sickeningly splotchy with all hues of red. Kevin bottled his feelings and flipped open the blanket to drape over Sam. Dean helped.

"Get his legs and feet," Dean muttered as he worked to tuck the blanket all along Sam's upper body. Kevin nodded and crawled down to make sure the blanket wrapped around Sam's bare legs and feet.

"You don't wanna move him?" Kevin whispered, sensing the quiet was a form of respect due Sam. Dean shook his head and sighed. He touched Sam's head and as he replied, began to unconsciously stroke Sam's hair again.

"No, we should wait until he wakes up. We'll move him then."

Kevin watched Dean and just nodded. He wasn't going to argue, not with Dean like this.

Dean sighed and used the wash cloth again to wipe Sam's face free of the smaller specks of blood he'd gotten all over. He kept going back to Sam's lips too for some reason until Kevin realized Sam was drooling and Dean was catching it.

By the time Sam's face seemed fresher and cleaner, Kevin had gathered the courage to ask a question.

"Dean, what just happened?"

Dean didn't look at Kevin. He pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced.

"Partial seizures start most commonly in the hand or foot. They can spread. This one did," Dean said simply, sadly. He leaned forward and cleared Sam's lips again.

"So Sam's going to be okay, right?"

"Might take him a couple days to unscramble," Dean supplied evenly.

Kevin bit his lip. That wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. Still, it was noticeably calm and clinical, the confidence in Dean's voice as he shared very precise knowledge about his brother, about what just happened.

"How do you know?"

Dean pressed his lips together. Kevin could see the moment Dean figured the truth wouldn't hurt.

"Sam used to get these when he was a kid."

"Seizures?"

"Mm hm." He stared at Sam with so much compassion it was even making Kevin emotional. Kevin cleared his throat.

"Should we... are you gonna try to wake him up?"

Dean shook his head. "No, he'll come around in his own time. He's unconscious right now, not sleeping. We gotta let his mind and his body do its thing," he explained quietly.

"Is he gonna be okay when he wakes up?" Kevin asked, "like... normal?"

“Not right after he comes to, no,” Dean explained. “But after he sleeps for awhile, yeah he’ll be fine,” Dean sighed and stroked Sam’s hair. “Get me a bottle of water from the fridge, will you?” Kevin nodded and got up. “Pour the water out and use the tap for room temperature," Dean added. Kevin did as he was told. As he tested the water temperature with his finger he couldn't help but notice the stir fry and bacon cooling on the counter.

He'd only just arrived that day. While Dean had told him that Sam was dealing with the trials, Kevin definitely hadn't grasped the full extent of it. Sam had been up and studying. He'd taken a nap. He’d been perfectly coherent and even upbeat with him as they'd been preparing food. Just ten minutes ago they'd been enjoying comfortable silence. Things had gone to hell so fast.

Kevin turned to glance at the brothers on the floor just a few feet away from him. It was unreal, how they were these larger-than-life heroes and he was a prophet of the Lord, yet right now at this very moment they were all reduced to something so basic, so mundane.

Whatever their roles in the battle between good and evil or heaven and hell, one thing Kevin had never really stopped to consider was how much they were all still at the mercy of the human condition.

The bottle Kevin had been running under the faucet overflowed, startling him out of his thoughts. He capped it and knelt down next to Dean, setting it down between them.

Dean murmured a thanks. He was rubbing Sam's back again now, still cleaning up Sam's mouth and keeping a watchful eye out for any sign Sam might be regaining consciousness. Sam was still on his side in the recovery position, covered and hopefully warm with the blanket.

"Is there anything else I can do?" Kevin asked, his voice still hushed to match Dean's tone. Dean blinked, thinking, then finally shook his head.

"I don't think so," he whispered.

"I could get the food-"

"No. Just be quiet when he wakes up. We'll get the food later."

"Okay." He could do that. He was reassured Dean was so confident Sam would wake up soon. Dean kept his fingers on Sam's pulse along his neck, swiped some pink saliva off his lips.

The time dragged. Kevin pulled the sleeves of his shirt down to cover his hands, cold with anxiety and fear. He looked at the clock in the kitchen for what felt like the hundredth time. It'd been a little over seven minutes since Sam had finished seizing.

Kevin let out a quiet sigh and changed how he sat on the floor to get more comfortable. Without a word, Dean got up to grab a bucket from under the sink. He set it down next to the water bottle and resumed his position.

This was feeling like forever and Kevin was starting to understand what Sam had been saying about Dean's false fronts getting torn down under the weight of these experiences. Kevin felt it too. The gnawing and pure dread and fear in knowing Sam was suffering and could even die right here on the kitchen floor if they weren't careful and they'd be powerless to stop it.

Kevin wasn't even Sam's brother and he felt that horror over how dire the circumstances were. And it was painfully obvious to Kevin now that if Sam did die, it would devastate Dean. Maybe to a point of no return. He’d lose himself.

A sharp spike of adrenaline hit Kevin at the very real prospect of abandonment. Kevin would lose Dean if Sam died.

Kevin thought of himself as unselfish but when he looked at Dean and realized the man before him would lose all conceivable hope if Sam died, another layer of fear colored their situation. Kevin would be robbed of Dean as a support: Sam was everything to him but to Kevin, Sam and Dean were the only people left in his entire world that cared anything about him. Even if it was just a little bit, it was all Kevin had left. Maybe he was clinging to wispy threads of connection but no matter what if Dean lost Sam then yes, Kevin would definitely lose Dean.

"Dean... he's gonna be okay, right?" Kevin asked, eyes brimming and voice shaking as he imagined what would happen if he were to be deserted again.

Please God, not again. That six months on the run when Sam hadn't been answering his phone had been six months of blind paranoia and terror. He couldn't go through that again. He couldn’t.

"Dean?" Kevin pitched. Dean ignored him and sat up straighter, leaning closer to his brother like he’d just noticed something important.

"Dean?" Kevin repeated.

Dean hushed him and got up to kneel over Sam.

Kevin swallowed and nodded, pulling himself out of his own tragedy. "Is he waking up?" Kevin murmured. Dean put a finger to his lips and gave Kevin a meaningful look. Kevin nodded and zipped his lips with his hand. Dean turned back to his brother.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, passing his hand over Sam's hair delicately. "Sam?"

Chapter Text

Kevin didn’t realize he was holding his breath as he watched Sam's eyes roll under his lids. His lips pressed together, his brows knit into a confused wince, probably tasting the blood in his mouth.

"Sammy, c'mon," Dean whispered again and Sam's eyes just barely opened.

"He's awake?" Kevin asked, scooting closer just as Dean pushed a palm against Sam's face, gentle yet enough of a touch to get Sam to open his eyes wider. They were unfocused, rolling as if he wasn’t really seeing anything.

"Yeah," Dean said slowly, watching Sam closely as he kept his palm on his cheek then moved up to rub his thumb along Sam’s temple.

Sam turned his face into Dean's hand. His tongue kept working inside his mouth. "Yeah he’s awake but, he's off..."

Dean tilted Sam’s face up. Kevin got a glimpse of Sam's cloudy eyes rolling without focusing.

“Sammy, you with me?” Dean whispered gently.

Sam made a face and dazedly moved an uncoordinated hand up to his mouth. "Okay, Sam, it's okay," Dean promised quietly.

“We’re gonna get you up just a little bit,” he coaxed, pulling the blanket off Sam. Kevin had no idea exactly how Dean did it so smoothly but one second Sam was lying on his side still in recovery position and the next Dean had gotten Sam’s knees to his chest before pushing him onto the floor into a loose kneel. Kevin was reminded of a sloppy child’s pose in yoga.

Sam moaned in groggy, uncomprehending pain. Dean shushed him, offered nice but bland reassurances with that same soothing tone of voice.

Sam huffed and wheezed, slumped over his knees, his face only inches from the floor. He clutched his stomach and Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's back to anchor him before he pulled the bucket over.

“If you need to throw up or spit the blood out, here,” Dean explained, giving Kevin a furtive glance suggesting the explanation was for him too. Kevin nodded his understanding. He shifted over to sit in front of Sam's down-turned head, then put the water bottle to the side of the bucket. He glanced at Dean and Dean nodded his approval.

Sam moaned again, empty and pained and somewhat haunting. Dean made it better for them both, interrupting Sam’s inchoate misery with “you got this, Sammy” and “okays” and “all rights” while he rubbed Sam’s back, pulling his hair from his face.

"Dean," Sam suddenly whimpered and Kevin caught the flash of surprise, then delight on Dean’s face.

"Hey, look who's talking." Dean grinned. He looked over at Kevin and that’s when Kevin got it. Sam had been mute earlier. Kevin smiled but he was still shaken. It was a shitty swap. Kevin would have preferred Sam mute longer than getting hit with a grand mal seizure.

Dean scooted up and threaded his arm under Sam’s chest to make space so he could push his leg between Sam’s knees and chest. When Dean was done, Sam was a little higher off the ground, hunched over Dean’s leg. It seemed more comfortable and Sam could still reach the bucket if he needed it. Dean hugged Sam’s hunched-over form against him, occasionally petting Sam's hair down or rubbing his shoulders. It was so blatantly protective Kevin knew not to come any closer.

Which was weird because that was when Kevin realized he wanted to come closer.

If Dean wasn't here, Kevin would be awkwardly patting Sam's back and feeling like this was way out of his league. He was an only child, his mom never got sick bad enough for him to care for her, he'd never babysat kids and he'd never been in a relationship where his significant other had been sick or wounded. All in all, Kevin had never really been expected to take care of anyone other than himself his whole life.

So the way Dean was able to do this so naturally, so smoothly… Dean, the most harsh and insensitive man Kevin had ever encountered, was able to comfort and hug and soothe. It was a revelation. Kevin realized he wanted to be this good too.

Sam was still blurry and incoherent, offering only some infrequent utterances of Dean’s name. Dean was just letting him breathe through things as he hung over his knee with the bucket below. Dean kept Sam’s hair pulled back.

Sam leaned forward and spat into the bucket with a whimper. "D'n," Sam groaned, his voice echoed hollowly around the plastic walls of it.

"I know, I got you, it's okay," Dean promised. He pushed his hand into Sam's hair and massaged his head.

Sam shivered. Dean looked for the blanket he’d pulled off Sam earlier and draped it back over them. Sam leaned into Dean's body though, holding on to Dean’s leg against his chest. Dean offered his arm and Sam latched onto that too. Kevin was reminded of those roller coaster safety harnesses, Dean keeping Sam's body in perfect position, safe and as comfortable as possible while Sam endured… something unpleasant. Kevin wasn’t really sure what Sam was going through but he didn’t seem cognizant or happy and just knowing that alone, Kevin knew that had to suck.

"De," Sam grunted miserably, threads of drooled blood dripping from his mouth.

"You bit your tongue in the seizure," Dean informed but Kevin wasn’t sure if Sam really heard or understood. Instead he just hacked spits and coughs into the bowl, trying to get rid of the tangy taste of his own blood.

It was gross but Kevin found himself watching Sam avidly, his repulsion dwindling as his concern for Sam's welfare grew.

Sam's forehead hit the rim of the bucket and nearly sent it whirling off its axis on the floor. Kevin caught it just in time, disgusted by the tiny sloshing sounds at the bottom of it, and set it back right. He came closer and angled it in front of Sam's face again. He kept quiet, unwilling to try to copy anything Dean was doing for Sam because besides how great and soothing it was in its own right, Kevin was nearly positive Sam accepted it easily, even as disoriented as he was, because it was his brother doing it and no one else.

Kevin kept a hand on the bucket so Sam couldn’t knock it over again. He startled when he felt a light shaky grip around his wrist and realized it was Sam. Kevin froze and Sam tightened his hold. Kevin looked up at Dean for help on what to do but Dean just gave him an imperceptible smile and shrug. Kevin looked back down at Sam’s hand. He decided to take Sam’s hand so they were palm-to-palm. He held on tightly, willing the shakes to go away in his Sam’s limbs. It didn’t work but it felt like something.

Sam squeezed Kevin's palm, almost like he was comforting Kevin. Taken by the gesture, Kevin looked up at Dean again. Dean was holding his brother perfectly and though he seemed approving, his gaze was focused, almost hawklike, upon them.

Kevin swallowed nervously and kept his clasp on Sam's hand under the scrutiny. He’d never seen Sam so candid before as when he’d walked into the kitchen, nor so vulnerable and hurt as he was now. Kevin felt for Sam now. So with one hand he held the bucket steady and with the other he continued holding Sam’s hand, squeezing it back, wanting to give back somehow.

When Kevin dared, he cast a furtive glance at Dean again. The man’s wary expression had given way to something contented and relaxed. Kevin realized how much this was building trust for the both of them.

Dean cleared his throat. "Okay, seems like you’re done. C’mon Sammy," Dean said as he pulled Sam away. Like a rag doll, Sam’s hand slipped from Kevin’s and he was tipped to collapse sideways against Dean into his lap.

"Okay," Dean dragged the word out as he shifted around to get comfortable, lying back against the cabinets. Sam idly squirmed along too, hazily agitated.

"Drink," Dean ordered lightly, bringing the water bottle to Sam's lips. Sam grunted and twitched away from it. "It's okay, Sammy, drink.” Sam eyed it dully and reached for it. “No, Sam, let me,” Dean pushed, still peaceful but persistent.

"Dean, Sam wants-"

"I know what he wants, Kevin," Dean said in the same exact tone of voice he'd been using on Sam.

"So why don't-"

Dean shifted and leaned the water bottle against Sam's mouth despite Sam's throaty whines of vague dismay.

"I've seen this. He'll just drop it," Dean said steadily.

Just then Dean managed to press the nozzle between Sam's lips and squeezed the barest level of pressure for water to trickle into his mouth. Sam let out a sharp cry and squirmed.

"Just let him do it himself."

"Kevin, stop. I know what I’m doing. It's okay, I promise. Sammy, it’s okay. You're safe," and Dean continued saying nonsense and Kevin watched, conflicted, as Sam started drinking from the water bottle in Dean’s hands. This time when his hands rose to help hold it, Dean let him place them over his own. With Sam stable and drinking, Dean addressed Kevin.

"Kevin," Dean said, his tone restrained, "you and I could be talking about anything right now as long as we're using this tone of voice. Sam's disoriented. He has no idea what we're saying-"

"How do you know?" Kevin challenged with a grudgingly smoother tone to match Dean's. Sam turned away from the nozzle of the water bottle so Dean set it down before wrapping his arms and legs around Sam. Sam melted into it, curling up, his back pressing against Dean’s chest. Kevin reddened at the shameless display of affection. They were cuddling.

"Sam told me once to think of it like getting coated in fog. All your senses are muffled. You can only pick up maybe one or two words but ultimately you're only registering the way voices sound. He can hear but he can’t understand what he’s hearing kinda thing."

As if to prove the point, Sam heaved a deep sigh and ducked his head against Dean’s neck. It lacked any semblance of awareness or self-consciousness.

“How does that work?” Kevin asked, watching Sam drift in this liminal space.

"I don’t know. Not a seizure doctor,” Dean quipped softly. Kevin huffed and with a sinking feeling, noticed the lines on Dean’s face, the half-lidded eyes that spoke of so much exhaustion and stress. “Besides the disorientation, Sam’s weak again too. I can tell,” Dean offered, voice still soothing. He wiped some hair off Sam’s face and Sam hummed something that sounded vaguely like Dean's name. Suddenly he squirmed again and Dean gave him some mobility. He twisted backwards a little, head angled up so he stare into Dean's eyes.

"I know, bud. I'm right here, you… clingy… octopus," Dean chuckled, moving around so they’d be more comfortable. He looked down at his brother. Sam’s eyes opened a bit more with the better view of his brother’s face.

Kevin could tell Sam's vision was still off; he wasn't focusing. His eyes just kept wandering around Dean's face and then away. He did keep coming back to Dean's eyes though. Every time he did Dean would say something like ‘good job’ and ‘that's it Sammy’ and it tugged at Kevin to see Dean so calm, so supportive every time Sam would show even a brief hint of re-orienting.

Kevin was thankful Dean was the one handling this. The younger brother's behavior was disturbing. Kevin had never seen anyone so absent-yet-awake. Sam was coming off like what Kevin imagined was a bad trip on drugs or something.

But Dean was handling it and despite himself, Dean’s voice was doing for Kevin what it was doing for Sam. Kevin relaxed and shifted closer, wanting to watch and monitor Sam's emerging awareness just as solicitously as Dean.

"It's okay, Sam, I'm right here. You're safe, it's all good," Dean kept it up, his voice getting a little scratchy now. Kevin suppressed a smile thinking how Dean had probably never spoken this much in years.

Sam swallowed and winced. His tongue must hurt from having bitten it during the seizure, plus the taste of blood was no doubt awful.

"Do you want to move him?" Kevin whispered.

"Yeah I just want to give him a few more minutes, okay?" Dean said kindly, still looking down at Sam. Kevin had to give Dean a double-take when he realized the older brother was sporting a small, genuine smile as he looked down at Sam.

"Why're you smiling?" Kevin had to ask, his tone blunt and quietly accusatory. How could Dean even be thinking of smiling right now?

Dean sighed but kept the smile plastered on his face.

"It's just a thing..." Dean trailed off. Kevin cocked his head to the side, curious. "His senses will come online eventually and smiles universally put people at ease."

Kevin considered Dean's explanation. Just then Sam huffed, furrowed his brows and smacked his lips lightly. He hummed again but this time in something resembling irritation.

"What’s he want?"

Sam hummed and waved a limp hand against Dean's stomach as he turned into Dean's waist.

Dean gave a small snort of laughter as he rubbed Sam's back.

"What? What's so funny?" Kevin whispered, watching Dean shake his head affectionately as he looked down at his brother.

"Ah nothing," Dean said, nonchalant as he reached under Sam's arms. Sam lifted his arms up to Dean, facial expressions and movements still unaware yet vaguely wanting. "Just... some things never change," Dean said affectionately as he hoisted Sam up into a sitting position on his lap and let Sam fall against him into a hug.

Kevin still couldn’t get over the shock that this was Sam and Dean Winchester.

Chapter Text

Sam hung onto his brother, feebly grasping the back of Dean’s shirt. He didn't have much strength so Dean hefted him to get his head up enough for his chin to hook over Dean's shoulder.

It was pretty clear Sam was still fuzzy, still moving without motive or awareness. The only thing Kevin could be certain about was how positively Sam had taken to Dean's hug, shuddering in under his brother's hold like Dean was shelter, his shield.

Some things never changed. Sam used to have these seizures as a kid. Dean had seen Sam like this before. Kevin deduced Sam had always wanted his brother's contact like this after a seizure. It probably used to comfort him when the world didn't make sense and he could barely string two words together.

Sam grappled with the back of Dean’s shirt, keening and squirming around.

"Sam you're okay. You're with me, okay?" Dean whispered. "You're safe, I gotchya. It was just a seizure. You're disoriented but everything's going to be okay," Dean explained.

Kevin found himself edging closer to them to hear Dean's reassurances better because he was fascinated to see Dean like this. And also they were working. And not only on Sam.

"You just have to let this pass, just relax..." Dean murmured into Sam's ear as he rubbed his brother's back. "C'mon little brother I know you're comin' out of it... C'mon, you're okay, Sammy..."

Sam shivered and tucked further into his brother.

"You cold?" Dean asked his brother lightly. When Sam didn't answer Dean looked around for a minute before glancing up at Kevin. "Kev will you get another blanket?"

Kevin nodded and jogged his way through the bunker for another one in Dean’s room. When he got back, Dean was wiping drool of Sam’s face. He’d shifted so Sam could sit on the floor between his legs.

Dean glanced up and nodded. Kevin returned the gesture and draped the blanket over them. Dean worked with it as he maneuvered Sam to sit up higher.

"C'mon Sammy, wake up, bud," Dean said calmly as he pulled and tugged the blanket to cover Sam's shoulders and neck. He pulled his arms out from under it though so he could wrap it around Sam more efficiently. He kept repeating the situation to Sam with the same tone of voice: you had a seizure, you're disoriented, it'll pass, just ride it out, you can do it, I've got you, you're safe, nothing's wrong, just take it easy…

Kevin knelt in front of them, worried but now more innocently curious about how this would play out. Dean wasn't treating this like an emergency anymore. He was just being... affectionate now. It was weird and shocking and Kevin couldn’t tear himself away from the sight. It was working too. Sam responded to Dean more than he was responding to anything.

Kevin could see perfectly Sam's shakes against Dean, only his mop of brown hair visible against Dean's shoulder and neck moving around restlessly. Sam was in a constant state of discomfort but Kevin could just tell Dean was making it better.

Kevin wanted to help in some way too. While Dean's methods were above and beyond anything Kevin could do, maybe he could still just...

Kevin reached his hand out to touch Sam's blanketed back. He halted a few inches shy, realizing Dean had stopped talking. He looked up to find Dean staring at him. It was like the bucket thing all over again. Just like last time he was holding Sam protectively and just zeroing in on Kevin, so Kevin froze. He bit his lip, unsure, and silently asked for permission with honest, sympathetic eyes.

Dean glanced upwards in thought for a second, then nodded to Kevin at the same time he twisted the hand against Sam's back to put his index finger up, signaling Kevin to hold on a second.

"Kevin's here too, Sam. He's right behind you, making sure you're okay with me," Dean said evenly, then glanced at Kevin and nodded. Kevin nodded and put his hand on Sam's back.

"Hey Sam," Kevin whispered, totally embarrassed to sound so soft in front of Dean Winchester. But when he looked at Dean, the man just lifted his eyebrows and nodded encouragingly at him, completely open and somehow nonjudgmental as he kept Sam secure in his arms. "You... gonna... be okay?" Kevin asked hesitantly. He glanced at Dean who was giving him a surprisingly charming sideways smile of doubt. Kevin knew Dean was telling him not to expect Sam to answer him. Kevin laughed softly and shrugged. It was worth a try.

But as expected, Sam didn't respond, even when Dean picked it up. "Sam, bud, Kev just asked if you're gonna be okay. What do you think, huh?" Dean repeated gently, tilting his head to see if he could catch Sam's eyes. Sam gave a huffed whimper and burrowed into the crook of Dean's shoulder again. The combined gesture and sound seemed like a perfect mix of pain and impatient irritation. "Okay, okay, Sammy," he chuckled.

Kevin tried to smile at the exchange but he was still too nervous to laugh along. He swallowed and started to rub Sam's back up and down his spine. Sam really was shaking: his muscles tight and his vertebrae probably sore from having seized on the hard surface of the kitchen floor.

Sam exhaled loudly with a grunted hum over Dean's shoulder. He shifted his face to line up with Dean's.

"S'rry..." Sam said. It was barely a whisper, more like a tiny breath, but Kevin immediately stopped what he was doing to grin hopefully at Dean. Dean froze for a second, still holding Sam tight, then tried to keep a burst of relieved laughter from erupting. It came out a sneezy snort as he moved his hand up to cup Sam's head. "M'fine..." Sam grumbled as his head rolled under Dean's hand, "Fine..." he repeated vaguely. His trembling hands started moving up to touch where Dean had his head.
Dean sighed loudly in relief and Kevin couldn't help but laugh with schadenfreude when Dean squeezed Sam tighter and Sam let out a high-pitched whimper. He wasn’t going to forget Dean hugging Sam so hard he’d made him squeak.

Dean didn't even care though, he just hefted his brother up and hugged him tighter. In the moment of elation he kissed the back of Sam's head. Sam just moaned into Dean's shoulder in response, still sounding like he had a ways to go before fully understanding what was going on

In the midst of his own quiet and relieved laughter, Kevin realized he had to rub his own teary eyes. Sam was back with them. Talking and reacting and...

Well, maybe that was all. That was enough.

"M'fine... M'okay... sssorry..." Sam muttered groggily, still hunched over Dean's shoulder in the hug.

"I know, I know," Dean said quietly, still grinning from ear to ear, "I know you're okay. Don't apologize, Sammy."

"Sss..." Sam started then just trailed off as Dean gently admonished him for apologizing again. "'kay..." Sam finally said dully. Dean waited in silence, allowing Sam to continue gaining his bearings. Kevin watched as Dean propped Sam up a little bit more which for some reason prompted more apologies to fall from his lips.

"Sorry... sorry," Sam started up again, sounding casual , even reasonable, too. He was drooling again though, which betrayed his insistence he was fine. Additionally his tone didn’t match the situation. He apologized like he was backtracking in an argument. It was such a context mismatch that it was actually kind of funny. Sam had had a seizure, not a debate.

"It's okay, man, relax, just relax, Sammy," Dean coached.

"'kay... M'fine. But I’m sorry. I'm... fine..." Sam stuttered out. Dean wiped drool from his chin and lips. Sam didn’t seem fazed by it.

Kevin listened. Dean was letting Sam repeat himself... and Dean kept repeating himself in his reassurances that there was nothing to be sorry about. It seemed like a stupid, redundant conversation until it dawned on Kevin that Sam wasn’t processing what Dean was saying, so he was stuck on a loop until he did and Dean just had to keep meeting him where he was at.

Kevin adjusted his understanding of the moment. Even though he was talking more, Sam still wasn't a hundred percent. But he was saying stuff that only Sam would say like apologizing for having a seizure. So that was good, sort of.

Dean rubbed Sam's back faster this time as if in preparation for something. "Okay, you okay to get up? We're gonna move you," Dean said.

"'M fine-m'fi...nnn..." Sam slurred, woozily nodding and straightening his posture in Dean's arms. He swayed and as much as Dean tried to prop him up to hold his own weight, Sam’s balance was too unstable.

"Okay, um," Dean shifted around into a crouch, keeping Sam balanced, "yeah, I'm..." he pushed a hand under Sam's knees, "just gonna carry him," Dean finished distractedly.

Kevin jumped up. "Where do you wanna-"

"My bedroom."

"You can make it?"

"Yeah he's lost a lot of weight," Dean huffed as he stood up, Sam dangling in his arms.

"Dean," Sam yelped and Dean hoisted his brother higher against him.

"It's okay, it's okay, Sam," Dean said lightly and took a step forward. "I gotchya," he promised and Sam relaxed marginally, his arms and hands vaguely falling against his chest.

Dean took a steady step forward and Kevin got out of the way, willing to let Dean take the lead. Instead the older brother stopped and turned to him.

"Kev, you wanna do me a favor?"

"Uh, sure," Kevin replied immediately, surprised. “Of course.” Dean heaved Sam up again a couple times more as he spoke.

"You ah... you still got the car keys, right?"

Kevin nodded. "Yeah."

"Yeah," Dean grunted, maneuvering so Sam's head lolled forward instead of backwards over his arm. Sam smacked his lips as drool tracked down his chin. "There's a McDonalds 'bout four miles south of here. Get the twenty McNuggets pack with Sweet 'n Sour sauce and anything else for yourself, okay?"

Confused, Kevin still nodded along to the instructions. "Okay, I just. I need cash-?"

Dean slanted his head. "Back pocket."

Kevin rolled his eyes with a smile and moved around to Dean’s wallet out of his back pocket, trying to touch him as little as possible. Dean hefted Sam again. “I’m not gonna make the joke I wanna make right now.”

“Got it,” Kevin announced, opening the wallet now to look at the bills available. It was definitely enough.

"Okay," Dean took a steadying step forward, "don't be too long," he said and without a backwards glance, started walking and left the kitchen.

Kevin watched after them and took another mental snapshot of Dean carrying Sam around like a bride. He grabbed the Impala's keys from the kitchen table and in a sudden flash of inspiration, he rushed out into the study hoping he'd catch Dean.

"Dean!"

Dean stopped at the hallway's threshold and managed to angle himself towards Kevin, Sam still limp and drooling and muttering apologies and ‘I’m fines’ in his arms. "Yeah?"

"Um... what about a milkshake?"

"What?"

"Like... For Sam. For his..." Kevin gestured to his mouth and stuck his tongue out. Slight irritation transformed into a smirk on Dean as he looked at him.

"Yeah, good idea, that’s nice," he said, turning back to the hallway, thinking the conversation was over.

"Wait, Dean," Kevin interrupted. Dean stopped and turned his head towards Kevin again. "What... what flavor does he like?"

Dean snorted with laughter. "Strawberry," he said conclusively. "He'd never admit it but that's his favorite," he added. Kevin grinned and flipped the keys into his hand.

"Okay, got it," he said excitedly. He turned on his heel and jogged his way up the stairs.

Dean turned back to get into their room.

"Sam I think you've got your own PA now," Dean muttered, amused by Kevin's enthusiasm as he walked in. Sam writhed in Dean's arms before blowing a bubble of saliva and looking up at his brother.

"What?" Sam said severely, like Dean had just said something abominably offensive.

"Kevin's gettin' you a strawberry milkshake, dude," Dean replied cheerfully, nonplussed. Unpredictable moods could happen after a seizure. Ignore them or address them with patience and they went away. Sam blinked up owlishly at him, obviously trying to understand. "Relax, Sammy," Dean said and Sam sighed angrily but indeed relaxed. As Dean lowered Sam onto the bed, Sam spoke up again.

"I like Kevin," Sam slurred. Dean raised an amused eyebrow in response to Sam’s approval of the kid. He didn’t prompt his brother though, busy with finally getting his hands back so he could wipe Sam’s drool away again. He noted with no small measure of happiness that Sam’s drool was clear, meaning the cut on his tongue had stopped bleeding awhile ago. That boded well for them. Sam writhed on the mattress to get more comfortable as Dean pulled the covers out from under him.

When Dean was done, he said, "I like Kevin too” and he realized he was telling the truth. In just this one day Kevin had endeared himself to the eldest brother. He wasn't going to dig deep on it but he knew it had to do with how he'd been with Sam.

"De... Dean?!" Sam suddenly sounded worried. Dean stopped fixing the sheets.

"What's up?"

Sam swallowed nervously, that panicked look coming over his eyes.

"Sam, what?!"

"I can't talk!"

"Huh?"

"I need..." Sam swallowed again and licked his lips, "I need the comp...uter."

"Why?"

"Because I can't... talk!" Sam yelled, furious.

Dean was dying with laughter but he had to roll with the punches on this one. He clamped down on it and sat beside his brother.

"Sam, Sammy, you can talk. You're talking to me right now," Dean said patiently, brushing the kid's hair back.

"No!" Sam whined, like he didn't think Dean understood and everything was unfair.

"Yeah, Sam, relax. You're talking to me and I can hear you. Can you hear yourself too?"

"Yeah!" Sam raged, then stopped, a look of utter bewilderment flooding his expression. Dean bit his lip trying so hard not to laugh at his little brother's expense.

Slowly, Sam got it and sighed. Slightly embarrassed, he glanced up then away from his brother's face.

"Don' laugh. S'mean," Sam said petulantly. Dean finally let go as he leaned in to give Sam a kiss on his forehead. Dean's conflicting actions further confused Sam but he registered Dean's affection over the laughter. His most cogent thought since the seizure was that maybe he’d let Dean laugh at him as long as it was fond.

Chapter Text

Dean was about to let Sam sleep after getting him settled until he caught sight of the blood on his hoodie. "Hold up, Sam," Dean murmured, reaching to pull the sweatshirt up.

Sam grumbled but went with it, weakly lifting up to let Dean do whatever he was doing.

When Dean pulled it over Sam's head it made a whoosh sound that echoed around in Sam's head. Sam moaned and went limp, Dean catching him just in time for a slow and controlled fall to his pillow.

"Okay, cool, you're good," Dean said, patting his brother’s chest before covering him up with the blankets.

"Tired," Sam breathed.

"Yeah. Go to sleep."

And Sam did, clocking out at record speed.

Dean bit his lip and sighed as he gazed at Sam, brows furrowed. He cracked his neck and tried to loosen up after the scare. Getting up, he threw Sam's hoodie in the pile of laundry he'd created by the door. He walked around the room and folded a few stray blankets, hid the antiquated medical equipment under the bed, ordered stuff around his desk. With nothing else to do, he finally decided he could leave Sam, grabbing a change of clothes and heading to the bathroom for a much-needed shower, promising himself he’d only be five minutes.

The water's spray was blissfully hot and Dean just stood under it for awhile, soaking it up, getting lost in his own thoughts consisting of a mental roll call. Kevin was safe and soon he’d be working on the tablet to decipher the final trial. Cas was gone, searching for Metatron to possibly interrogate him for the details of the final trial. And Sam... Sam was still hanging in there. There was nothing more that anyone could do, nothing more that Dean could do.

Dean moved on and wondered just how much Sam’s seizure was related to the trials. Since Sam used to have them as a kid it could've just been a fluke hold-over from the childhood disorder. Some other trials symptoms could’ve triggered it though.

It might not have happened if it had been Dean.

Dean sighed, frustrated, and pressed his palms against the tiled wall in front of him. He let the steamy warmth cascade down his head and body. He wished more than anything that he could take his brother's place.

It was too late for these wishes though. The die was cast. He could only do the next best thing and take care of him now.

On the heels of that thought, Dean hurriedly washed his hair and ran soap around the important areas before stepping out and drying off. He changed quickly, throwing on an old Iron Maiden tee he hadn't worn in ages and a pair of faded green sweats before padding out into the hallway back to his room.

He checked his watch and realized he'd only been gone for eight minutes. At a loss of what to do, he decided to take his side of the bed and rest. He didn't bother about being quiet: as he climbed into bed he leaned over Sam to see how deeply the kid was sleeping. Satisfied Sam was out for the count, he let out a heavy sigh and got comfortable on top of the covers, lying down against his pillow, arms crossed over his chest, ankles idly overlapping.

---

Kevin returned bearing a massive McDonalds bag: four double cheeseburgers, four cartons of fries, chicken nuggets, chocolate and strawberry shakes. He was still tense, his unsteady hands spoke well enough to that as he made his way to the kitchen. He dumped the bag and shakes onto the kitchen table and looked around. It was a mess so Kevin decided he’d clean up. It would give himself some time to decompress and the brothers a few more minutes alone.

Dean had kicked the stools away so Sam wouldn’t hit them while he seized so Kevin upturned them, set them back where they belonged. He eyed then side-stepped the bucket of blood and spit to focus on putting the bacon and stir-fry away. The stir-fry was actually ready, Kevin discovered. The wok's heat must have finished its contents' frying even without the burner. He grabbed a plastic Tupperware and used the spatula to get everything inside. He placed it in the fridge and moved on to the bacon. He wasn't sure if Dean would still want any so he placed some paper towels onto a plate and dropped the strips onto it to go in the microwave if he did.

Kevin turned back to face the bucket and made a face. The repressed the urge to say ‘ew’ over and over again as he washed it out. After the rinse it was fine and Kevin used the dish detergent to sanitize.

The small hand towel Dean had been using on Sam's mouth had been left on the floor too. Heavy blotches of red and pink all over it, Kevin called its demise and threw it out.

Just when he thought he was done, he noticed small specks and streaks of blood on the kitchen floor. He grabbed some paper towels went over the area. He found disinfectant spray from a cabinet and used that too.

When he was done, he washed his hands and came back to the giant McDonalds bag, the milkshakes, and the plate of cooling bacon. He chewed a strip. His nerves were finally settled. It was time to go see Sam and Dean, see if they were ready for food.

Kevin stopped just outside Dean’s door. It was cracked open slightly. He gripped the handle so he wouldn't open the door further and gave it a few light knocks.

"Dean-?"

He heard a sharp inhale, the kind made when someone's waking up abruptly, and then a small cough before Dean's crackly voice responded. "Yeah."

Kevin opened the door hesitantly and stopped at the sight of them. Dean was blinking awake, lying in bed next to Sam, who was sleeping and positioned more along the middle of the mattress so his back could line up along his brother's side. Kevin pressed his lips together, trying to hide his bafflement over the strange intimacy of it.

“Hey, Kevin,” Dean whispered as he rubbed his face, still trying to wake up. He looked at Kevin tiredly. “What?” He looked down around him to see what Kevin was looking at, finding his brother had moved up against him. He smiled crookedly back up at Kevin. "Don't judge," he deadpanned.

"What? No... I..."

"Don't have siblings," Dean finished Kevin's sentence pointedly. Kevin nodded and made sure to conceal whatever phantom sense of loss that had pulled out of him.

"Of course, you're right. I don't," Kevin shrugged and moved further into the room. Dean sat up a little further and fixed Kevin with an easy gaze.

"You also didn't grow up poor," Dean chuckled quietly.

"What... does that have to do with anything?" Kevin asked as he sat down at the chair by the desk.

Dean shrugged. "Privacy's a luxury."

"So why don't you let Sam be in his own room?"

Dean's features darkened inexplicably. "We tried that."

Kevin thought better than to ask further.

"'Sides, I think he likes the company," Dean grinned and let his hand flop heavily against Sam's ribs. Sam grunted and tried to roll over onto his back, hit his brother’s body, then gave up and settled again. The older brother huffed in amusement, his hand still on Sam. He looked back to Kevin. "So, food's ready?"

Kevin nodded. "Yep."

"Need help bringing it in?"

"What... in here?" Kevin asked, surprised. Eating in bed wasn’t an option. It was never an option.

"Yeah. What? Why not?"

"Uh..." Kevin struggled to explain decorum without coming off badly. "Ah, no, nothing. Okay..."

Dean glanced at his brother. "Sam's still gonna be out of it when he wakes up. I don't wanna move him," Dean added. Kevin nodded. That made sense. You had to eat in bed at hospitals, Kevin rationalized.

"Do you want to wake him up?"

Dean bobbed his head side to side indicating he was going back and forth on it. "I mean, no. Technically we shouldn't but he really can't miss a meal - he's lost enough weight as it is," Dean said quietly, a tinge of sadness to his words as he rubbed Sam's ribs. Dean blew out a breath and turned to Kevin. "Upside, we get to play around with him," Dean said with a smirk.

"'We?'" Kevin asked.

"Yeah bring your food in too, man."

Kevin tried to crush the elation he felt at being included. "Okay," he said, just a dash too perky.

"Are you sure you don’t want help bringing the food in?"

"Nah I got it. Be right back," Kevin said, rising from the chair and heading out.

---

Sam woke up slowly even though he was getting rocked back and forth by a heavy hand on the side of his ribs.

"Sssstop..." Sam said, his voice getting muffled every time his face pressed against his pillow. He reached over and, unable to push the hand away, just weakly gripped the arm attached to it.

"Dean," Sam whined but Dean had already stopped when Sam had reached out.

"-ake up Sammy," Dean said evenly, "time to wake up. Wake up. Waky waky eggs and bakey. Foodtime, Sammy. Food. Food. Food."

"I get it!" Sam grunted back, annoyed.

At that he heard Dean chuckling, his hand landing on him again. Sam moaned comically as he let Dean roll him around like a rag doll.

"Dean," Kevin's voice cut in somewhere in the room.

"What?"

"Kevin?!" Sam called out, surprised and slightly embarrassed Kevin was witnessing this. Dean messing with him waking him up like this was one thing, in front of others was sort of different.

"Yeah dude Kevin's here, wake up," Dean replied. "Wake up. Wake up... Wake up."

Sam flopped over onto his back. He landed uncomfortably over his brother's stomach and flung a lazy, uncoordinated hand up in an effort to smack Dean in the face. He felt the back of his hand hit Dean's nose and grinned in triumph as Dean let out a shocked, pained yelp as he recoiled and hit the back of his head against the headboard.

Sam’s laughter was crackly with sleep but came deep from his lungs.

"You..." Dean grabbed Sam, scheming grin plastered on his face as he pulled Sam up against him and went for a particularly ticklish spot along Sam’s ribcage.

"Ge' off me ge' off me go 'way," Sam slurred groggily but he was smiling, his dimples deepening until he burst into laughter and folded into the spot in his side Dean had found.

“Stop, stop, please!” Sam cackled before it turned into a cough. Dean let go immediately. Sam hunched over, getting through it. When he was done, Dean looked at him and quickly wiped any drool away from Sam’s mouth with one of the blankets. Sam’s eyes wandered.

"Oh, McDonalds," Sam drew the name out with relish. Dean finished and Sam got to lift his head up to look around. He found Kevin at the desk, pulling cheeseburgers and french fries out, the scent permeating the entire room.

"Yup," Dean said simply, resting his hand against Sam's back.

"Did you get Chicken McNuggets?" Sam asked, hazy hopeful. Kevin pulled them out of the bag and Sam blinked as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "Oh my god," Sam said, drunkenly reaching out over Dean to get his food. Dean leaned back indignantly while Kevin handed Sam the twenty-pack of nuggets. “You’re awesome, Kevin, thank you.”

Kevin grinned. "Dean I got you some double cheeseburgers, is that okay?" He asked. "Dean?"

"Dude!" Dean grabbed the carton of nuggets out of Sam's hand, "Stop crushing them. You're gonna make a mess, man," he said, annoyed, as Sam whined for his food back. He was still foggy but energized by the fast food. Dean spread the blankets out so there was a smooth surface for the carton of nuggets.

"Dean, I want... cats," Sam breathed, leaning in and smelling the nuggets as Dean opened them.

"What?" Dean laughed, looking at Sam for a second before turning to Kevin. "You got any napkins?"

Kevin nodded, smiling, and handed him a pile from the takeout bag.

"Cats," Sam repeated as he plucked a nugget from the package. A string of drool fell from his lips and Dean snorted with laughter as he caught it with one of the napkins. Kevin politely ignored it.

"Sam, you want sweet 'n sour sauce?"

"Oh. Yeah...sss," he dragged out. The ‘s’ sound seemed to be a particular challenge for keeping saliva in his mouth and Dean, snickering, tilted Sam’s head up this time as he drawled the sound out until he was done.

Sam laughed and Dean let go. Kevin couldn’t ignore that. “It’s like he’s drunk,” he whispered to Dean, grinning, passing the sweet and sour sauce. Dean nodded and pointed at him in complete agreement.

Sam was dead set and focused on dipping a nugget into the sauce when Dean asked, "Sam, cats?"

"Casss," Sam clarified loudly, surprising them. Dean and Kevin tried to stifle their laughter but Sam wasn't paying attention anyway.

"Why do you want Cas, bud?" Dean pressed, hoping for more entertainment.

"Cas likes burgers."

“Oh,” Dean gestured to Sam and looked at Kevin. “Well that actually makes sense.”

"Cas... Castiel, the angel? Likes burgers?" Kevin asked haltingly.

"Yeah, he does. Those mini-burger things. White Castle.” Kevin made a face and Dean shrugged. "Swear to God."

They were both blown off course when Sam randomly burst into laughter. Dean wiped his mouth, chuckling too. It was great to watch Sam like this. The kid never smiled or laughed this much.

Sam popped a chicken nugget in his mouth. "Angels don't like normal-sized burgers," Sam cackled through his full mouth. Dean made a face somewhere between disgusted and amused and alarmed Sam would choke.

"Easy, dude. What?"

"Angels. Big burgers scare them," Sam said with a snort.

"Okay," Dean said, shrugging at Kevin before looking back to Sam. "Sure."

Kevin chuckled. Sam focused on handling his food properly. Dean had his double cheeseburger but snuck some of Sam's nuggets. It irritated Sam but he was only cognizant enough to yell ‘hey’ at Dean about it and then he’d forget about it seconds later. Kevin chowed down on his own double cheeseburger, idly watching them for entertainment.

None of them had realized how hungry they'd gotten but Sam especially seemed to need the sustenance, wolfing down his chicken nuggets much to Dean’s approval. Eventually his enthusiasm waned though, fatigue setting in again and getting the better of him.

"How many more do I have to eat before I can go back to sleep?" Sam asked slowly, sounding out the words so he wouldn’t slur, his eyelids fluttering under the weight of impending sleep. For a second his hand, still holding a nugget he’d dipped in sauce, dropped but Sam jerked back awake to keep from getting it on the blankets.

Kevin smiled guiltily at the sight and even beyond that, he smiled over how Sam sounded so young asking Dean for eating and sleeping parameters. Dean didn't miss a beat with the exchange either. He just leaned over to assess how many nuggets Sam had eaten and replied. "Finish that one and you can pass out.”

"Okay," Sam agreed and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed and thumped himself against Dean, totally oblivious to Dean’s gasp of surprise and quick moves to get his food away lest he wanted to taste Sam’s hair too.

"Seriously?" Dean murmured, exasperated. With the food safely far from Sam, Dean eventually relented to Sam's breach of personal space by resting his arm over Sam's back. "He's like a dog that doesn't know his own size," Dean informed Kevin.

Kevin snorted and nodded, finding the analogy well-suited to Sam's current state of mind. And the drool. He grabbed a second double cheeseburger and handed it out to Dean.

Dean took it and as he unwrapped it, crane over to check Sam.

"Sammy, you still chewing?"

Sam made a sound that neither confirmed nor denied but rather suggested he’d vaguely heard another sound and thought he’d respond in kind.

"Sam, open your mouth."

Sam opened his mouth slowly. Empty.

"Cool dude, good job, you want your milkshake?"

"No, thank you," Sam said drowsily.

"We’ll save it for you later."

"Oh yeah, okay, thank you sooo much," Sam slurred.

"Okay. Go to sleep."

Sam nodded but he didn't move.

"Sam?"

No answer.

"Sammy? Go to sleep."

Kevin raised an eyebrow. Sam apparently hadn't gotten the memo that 'go to sleep' meant 'get off me.'

"I think he's asleep," he laughed quietly, angling to see Sam's peaceful expression lying on Dean's stomach.

Dean hummed in vague dissatisfaction, rolling his eyes. He Sam be though, opting to unwrap his second double cheeseburger over Sam’s head instead.

Kevin re-evaluated. Earlier he’d been thinking it was weird to share a bed with your brother and even weird to eat in bed but he was getting it now. Sam was devastatingly ill or injured or both at any given moment. He needed round-the-clock care, he needed a bed, and as much of a grown man and hero as Sam was, he clearly wanted Dean close. Dean was so obviously on the same exact page as Sam too.

Dean took another bite and shifted, getting comfortable. He rested his hand holding his burger on Sam’s back.

Kevin took in the tableau of the two of them and then looked away to stare at the floor as he thought. Neither brother had ever really talked to Kevin about how they'd grown up. The exception was earlier when Dean had said they'd grown up poor, meaning no privacy. They'd also said in passing once they'd grown up 'in the life.' Kevin didn't know exactly what that had meant but an educated guess would suggest a lot of accidents and injuries hunting. Stuff that would have them near and helping each other often.

Dean had told Kevin he didn't have any siblings so he didn't understand but after watching them today, Kevin would disagree. He knew siblings. He'd seen his friends with their older or younger sisters or brothers. They didn’t compare to what Kevin was witnessing between Dean and Sam. These two had their own language, their own complementary patterns of behavior that seemed so effortless even though Kevin knew it was complex and layered and so multifaceted with decades of practice perfecting every single look and gesture and decision made between them.

Kevin was sure it felt natural to them. Kevin was equally sure it would come off foreign to most siblings just as much as it did to him.

As weird and unknown as Kevin found it though, he liked it.

"Oh!" Kevin jerked, just remembering.

"What?" Dean was just finishing his burger.

"We- Sam made bacon. I didn’t put it away. I can go get it and you can add it to…” Kevin trailed off, noticing Dean had maybe a single bite left. Deflated, he looked at Dean’s expectant face. “I was gonna say add it to the burger, but-”

“What do I need to add bacon to anything for?” Dean asked indignantly with his mouth full. “Bring it in! I love bacon.”

“Me too,” Kevin agreed excitedly, feeling like a kid again now for some reason, treating themselves to just a plate of straight bacon strips to feast upon. Kevin grinned. "Okay, one minute. I’ll be right," and he hopped off to get it for them.

It was so inappropriate but Kevin couldn’t deny this was starting to get just plain fun.

Chapter Text

Sam shifted in the dark and turned over to face Dean. He couldn't see the digital clock's glowing red numbers beyond his brother's body but he didn't care enough to lift up. His tongue was aching in rhythmic pulses of pain. Moving it even slightly made it worse. At least the taste of blood was gone, replaced by sweet ‘n sour sauce and chicken nuggets.

He tried to fall back to sleep, his cognitive haze still lingering. It'd take another day or so to feel completely right. In the meanwhile, as much sleep as possible. Sam sighed and closed his eyes. He hadn't been dreaming; he rarely did after seizures. Ordinarily Sam didn't care one way or the other but with the dreams he'd been having he considered it a blessing and counted it.

Dean moved sluggishly next to him and let out a deep sigh with just the slightest vocalization in it. It sounded deliberate. Sam looked up in the dark. Dean’s head tilted.

"You 'wake?" Dean whispered.

Sam considered not answering so he could go back to sleep.

"Yeah."

"How are you feeling?"

Sam shrugged, knowing Dean would interpret the movement accurately. Dean shifted and Sam could tell he'd turned to look at him in the dark even though they couldn’t see each other.

"Tongue hurts."

"Water?" Dean leaned over and pulled a water bottle off the table.

"Hm. Yeah, okay," Sam yawned and Dean turned the dim light on by his side. Sam blinked awake to see Dean drinking out of the water bottle before handing it over to Sam.

"Gross," Sam murmured like a reflex, not even knowing what he was saying as he took it from Dean and drank. It was room temperature but still refreshing. He drank greedily, gulping loudly and appreciating Dean didn't seem particularly solicitous about it. Normally Dean might have told him to take it easy. When Sam had to stop to catch his breath, the water bottle slipped in his hands and Dean was there in an instant making sure it didn’t tip over.

“You got it?”

"Yeah," Sam promised and Dean let go. Sam shrugged. “I’m actually done,” he said and handed the water bottle back. Dean took it and set it on the bedside table.

"Need anything else?"

Sam shook his head.

"Wanna go back to sleep?"

Sam sighed and looked at his brother, then shrugged. "I guess," he said softly.

“C’mon.” Dean turned off the light and reclined, holding the covers up for Sam to huddle back under too. He did and sunk down against his pillow facing Dean. Dean threw an arm over Sam and Sam leaned into it, not giving a damn anymore. A few minutes passed and Dean started rubbing Sam’s shoulders and Sam inched closer and turned to lie on his stomach so Dean was rubbing his back. Sam grinned, reminded of how Dean would do this when they were kids and how the repetitive motion more often put Dean to sleep faster than Sam. Sam recalled with a little bit of remorse how he’d wake Dean up just so he’d keep going. Dazed by sleep, Dean would grunt and resume the back rub for awhile before falling asleep again and starting the whole process over again.

This wouldn’t be one of those times. Sam was sinking into sleep rapidly, Dean's presence and the back rub pushing him faster into unconsciousness than he'd anticipated. Half-asleep, Sam lost his inner monologue.

"Remember when we were kids'n you'd do this?"

"Wha-?" Dean asked blearily.

"When I was a kid," Sam prompted.

"Sure," Dean whispered sleepily. Sam didn't say anything for awhile but his eyes opened wider when Dean spoke up again. "You're such a sap."

"Am not."

"I almost killed you when you were little too, y'know that?" Dean asked and Sam could tell he was smiling.

"What? How?" Sam asked, somewhat appalled, and definitely more awake. Dean chuckled.

"I hated you," he joked and Sam fake-punched him, surprising Dean who gasped at the hit then returned to laughter.

"Seriously," Sam pried, curious.

Dean quieted and sighed, then gave one last soft chuckle.

"I, uh... I almost smothered you to death."

"There it is," Sam laughed and it was Dean's turn to fake-punch his little brother. "I am so not surprised..."

"Shut up, bitch."

Sam spent his laughter and realized he wanted to know more.

"How old was I?"

"Dunno. Little after Mom died," Dean offered solemnly.

"What stopped you from smothering me?"

"Dad found us and got me off you in time."

"D'you get in trouble?"

"Nah he knew I had no idea what I'd almost done. I was just as freaked out as him when I realized."

"So you weren't trying," Sam paused for comic emphasis, "to smother me?"

"No, man. You'd woken up - fussy or something - having a nightmare, maybe. I just accidentally fell asleep on you after I got you quiet."

Sam thought about that, admittedly touched. "That's... cute," Sam hedged. Dean let out a skeptical gust of air and Sam fell back to laughter.

Dean feigned another hit against Sam's shoulder. "Go to sleep."

"Promise you won't smother me."

Dean laughed. "No."

---

Dean was the first to wake up with no feeling in his arm and Sam's dumb sleepy face turned down against him. Breathing was coming easily to him and Dean gave himself time to relax his own post-wake haze of anxiety he was experiencing now. Too many symptoms of Sam's were turning up while they slept.

Literally rolling out of bed, he stumbled out of the bedroom, blankets trailing off him onto the floor. He had a mission. He padded through their underground home to the kitchen. Three messy scoops in the filter, a full pot of water to the reservoir, and ten minutes of just standing there blinking, listening to the coffee gurgle, appreciating its scent as it filled the cold kitchen.

"Hey," Kevin grunted, walking in while Dean was rubbing sleep out of his eye. Dean hummed in acknowledgment as he reached for three mugs, his other arm still getting over pins and needles courtesy of Sam. The coffee beeped, Kevin sat down at the kitchen table, and Dean poured. Kevin whispered a thank you and claimed one, wrapping his hands around the warmth of it as he pulled it across the table and against his chest.

Dean took his coffee black too and sipped it as he grabbed milk from the fridge, sugar from the counter to fix Sam's.

"You ready to get back to it today?" Dean asked, his voice rough with sleep.

Kevin nodded. "Started on it a little bit last night, actually," Kevin offered with a smile. Dean frowned with approval, impressed and appreciative. He poured milk and dropped sugar into Sam's coffee. Then he froze, a genuine frown this time as his eyes fixed upon Kevin.

"You’re not still on the uppers I gave you, are you?"

Kevin looked up, surprised. "No. They're on Garth's boat."

Dean licked his lips on a frown and nodded. He traced around the coffee cup with his finger.

"I’m gonna go bring this to Sam," Dean muttered as he picked Sam’s up, still avoiding Kevin’s gaze.

"Yeah, okay," Kevin affirmed. The moment broken, Kevin walked over to the refrigerator as Dean left the kitchen.

"Kevin," Dean said, surprising him. Kevin stepped back to look beyond the door of the fridge. Dean was standing there, lips pressed together, brows furrowed, clearly about to say something serious. “I never should’ve given you those.”

Touched, Kevin gulped and nodded. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry.”

Something vulnerable glistened in Kevin’s deep brown eyes. He swallowed and nodded to Dean, the only serious response he could give without breaking down entirely about how hard the past year has been for him.

Dean nodded back, picked the coffees up again, and left with a sad but encouraging smile.

---

Dean felt lighter as he walked down the hall. He hadn’t even known he’d been carrying the weight of that around until just now. He also knew it’d been a good thing for Kevin to hear. Kevin hadn’t been a strait-laced overachieving honors student because he took uppers. He got there because he was cared for, and Dean was somewhat familiar with how that worked. He should’ve thought about it like that sooner.

He turned a corner and started thinking about whether Sam would wake now with the scent of freshly brewed coffee around him. When he got there the room was still dark and he cautiously stepped inside. He carefully made his way to where he knew the nightstand was. He set the mugs down and turned the light on.

Sam reacted by shifting around, turning onto his back, grimacing and blinking up at him.

"Hey," he murmured, sitting down on the side of the bed. "Got coffee." Dean pulled the mug over to him and Sam hummed, pleased, and sat up against the headboard.

Dean took a second to assess his brother as Sam, the king of manners, actually slurped his coffee. Dean would tease him if he wasn’t distracted, observing how Sam was pale and moving stiffly.

"How're you feeling?" Dean asked, taking a gulp from his own coffee.

"Not bad," Sam replied evenly. "Tongue hurts but coffee's good," he added. Dean gave a sideways smile and nodded. Sam took another sip before looking up at his brother. "So what's the game plan?"

"For today?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, moving around to sit up straighter.

Dean shrugged.

"Kevin's caffeinating in the kitchen. He'll get started on the tablet soon. Already worked on some of it last night," Dean said slowly, making sure Sam wouldn't get overwhelmed or confused with his explanation. Sam looked fine enough but he'd still had a big seizure. Recovering from that wasn't always just a single night's rest. Sam nodded in understanding though and took another sip of his coffee. Dean followed suit, staring at nothing in particular and enjoying the coffee.

"You and I get another free day, though," Dean said absently.

Sam looked up at him. Dean smirked. Sam rolled his eyes and smiled wryly.

"Joy," Sam deadpanned. Dean chuckled.

---

Kevin's head was pounding and his eyes tearing as he stared at the shaky yet fluidly moving patterns and sketches on the tablet in front of him. He'd had several cups of coffee. No breakfast yet. He'd been debating taking a break to go see Sam and Dean for awhile now but he hesitated. He didn't really want to intrude but then again he figured he could offer breakfast. Dean would appreciate it considering how he pushed meals on Sam every chance he got.

He rubbed his eyes and temples, leaned back in his chair and sighed long and deep. He pushed his chair out and walked out of the library into the hallway, listening for Sam and Dean as he approached their open doorway.

He heard canny audio playing that he couldn't make out overlaid with quiet snickers. Assured they were both probably in good moods, he knocked against the wall and turned in, finding the brothers looking at Sam's laptop propped up by Dean's knees. Sam was lying down comfortably and smiling up at the screen before his eyes drifted to Kevin.

"Hey," Kevin said tiredly. Dean looked up and grinned as he closed the laptop.

"Hey Kevin," Dean said, sounding fresh. Kevin muttered another 'hey' as he walked into the room, figuring the closed laptop was his invitation to come in. He sat down on the chair at Dean's desk and angled towards the bed.

"What's up?" Dean asked. "Any success?"

Kevin shrugged and shook his head.

"Not yet. Wanted a break. Thinking about breakfast."

Dean nodded at that and looked at Sam expectantly.

"You hungry?" He nudged his brother. Sam gave a brief wince and shrugged. "Cool. I'll make pancakes or something," Dean resolved pleasantly. Kevin smiled, grateful Dean volunteered to make food. His interest shifted to the laptop.

"What were you watching?"

"Stupid Youtube videos."

Kevin smiled knowingly. Even before he became a prophet he never really had the time to enjoy the useless idiocy of watching stupid videos on Youtube but it seemed like just as decent a past time as any to entertain a sick sibling.

"Obviously Dean's idea," Sam added.

"Kev, where're you working?" Dean asked lightly.

"What do you mean?"

"You in the study?"

"Yeah."

"Since this morning?" He clarified, surprised.

"Uh...yeah."

Kevin started to wonder where this was going. Sam shifted to look at his brother with just as much confusion and Dean turned to look at him for a second before returning to Kevin.

"You ever study in bed?"

"What? No," Kevin almost laughed. Sam huffed a chuckle along with him and Dean jerked back to look at his brother.

"What? You used to study in bed all the time," Dean said defensively.

"I studied on the bed. And it was only because there was never a table big enough to spread my stuff out in the motel rooms we had."

“You grew up in motel rooms?" Kevin interjected but it was ignored. Kevin stored it to think about for later.

"Got you into Stanford," Dean shrugged.

"I got me into Stanford despite having to study on beds all the time."

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean waved at Sam dismissively.

"Wha- it’s not whatever. You know I always preferred libraries," Sam insisted.

"Thought you liked libraries for the books, nerd, not the tables." Sam shrugged, barely concealing a smile.

"Both," Sam offered innocently. Dean rolled his eyes. Sam leaned back against the headboard. "Honestly,” he started conversationally, “there's only one thing I ever really want from a bed."

Sam paused. Dean’s eyebrows raised. They both spoke at the same time:

"Sleep."

"Sex."

They both visibly recoiled from each other as Kevin laughed.

Sam, disgusted, started weakly pushing Dean away towards the edge of the bed.
"Let me - ow, Sam - let me ask you this-" Dean laughed as he pretended Sam's pushes were stronger than they were. He was planning on getting out of bed to make breakfast anyway so he let Sam continue his bats and shoves to edge him off. "When God gave you a dick-"

"Get away!" Sam shouted, laughing, as Dean shielded his brother's ineffective hits. Dean managed to grab Sam's wrists and hold tight as he finished his dig.

"-were you like totally bewildered?" Dean asked, his tone mockingly genuine and serious.

Sam just grunted with frustration between his caught wrists and his brother's obnoxious insult. Dean laughed and let go of his brother's wrists. He backed off the bed just as Sam spoke up.

"We've been sharing a bed for like over a week now, Dean. That was last thing I wanted to hear," Sam said pointedly with a perfect mix of repulsion and humor. Dean flinched, his expression shifting into disdainful revulsion.

"Oh ew," Dean backed away, looking at Sam, "you're nasty, you know that?"

Sam's eyes widened with indignation.

"I'm nasty?! You-"

"No, you took it there-" Dean pointed at Sam as he started moving towards the door.

"You did!"

"No," Dean replied glibly.

"I-"

"Shut up I'm making you pancakes," Dean yelled back just as he left the room, getting the last word.

Sam huffed and folded his arms. He looked at Kevin, still sitting with his coffee and smiling, having been suitably entertained by that exchange.

"I didn't take it there," Sam said lowly. Kevin grinned and shrugged, unwilling to take sides. Sam sighed with annoyance again and looked around the bed. He grabbed the laptop and pulled it up.

"You wanna watch the videos Dean and I were looking at?"

Kevin's eyes lit up.

"Yeah."

"C'mere.”

Kevin felt kinda awkward but he figured Sam's permission granted him protection if Dean were to call him out on being in his bed, taking his side of the bed. He sat down next to Sam rigidly, sitting up straight against the headboard, arms and legs kept as close to himself as possible. He relaxed as Sam didn't do or say anything except open the computer and navigate to the site's browsing section. Thumbnails and titles popped up and Sam scrolled through them slowly.

"What do you think looks good?" Sam asked quietly, sounding like he was just voicing a question he'd been thinking. Kevin felt okay to lean closer against Sam to look at the links.

"What about that one?" Kevin suggested, pointing at it.

"Sure," Sam replied, clicking without hesitation.

They continued to play around on the site and eventually the smell of pancakes wafted through to the bedroom. Sam mentioned that it smelled good and Kevin agreed as he glanced at his watch. They'd been at it almost an hour and it dawned on him that while Sam had been navigating the site, he'd still been letting Kevin choose all the videos they'd been watching. That said, just one look at Sam assured him that he'd been having fun.

When Sam asked Kevin to go check if the pancakes were ready, Kevin hopped off the bed, surprisingly happy and ready to help, and went in search of Dean. As he followed the scent of breakfast to the kitchen, Kevin wasn't a hundred percent sure what had just happened but he felt like maybe that was what it felt like to get to hang out with a cool older brother.

---

Sam slowly awoke to the sounds of his brother eating beside him.

"What're you doing?" Sam mumbled.

"Eating a sandwich. Want a bite?" Dean offered and Sam opened his eyes to the sight of a sandwich packed with what looked like ten different ingredients. Sam recoiled as it loomed directly in front of his face.

"Jesus..."

"No, Kevin made it," Dean replied, not missing a beat, and pulled away so he could take another bite. Sam huffed and pushed the covers off his chest, gazing blearily around the room and back to Dean. Dean had the laptop out, clicking through what looked like news articles.

"Working?"

"Actually," Dean took a huge bite. He found no qualms with continuing his sentence though: "I'm just reading the news."

"Wow."

"I know," Dean replied sardonically.

Sam didn't push it. He just worked on gathering his wits, maybe trying to come up with something to do now that he was awake again.

"How's Kevin?"

Dean shrugged.

"Truckin' along."

Sam shifted around again, pulling more covers off as he sat up against the headboard. Dean glanced over, then noticed the blankets.

"You hot?"

Sam shrugged and shook his head. "No, I'm fine," Sam said honestly.

"How's your mouth?"

"Tongue’s still sore."

"What about the rest of you?" Dean asked, referring to whether or not Sam's body or limbs had gotten slammed during the seizure. The kitchen floor wasn't exactly cushioned after all.

"Bruised probably; nothing I can't handle."

Dean looked him over critically and finally nodded, turning back to the computer. After a few moments Dean spoke up again. "Feel like doing anything?" Dean asked, still looking at the computer screen. Sam stretched, noticed his painfully sore back and shoulder, and considered the question.

"Dunno," Sam replied dully. "Maybe a shower."

Dean sighed and closing the computer. He seemed relaxed though and took another bite of his sandwich.

"Bath. You had a seizure," Dean pointed out lazily as he chewed. Sam was past embarrassment and nodded.

"Fair enough."

"Yeah?" Dean sounded surprised and Sam shrugged. "Cool. Found a crossword puzzle we can do."

"You hate crossword puzzles."

"I do," Dean nodded as he started to get up. Sam took it as his cue to sit up all the way as well. Dean came around to his side of the bed to spot him. "Seriously though crossword puzzles find the worst ways to describe one word- y'okay?" Dean suddenly crouched as Sam almost stumbled while rising to stand. He grabbed Sam's elbow for balance.

"Yeah yeah I'm fine-" Sam assured, getting his bearings back.

"Cool. But yeah crossword puzzles describe porches as shit like 'screened-in minihouses,'" Dean complained, cautiously letting his brother go as Sam took a couple steps. He was a little unbalanced but nothing worrisome.

"I remember that crossword,” he said, recalling Dean at sixteen in the passenger seat turning around to tell Sam his crossword puzzles were stupid. Sam, ever the precocious child, had claimed that Dean was in fact the stupid one. “You thought it was 'shack,'" Sam bantered back. He shuffled towards the door. He winced imperceptibly, a sharp sound ringing out through his ears then disappearing.

"It should've been shack!" Dean argued, his frustration from over fifteen years ago reigniting easily, much to Sam’s amusement. Hearing Dean go grumpy over inconsequential things would never fail to be funny for Sam.

"Shacks aren't screened-in," Sam pointed out, playful, just as he started walking into the hallway. Dean made a psh sound behind him. Sam smiled even as he pressed his fingers against his ears, another random throb of pain flashing through then vanishing again.

"You're not... screened-in..." Dean grumbled, nudging Sam's shoulder lightly. The pain gone, Sam let go of his head and chuckled as he staggered slowly towards the bathroom, his balance slightly off now. Sam wondered what this was, annoyed. Tinnitus wouldn't make sense. He hadn't suffered any injuries that'd cause something like that. Sam convinced himself to write it off as a fluke. Everyone got weird aches and pains every once in awhile.

"Good one, Dea- oh wait did you get my clothes?"

Dean nodded and gestured for Sam to keep going. "Yeah I'll get 'em while you wash up," Dean replied, still walking a half-step behind Sam to spot him as they made their way to the bathroom.

"Okay," Sam said. His body was just sore, Sam rationalized. Another swift throbbing pain ran through him then disappeared. He glanced at his brother and had to admit he didn’t really mind Dean's hovering. Also, Dean was watching him so closely and still hadn't noticed Sam's reactions to these weird fleeting pains so that made Sam feel better. If he could successfully hide it from Dean then it couldn't be a big deal. And it didn't feel like he'd collapse any time soon.

The ringing phased back in and this time it didn't stop; the volume of it increased. Sam couldn’t smother it anymore. He gasped and clutched his head as he stumbled forward, hunching over to brace himself better under the onslaught of noise and the wavering floor. He heard Dean shout his name but it sounded too far away, like Dean was on the other end of a tunnel. It got worse until it was like a megaphone siren blaring into his ears. Sam couldn't think, the tone drilling into him, reverberating down through his whole body, threatening to knock him out altogether.

Sam vaguely felt arms wrap around him, his brother hefting him backwards against his chest, and Sam let himself crumple in pain, nearly in tears from the shrill intense ringing that only seemed to be getting louder and more insistent as it pierced into him.

Sam barely registered the slow sinking journey to the floor with his brother before he blacked out entirely.

Chapter Text

Sam woke up in bed with a splitting headache, his brother's arms around him, quiet nervous whispers that he couldn't make out. Dean was distracted with whoever he was talking to and hadn't noticed Sam’s entry into consciousness. He wanted to keep it that way until he could remember what’d happened. It proved difficult. His head was killing him. He could barely focus. He squeezed his eyes and forced himself to think back. He recalled he'd had a seizure, a bad one. It explained the cut on the side of his tongue. He remembered he'd been feeling cloudy but still fine. They'd been on their way to the bathroom so Sam could take another bath. He'd been okay; strong enough to carry his own weight. Dean was only accompanying him because he'd been worried Sam might have another seizure in the tub.

Then nothing. He couldn't recall anything past the hallway. Had he had another seizure? It seemed highly unlikely he’d have two big ones so close together.

The only reason he could think of for a total blackout like he was experiencing was if he'd suffered head trauma. But as much as Sam was against how Dean could rival any helicopter these days, Sam had to credit his brother: it was absurd to think he could’ve fallen and sustained any kind of head injury with his brother right there behind him.

Sam was taking awhile thinking this through, the muffled whispers of conversation above him between Dean and whoever else continued. He was only hearing out of one ear, his head pressed against Dean's shoulder. He was grateful Dean wasn't clutching him or anything. The headache pounding against his skull was making him feel nauseous and he'd definitely throw up were his brother hugging his waist or stomach.

Dean had begun to gesture as he spoke, hands casually moving around and then going back to rest them along Sam's side. Sam did his best not to move or squirm while he was so closely tucked against his brother so he could eavesdrop.

"-don't need anything else?" Sam recognized Kevin's soft, worried tone. It didn't do much to allay any anxieties of his own though.

"Yeah just make sure they stay away until whatever this is passes, alright?" Dean wrapped his whole arm around Sam's back and shoulders. Sam fought the urge to hug his brother back.

Dean sounded better than Kevin - more in control; relaxed. Then again Dean was a better actor than Kevin.

"Got it."

Their conversation stopped but Sam didn't hear Kevin moving away. Sam considered Dean's words. Who were "they" and why did they need to stay away until he was better?

Perhaps they were a threat-? But if they were enemies or just generally untrustworthy, it wouldn't explain why Dean seemed so calm.

Dean angled to face Kevin. It left Sam pressed up against Dean's chest more than his shoulder - a good break for him because he wanted to hear his brother's heart. Dean had been lying with confidence and poise since he was six years old but he couldn't cheat his own heartbeat.

"Can I ask you something?" Kevin asked in a small voice. Dean's heart paced easily as he felt Dean nod. "They're angels, Dean. What does... What does it mean about these trials that Sam can't be near them?"

"What?" Sam rasped harshly. The charade was up; he needed answers now and he wasn't going to get them any faster with this ruse.

He reconsidered when within a split-second he found himself getting manhandled off his brother to lie down all the way, Dean's hovering urgent imperatives to report on his health blaring like their own sirens into his still fragile brain.

Sam blinked, clearing his vision as Dean spoke. "Why did you kick Cas out?" Sam whispered roughly, his throat dry, tongue sore.

Dean ignored him. "Sam, look at me and track my fingers." Dean put his finger up directly in front of him.

"Who's with Cas?" Sam gritted out impatiently, reluctantly following Dean's finger.

"What happened before you passed out - do you remember?" Dean asked authoritatively.

"Where are they now Dean? Do they know something? Did they-" Sam gasped and realized he was practically hyperventilating.

"Sam, Sammy relax-" Dean pleaded, palming the side of Sam's head.

"Dean, tell me!" Sam wheezed, eyes watering with frustration.

Dean kept his hand on Sam's head and brushed through it a couple times during this silent battle of wills. Dean looked haggard and scared but Sam was desperate to know, his watery eyes glinting with a nearly fanatical need to discover the third trial if they'd found it.

Dean swallowed and gave an imperceptible nod. Sam clenched his jaw while he let his body relax, relief flowing through him that Dean was going to tell. "Okay Sam," Dean whispered sadly, "Kevin, give us a few," Dean added, still looking into Sam's eyes. In Sam's peripheral vision he saw Kevin back away from the bed.

"Just relax first, okay?" Dean leaned back from his hovering and pulled the blankets up further around him. Sam gritted his teeth but let it go as he watched Kevin quietly leave. "Catch your breath, man," Dean added quietly. Kevin shut the door, giving them an added unexpected, foreboding element of privacy. Sam realized Kevin must know.

Sam was the only one out of the loop here now. He watched his brother fuss and bit his lip.

"S'it bad? The third trial?" Sam asked, his voice cracking on the last word. Dean sighed and washed a hand down his face. When he looked back at his brother his eyes had taken on a glassy film of tears. Sam would never get used to that look; his own emotions always tripping at the sight of his brother failing to keep his facade.

"Dean?" Sam trembled.

"Okay," Dean breathed, "the third trial's a ritual. Cas found Metatron. They're preparing it now."

"What is it?"

Dean hesitated, worry and exhaustion etched on his face. Sam could tell Dean hadn't been facing up to the truth of whatever the third trial was.

"Dean!"

Dean twitched like Sam had slapped him. He took a breath and softened.

"It's gonna be rough, Sammy," Dean whispered. "But they're doing all the work. All we need to do is wait a little longer until they come get us."

"How much longer?" Sam asked, his voice thick and gravelly.

Dean pressed his lips together and broke his gaze from his little brother to look down. Sam's heart skipped with something like pure dread when a tear fell from Dean's eye onto the bedspread.

"Not much longer, Sammy," Dean sniffed.

Sam let it sink in, his heart choppy and his own distress ratcheting up from the way Dean was acting. "Dean," Sam asked shakily, barely able to hold off a sob, "am I gonna die?"

Dean tried to smile but there was nothing but despairing grief in it.

"You might," Dean admitted wetly, "They said… they said odds were," Dean trailed off. He rubbed his eyes clear, scratched his nose. "But you know what we said, Sam," Dean said rather loudly, overcompensating. He kept going, offering promises he couldn’t keep, silver linings that weren’t really there.

Sam winced, staring at his brother, slowly shaking his head with doubt and fear. Hope drained along with any color left in his face, rendering his complexion stark and ghostly word after every word his big brother added to his bullshit pep talk. "Yeah Sam, no listen to me. We won't let anything happen to you, you understand? You're gonna survive this, get it?" Dean spoke solidly but his voice was still scratchy; still on the verge of tears and as Sam's eyes drilled into Dean's he could see the boundless terror of losing Sam just beneath the surface.

As much as Sam had wanted the strength to face death with honorable acceptance, too much had happened to leave Dean now. Sam realized he didn't want to go. The reality of it was hitting him full force now. He really didn't want to die.

With the revelation, Sam’s eyes welled up, his jaw clenched and he bit his lip to hold off from making an emotional fool of himself in the face of near-certain death.

"Sam. Don't. Sam, I promise you. I promise, Sammy-"

Sam looked up at Dean, eyes bright with tears about to break.

Dean was trying. He was trying so damn hard and Sam appreciated it but honestly it only made things worse. Sam's eyes burned, his thoughts spun on a loop, overwhelming and swallowing him in with the dual certainties that he was going to die for this and spending this time with Dean and looking into his eyes right now...

Sam didn't want to die for this. He couldn't die for this. Dean needed him.

Sam had to break his brother's gaze, his mind a flurry of deepening hopelessness as his eyes wandered just as frantically both everywhere and nowhere for an answer - for salvation - even though he knew there was nothing.

Sam gave a small hiccup of a sob, muffled it as best he could with his trembling, spindly hand as he looked down and stared at the bedspread, ashamed.

Suddenly Dean was on him, practically picking him up under his arms and pulling him in against his chest. Sam was limp but he needn't have bothered to help Dean anyway; his brother did all the work angling and folding him into his lap, holding Sam's curled, tilted form tight in his arms, one hand landing on his head and carding through his hair gently.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured into his ear. Sam tried to hold his breath against crying any further and slowly wrapped his arms around Dean. "It's gonna be okay, all right?" Dean's voice cracked.

At the sound of his brother's small break, Sam couldn't hold back. He let go in his brother's arms.

Dean tightened his hold as Sam clutched him. He dipped his own head against Sam's neck as his little brother cried into his shoulder. He rocked them for awhile, shushing Sam with an easy reassuring rhythm - it wasn't a gesture to actually silence Sam. It was just a sound of comfort; the sound Dean always used to calm his brother.

Sam quieted eventually but he kept his posture still, making no move to get out from under his brother's warmth and protection. Dean kissed the side of his head right before he whispered a question. "Sammy I thought you were okay with this," Dean murmured, his voice crackly with his own silent tears.

Dean understood his brother more than anyone but the question had its merits, Dean thought. Either Sam would nod and get himself together or he wouldn't and it'd still be okay; Dean had him. They were still safe; still alive and breathing and together. They could still talk this out. They could still handle this.

"It's different now," Sam said weakly. "I want to stay," Sam whimpered and fell into a few more soft cries as he pulled himself up to reach more of his brother aqa, tightening his hold into a full-fledged shivering, terrified hug.

Dean gave a shuddering sigh and lined his arm up with Sam's spine, his hand resting along the back of Sam's neck. They stayed like that until Dean had an answer.

"You will, Sammy. Always, okay?" Dean promised, knowing it was vague; knowing it had a double-meaning that managed to both comfort and depress. Dean let his words sink in before he ruled out the depressing one: "We're going out together when we're old... and gross," Dean added comically and felt Sam jerk and huff a weepy laugh, "because you're going to survive this trial, close the gates of hell, and then you know what we're gonna do Sammy?"

Sam sniffed and shifted his head. "No, what?" Sam scratched out and Dean rubbed his back.

"We get to retire," Dean laughed roughly and Sam joined in, his throat obviously more destroyed than Dean's, and nodded against his brother's shoulder.

"Okay," Sam whispered dejectedly, knowing he had to play along if he couldn't face the truth and he didn't think he could right now.

Not now that he knew. Not now after all they'd gone through. When they'd fought over his death and he’d almost died, Sam had been running on the steadfast conviction that Dean would be fine. He’d move on. It would help if Dean knew Sam was in heaven too.

Things had changed though. Sam had seen Dean despairing and ruined. That along with a few other key elements and Sam had become just as desperate not to leave his brother as Dean was.

He felt Dean shift around and reach for something on the bedside table.

"Here - you sound like shit," Dean muttered. Sam lifted his head and squinted at the water bottle Dean held. He sniffed and blinked as he reached for it to gulp a few mouthfuls, still shamelessly half-hugging his brother. Dean allowed it, bracing him carefully.

When Sam gave the water bottle back he slumped against Dean, exhausted. Dean set the bottle aside before wrapping arms around Sam again. It was a light, almost casual hold this time.

"You need to fill me in," Sam said dully, staring, unseeing, down his brother's back and his own thin bony hands spread open along his shoulder blades.

"I know," Dean nodded, brushing his head against Sam's.

"All of it, Dean."

"I know, Sammy," Dean hugged his brother and rubbed his back. "I will."

Chapter Text

Dean felt Sam going limp in his arms after a couple of minutes. While he was often perceptive enough he still wasn't a mind reader when it came to his little brother. He wasn’t sure exactly how to break things to him. He hefted Sam up against him and rubbed his back a couple times before angling his head closer to Sam's ear. He cleared his throat lightly, feeling awkward now that he was coming down from emotional highs.

"Want me to tell you like this?" Dean asked, his voice scratchy but gentle. Sam tensed, wiped his face down as he sniffled over Dean’s shoulder. He was getting himself together.

"No," Sam swallowed, "no..."

"You wanna lie down?"

Dean felt Sam shake his head.

"No I want to sit up," Sam replied quietly and slowly detached.

"Okay, stop. I got it," Dean said, grasping Sam back against his chest. Weak, Sam acquiesced and slumped in to let Dean maneuver him. He wasn't that feeble per se but he definitely didn't compare to Dean's strength. Sam soon noticed Dean wasn't being fast about it like he normally was though.

"Dean," Sam uttered, his voice pitched with irritation. “I swear to God,” he threatened. Dean smiled but, knowing what conversation they'd need to have next, didn't rise to the bait of banter even though he so badly wanted to.

"Shut up. I'm just gonna put you against the headboard," Dean explained as he got up into a kneel while still holding Sam to him and started pushing him up towards the pillows. Sam sighed, held on, and let him get on with it.

Dean was getting the pillows comfortable with his little brother still clinging to him when Sam spoke up again.

"I could do this myself you know," he said dryly.

"Don't be a bitch."

"M'not," Sam whined. Dean huffed as he finished then manhandled his brother up and against the pillows with a couple of grunts and a few small gasps from Sam.

"Sorry sorry," Dean murmured every time Sam lost his breath. He leaned back on his haunches, looking at Sam sitting fully upright against the pillows. "Better?"

Sam coughed into his hand as he nodded. He blinked a couple times, eyes still glassy, but quirked a tiny smile when he looked back up at his brother.

"Now get me a sandwich."

Dean rolled his eyes, smiling wide. He considered it and suddenly really wanted to get Sam a sandwich. He'd be fine stalling this conversation.

"You hungry? Really?" Dean offered, looking hopeful. Sam's turn to roll his eyes, his smile was sad though.

"No, it was a joke," he replied, then leaned over to reach for the water bottle, "don't stall this,” Sam ordered. Dean expression hardened, bothered Sam could read his mind so well. “Dean. I need to know," he finished grimly as he brought the water bottle to his lips and took a few sips.

Dean deflated. "Okay," Dean breathed, his tone going soft, "you were right before."

Sam stopped drinking from the water bottle and squinted at his brother.

"About what?"

"The trials were supposed to have been completed faster than this."

Fear flashed through Sam's eyes but it swiftly disappeared. Sam never got enough credit for his poker face.

"What does that mean for the third trial?" Sam asked, his voice crackly with a raw throat but his tone was cut and dry. The kind of no-bullshit style Dean was used to hearing from him when they talked about the details of their cases. Dean stared at his brother, admiring the kid's fortitude. Sam was too good for his own good.

"The third trial is about receiving grace directly from God," Dean stated. Sam made a face.

"Grace... grace like angel grace?"

Dean gave a sideways nod, equivocal.

"Yeah... but not."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"It's not like you become an angel or anything. It's a separate thing."

"That's gonna kill me?"

"Well it wouldn't if we'd known and done it earlier but Metatron said-"

"Wait hold up. Metatron? Cas actually found him?"

"Yeah. Cas found him holed up in some random Indian reservation and got him to come help us. He filled us in on what the tablets say. Kevin's off the hook from reading them now."

Dean stopped, sighed, ran a hand through his hair.

"Metatron said the state you're in now, your odds of survival are low."

Sam’s lips pressed together, eyes narrowed. "How low?" Sam asked despite the pit in his stomach. Dean flicked his eyes up to stare directly into Sam's.

"Low. I didn’t push for details,” Dean said openly, honestly. He hadn't wanted to hear it. Iif Sam wanted to know all the specifics of his potential, probable death he’d have to ask Metatron himself.

Silence reigned between them for awhile. The two of them still as statues. Dean waited on Sam and Sam took the time to come to terms with what Dean had just told him.

Eventually Sam sighed and rubbed his hands down his face, pushing deep around the sockets and lightly scratching his cheeks. He let his chin fall onto his palm, staring at the bedspread as he thought. He started shaking his head before he lifted his gaze up to Dean, eyes tired, expression weary.

"I'm gonna die anyway, aren't I? Even if we called it off."

Dean pursed his lips before licking them and gave a small nod in reply.

"So the low odds. They're still the best odds I have of surviving this?"

"Yeah," Dean whispered apologetically, eyes welling up but he held it together.

Sam nodded and cinched his lips to the side as he took a deep breath. He let it out softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. No way he was going to ask if it was going to hurt. If experiencing grace would be torture before his nearly inevitable death, he wasn't going to ask that to find out. If it was grace, perhaps Sam might die in ecstasy with it. He’d go with that and let it lie.

"Native American," he muttered, eyes still closed.

Dean's expression switched from mournful to bewildered.

"What?"

"Native American reservation," Sam repeated tiredly, moving his hand away to look at his brother. He smiled wanly. "They're not called Indian reservations anymore."

Dean raised an eyebrow and snorted. "Such a geek," Dean muttered, shaking his head as he got off the bed. Sam chuckled and Dean stepped up to mess with Sam's hair. He pulled back and sighed.

"I want to make you something. What're you hungry for?"

Sam looked up at his brother and shrugged weakly. "I'm fine with whatever."

"Okay I'll come up with something good," Dean promised, unable to hold back from stroking Sam's head one more time, this time with genuine affection.

"Thanks," Sam offered, managing to give Dean a sweet smile for him before Dean turned away and left.

...

Dean surprised Sam with a collection of healthy snacks. When he asked he realized his big brother actually hadn’t even known about them because it'd been Kevin that had done the grocery shopping.

Celery and peanut butter with raisins, salted tomato slices, plums, ham and cheese rolls, popcorn, apple-cinnamon rice cakes, fig newtons, string cheese, and some chicken-noodle soup were just a few of the items Dean had prepared in his signature slapdash style.

Sam honestly felt like he was eight years old again.

“Ants on a log, Dean? Really?” He asked, staring at the appetizers placed in front of him in bed.

“You know you love it.”

Sam grinned. He did. He found himself enjoying the slight sense of regression in it. When faced with his own impending death, camping out with his brother and sharing a bed in typical childhood fashion, watching movies, eating snacks like these were pure distracting comfort.

Sam never thought he'd gotten the childhood he'd deserved but he was coming to realize that these small details Dean kept adding to their experiences were triggering memories and sentiments he'd forgotten he’d had, perhaps because he’d taken them for granted. Sam impulsively wanted to rebel against the idea he'd taken anything for granted but...

When Sam was sick, injured, hungry or scared as a child, he had been taken care of tremendously well, largely by Dean. The few times he hadn't, he'd been told the truth about why and hadn’t felt any less loved. He’d had the psychological security of that.

As an adult Sam had thanked Dean a couple of times about this but even then he’d failed to examine it as closely as he should’ve. He’d always thought Dean had done the best he could in the same way he thought John had done the best he could. The difference was how Dad had sucked as a father. Sam had forgiven him a long time ago, still loved him and still missed him but that didn’t make his failings as a father any less true.

In comparison, Dean had excelled at being a big brother.

It wasn't fair to put Dean in the same category of "doing the best he could" like he did Dad because Dean hadn’t just done the best he could, Dean was the best. Dean deserved that superlative.

Sam's thoughts were cut short when Dean gave him the option to eat in the tub to save time. Sam had said yes immediately, unable to help smiling over how Dean's offers kept illuminating new memories from Sam's past with Dean, including his strange love for snacking during bath time when he was a kid.

Sam knew Dean was masking things with as many lighthearted perks as he could before they got going on the third trial. It couldn't be undertaken in the bunker and the trip to where grace would flow through him, as directed by Metatron whom Sam still hadn't even met yet, was going to take a week according to Dean.

Metatron had said four days straight but Dean had fought with him on that. Whether it was because Dean couldn't handle the possibility of Sam dying in four days or because he simply knew Sam would need more breaks and a bed every night was up in the air. Either way Sam had started to cry again, this time with relief, when Dean explained to him that they still had at least seven days.

Dean left to put Sam's clothes, extra towels, and the snack platter into the bathroom before coming back to get him. Sam was strong enough to walk down the hall holding Dean’s hand. Dean left him to undress, run the water, and get into the tub alone. After a few minutes Dean knocked and Sam invited him in.

"The hell, dude - the water hot enough for you?" He grumbled, flicking his sweatshirt out over the intense heat and humidity.

"Shut up," Sam replied easily, sinking down to his neck in the water and closing his eyes. "You got the crossword?"

"Yeah," Dean moaned as he sat down on the floor. He pulled his sweatshirt off and stuffed it between his back and the wall before picking the New York Times back up to balance on his knees.

They went through several hints, Sam glibly answering or dismissing certain prompts Dean read out to him as things he either immediately knew or didn't. They were at ten across when Dean stopped and leaned his head against the wall. After a few beats of silence Sam blinked and looked over at his brother.

"What?"

"Nothin'. Just thinkin'... I wanna put you in the back."

"What're you talking about?"

"Of the Impala."

"Oh," Sam replied dumbly, "no," he added, alarmed. "Why?"

Dean shrugged. "It'd be more comfortable, wouldn't it?"

"No," Sam replied immediately, sounding somewhat harassed. "No, Dean, I-" Sam paused, knowing he'd sound about as young as he'd been feeling but giving himself up for it anyway because, well, what did he have to lose? "I want to stay up front with you," he said, regretting how hurt he sounded.

Dean lifted an eyebrow and turned to look at his little brother, smiling at him like he was catching him out on an embarrassing moment. Sam rolled his eyes and sat up in the tub to reach over for the platter of food Dean had placed on the closed toilet lid.

"I'm serious," Sam added, staring determinedly at the platter as he hovered a hand over it, pretending to consider what to eat first. Tentative silence followed, Sam unconsciously tensing over whether Dean would allow it.

"All right," Dean finally said breezily and Sam just knew he was smiling too much.

Sam gave a furtive glance at his brother to confirm before picking out another ham and cheese roll, his own dimples making a short-lived appearance before leaning back against the tub to clear his mind, enjoy his food, and solve the entire New York Times crossword Dean had brought in.

Chapter Text

Dean paced back and forth behind the couch. The fire crackled in the fireplace at the far end of the study where the three of them had gathered in wait. Its flickering light splashed over the worn leather couches and armchairs and ornately carved side- and coffee-tables. Dean would’ve turned more lights on but he was worried they'd further irritate Sam's headache. So they were only lit with the light of warm fire this evening and Dean found himself liking it.

Sam was resting on the couch that faced the fireplace directly, a blanket in his lap, hair still wet, dressed in jeans and as many layers covering his upper body as Dean could wrangle onto him. He'd insisted, claiming it'd be better just in case Sam's temperature started fluctuating. Sam thought it was overkill but he was willing to cut Dean some slack.

With the fire going at a healthy clip and the blanket covering his lower half, Sam was starting to overheat. He was about to take his hoodie off when he glanced at his brother and gave up thinking he could do it without being noticed. Sam sighed, displeased, and his gaze wandered to the armchair beyond the far end of his couch. Kevin was just standing there, holding himself with crossed arms, darting awkward uncertain glances between him and Dean.

"Kevin c'mere, sit down," he murmured, making room on the couch by pulling his feet up. He had to remember that while Dean's angry, anxiety-ridden pacing was old hat to Sam, it could come off intimidating to anyone else. Dean had curbed his attitude on Kevin recently which was a very nice development but right now he wasn’t even thinking about the kid. He was in his own world where nothing short of an onset of another trial symptom would pull him out of it. Sam idly hoped against that.

Kevin had flinched at Sam's offer but tentatively moved forward as Sam kept his expectant gaze on him, finally gesturing impatiently to the other side of his couch. Kevin nodded quietly and came over to sit down, careful to keep space between them. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not gonna break, Kevin," Sam said wearily, moving to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"You okay?" Dean asked suddenly and Sam blinked up to find his brother standing still, looking directly at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam snapped. Kevin's twitchy nerves and Dean's brimming temper were wearing on him. He sighed, trying to release tension, and glanced at the grandfather clock by the side wall. "When're they supposed to arrive?"

Dean checked his watch.

"Any minute now."

"Okay," Sam sighed again. He let everything fall back into tense silence. Dean started pacing again and Kevin resumed fidgeting with his sleeves. "Great," Sam whispered, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. "Just great."

A few minutes and the trio heard the sound of wings behind them near the library's entryway. They all turned, Kevin rising to his feet as Dean stalked his way towards them. Sam grimaced, registering a dull tone thrumming through him. It wasn't like last time though. This time it was sort of low-grade, less invasive and manageable.

"Finally," Dean grunted as he reached the angels, inadvertently blocking Sam's view of Metatron. Kevin made his way to where Dean had been pacing and stopped, unconsciously remaining near Sam. Sam took the opportunity to peel his hoodie off and stuff it between the cushions. He started unbuttoning his flannel too.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Dean. I was busy collecting items for the third trial," Castiel said, nonplussed by Dean's belligerence. Sam gulped, the blunt mention of the third trial a bigger hit to him than he'd expected.

"And that stopped Metatron from making it on time because-?"

"My grace is gone... well, lessened. I needed Cas's powers to take me here," a new, somewhat eager voice spoke up. Sam squinted and leaned back, trying to see.

"Is everyone here?" Cas asked. Dean moved back and impatiently gestured towards the fire. Sam finally saw Metatron while Cas approached.

Sam had to blink a couple times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Metatron, the angel chosen by God himself to take down His words and edicts, was a small, pudgy middle-aged man that needed dental work and looked as though he smelled like cabbage. As he shuffled after Castiel, his posture hunched, his bearing obsequious, and Sam didn’t know what to think in the midst of his shock.

At a loss, Sam looked to his brother who eyed Metatron as he came up alongside them. He was hiding it well enough but Sam could tell Dean was harboring suspicion, even perhaps hostility, towards the legendary yet disappointing figure of Metatron.

Dean’s animosity could be from Sam's blackout though, and Sam was willing to bet that’d been an accident of some kind. He wasn’t sure though. After Dean had dropped the third trial on him Sam had refrained from asking more questions. He'd needed time to get through the denial stage of things. Dean had helped. They both knew this meeting was their deadline to re-enter reality so now he was interested; now he wanted to know why he’d passed out over those searing vibrations he’d experienced.

"Sam," Castiel spoke, startling him. Sam turned, breaking from his gaping at the angel and found Castiel crouching directly in front of him, looking up with piercing blue eyes. Unnerved by the angel's proximity, Sam coughed and adjusted himself to sit up straighter and farther away from the angel's unique intensity.

"Hey Cas," he rasped.

"How are you?" Cas asked sincerely.

Sam softened. "Hanging in there, you know," Sam whispered, swallowing the small lump in his throat that'd developed from the simple question. Sam hadn't realized how unaccustomed he was to hearing anyone other than Dean show such deep and unyielding care for him.

"Um," he coughed, slightly frustrated with himself. Cas tilted his head, compassion lining every feature and Sam felt the sudden urge to push him away. Castiel had this way of pulling the most vulnerable parts out of him. Dean too. Mainly because he looked at them like he already saw them which, Sam knew, he did. "Really I'm fine, thanks Cas," Sam said, firmer this time.

Sam saw something click in Cas's mind. The angel pressed his lips together, gave an imperceptible nod, and backed up.

Sam sighed quietly with relief and looked around the room. Of course, Dean's arms were folded, standing by the fireplace openly glaring at the two angels. Kevin moved to sit back down next to Sam and Sam found himself oddly comforted by it. Especially when he realized that all eyes had moved to him.

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled as he rubbed his thighs. "Okay. So," he licked his lips, "what's the plan?" It was as good a place to start as any.

"We set out for Shelter Bay, Washington as soon as possible," Cas replied immediately.

"What's in Shelter Bay?"

"A church," Metatron answered. His first words spoken directly to Sam. Sam shifted to the angel and Metatron pulled his hands out of his dirty, rumpled jacket to step forward, his hand out for a shake. Somehow it came off as a groveling, sales-like gesture.

"Metatron," he said, smiling as crookedly as his teeth, "at your service."

Sam moved to take the angel's hand until he came close. The low thrumming Sam had experienced earlier in the hallway was back and on every step Metatron took it was catapulting the volume notches higher. Sam jerked back in pain, pulling his hand away to cradle his head under the onslaught.

"Sammy!" Dean called just as Metatron backed up.

"Sorry, sorry, whoa. Ho - okay," Metatron practically cackled, "That's my fault," he acknowledged, putting his hands out defensively and even daring to chuckle, "my bad."

With Metatron stepping away, the quaking in Sam’s head diminished, receding to a tolerable low hum. Sam looked up at the angel, harassed, eyes bright with demands to understand what just happened.

"You're resonating, Sam," Metatron explained, like it solved all their problems. Sam raised an eyebrow, irritated. Metatron straightened, smugly taking his time, enjoying the attention of a captive audience. "You see, you get far enough along with the trials, you start resonating with the Word. Or with its source on the material plane - me," he explained, gesturing to himself with exaggerated grandeur, a satisfied grin, and flushing with such self-importance that it altered Sam's impression of the man.

An inferior with a superiority complex.

One glance at Dean and Cas confirmed his appraisal as they both stared at Metatron with barely concealed disdain. Oblivious, Metatron kept going.

"You see, when we first arrived this morning, I was a full-fledged angel-"

"-but you're not now...?" Sam asked.

"Wait until I’ve finished,” Metatron sniped. Sam’s eyes narrowed. “But no," Metatron answered. "No. No, we bottle-and-capped my grace, or as much of it as we could, so you could handle being in my presence," he explained as he pulled a vial of glowing blue light out of the pocket of his dirty jacket. "Of course, normally it'd just sound like a loud ringing in your ears but since you've been dangling like a fish on a hook to get to the third trial, it's causing damage that frankly you can't afford right now. So for the ghost of a chance you have to complete the third trial,” Metatron snickered callously, “I’ve graciously stored my grace so it wouldn’t affect you."

"He... doesn't get out much," Cas put forth, apologetic. Exhausted, Sam rubbed his forehead and laughed quietly at the excuse, shaking his head. "The fact remains that the third trial requires this location. The four of you must begin your journey as soon as possible.”

Dean straightened, alarmed. "Wait. The four of us?"

"Yes, Dean. Sam, the time between completing the second and third trial was never meant to be this long. You are significantly compromised-"

"Dean told me. It's my only shot to survive anyway though, right?"

"Yes-"

"Hold up. The four of us?"

"Yes. Dean. I cannot take Metatron with me in order to procure the items needed for the third trial when the time comes."

"Why the hell not?" Dean demanded, flustered. Sam noticed Metatron puff his chest out with indignation.

"Because-"

"I can help," Metatron interrupted. It sounded like a whine. Sam could tell the angel thought it a grand declaration though. Dean and Cas begrudgingly looked to Metatron. "I... I can't heal anything with the trials but... but I still have some grace. I can help."

Cas nodded to Metatron and turned back to Dean. "It's true."

"Really? What can you do to help exactly then?" Dean challenged, still looking at Metatron with something bordering on disgust. Sam was sure now his brother flat-out disliked the angel. He wasn't too far behind his brother on that take either honestly.

"He can ease Sam's pain, Dean," Cas began but couldn't finish as Dean interrupted with a clipped shout of outrage before he could even remember to use his words.

"If you think I'm letting you even touch my brother-"

"Stop it. Dean." Cas's heavy voice boomed out, silencing him. Sam shifted in his seat, slightly embarrassed of Dean's protective streak but comforted by it too.

Dean's fury remained burning in his eyes but he allowed Cas to go on. "It is because of Metatron that we know what the third trial is. That we still have a chance. He has risked exposure to the forces of both heaven and hell to help us and he needs sanctuary."

"So he stays in the bunker!"

"No. We need him there."

"Why?"

Cas pursed his lips, the verbal spar noticeably over, his eyes now expressing a helplessness that both Dean and Sam could see but which neither could understand.

It was actually Kevin, who'd remained silent and observant throughout the entire exchange, that glanced to Metatron in time to catch his slow, wide smile spread across the angel's lips.

"Because I'm not going to reveal the final requirement of the trial unless you bring me with you."

Chapter Text

The room was silent after Metatron's announcement, everyone stunned at the brazen ultimatum.

Sam shifted quietly and brought his hand up to rub his lips in thought.

"I think I've found the fatal flaw in this plan," he deadpanned.

"No way," Dean intoned, uncrossing his arms."Plan's off. We're not doing this."

"Fine," Metatron grinned, "then Sam dies," he shrugged.

"You son of a-"

"Why do you want to be with us, Metatron?" Sam cut Dean off. Dean allowed it and stood down but glowered at the diminutive man.

The angel heaved a sigh, opened his arms in appeal to them all, and wearily moved over to sit in the armchair near Sam. Dean bristled. The angel fixed his gaze on Sam with something bordering on compassion but, unnervingly, it lacked authenticity. Sam's attempt at a smile returned a wan grimace.

"I've been in hiding for ages. In that time, I read," Metatron paused for effect.

Sam blinked. "You read?" He asked dumbly, coming up short.

"I read stories, Sam. Stories..." Metratron’s face lit up with wonder, his smile widening enough to reveal every crooked tooth. Sam swallowed sickly.

"Okay..." he trailed off. Metatron’s eyes glittered, waiting for Sam to understand something. After a few seconds, it was clear Sam wasn't understanding anything.

Metatron's dazzled expression quickly gave way to bitter, disdainful frustration. He slapped his knees and stood back up with a huff. Dean, still treating the angel as an enemy in their midst, shifted his stance warily.

Oblivious, Metatron stalked over to the fireplace and started pacing. Dean moved carefully over next to Sam, placing himself between the angel and his brother. His patience was thinning; Metatron's proximity to Sam just now had been uncomfortable for Sam, he could tell, but it’d been outright stressful for Dean.

"You humans don't understand. You create. You become gods yourselves when you tell stories. Don't you get it?!"

Sam's headache was coming back. Through squinted eyes he observed Castiel. The normally implacable angel had straightened and lifted his chin, monitoring Metatron in a way that gave Sam the impression he thought very little of him, God’s scribe though he may be.

Sam’s take was that he was a shut-in that had spent a little too much time reading fiction and not enough time experiencing nonfiction. Just then Metatron stopped grumbling to himself about ignorant humans, stomped to a halt in the very front of the fireplace, and faced them all.

"I want to be part of the story, don't you see?!" He cried. "I've been in hiding for so long, longing for the chance to be my own character in a story. And in truth, what better story could I be a part of right now?"

"Hold on," Sam said, trying to wrap his mind around what he'd just said..

"This is a story to you?" Dean accused, his voice low and threatening.

"Yeah! Yes. Are you kidding?" Metatron burst, then gestured to Sam just as Sam covered his eyes and rubbed his temples, his headache getting worse.

"Sam! You are the hero! You are Gilgamesh, Hercules, Odysseus, the greats! On a quest! For something so noble. Don't you understand? I want in!"

"Unreal," Dean washed a hand down his face and glanced at Sam.

"Au contraire, very real!" Metatron retorted excitedly. Dean shook his head and stepped over to Sam, having noticed he was hunched over and covering his forehead.

Metatron continued to ramble, unaware and running himself into fanatical fervor, his words jostling together into rapid-fire enthusiasm. "Honestly, I've been waiting and this is my chance. I want to go on this hero's quest - a quest which God himself described to me. Oh I knew I could never be the hero - that was reserved for humans," Metatron spat, rolling his eyes.

Dean whispered something to Sam, placing a light hand on the back of his head. Kevin shuffled closer too, watching solicitously, his palm bracing the small of Sam's back as a sign of silent support.

"-but even so, it was always one of my favorites," Metatron continued. "Even back in the day transcribing it I knew I wanted to bear witness. I just knew-"

"Sam, are you all right?" Castiel suddenly spoke up from where he'd been standing next to the fireplace, irritated by Metatron's incessant babbling. At the abrupt interjection, Metatron shot Castiel a glare but soon followed the angel's line of sight to what was going on.

Dean was brushing Sam's hair back.

"What's wrong?" Metatron's voice grated as the angel took a couple steps to lean and hover over them.

"Metatron, please step back," Castiel demanded sharply.

Metatron turned to look at Castiel. "Excuse me?"

"I'm fine," Sam coughed as Dean reached over to grab the pillow Kevin was holding out to him. "Really," he added. Dean put the cushion on the arm of the couch and angled Sam to lean against it.

"Metatron, if you would," Castiel gritted out.

"If I would what, Castiel?" Metatron sniped back, straightening indignantly to face him.

"Kev, go get the bucket and some Tylenol, will you?" Dean asked openly, no longer even vaguely interested in the angels' conversation now. Kevin nodded and disentangled himself from the blankets to get the items.

"Tylenol won't help anything," Metatron snorted.

"Metatron," Castiel nearly yelled.

Sam gritted his teeth, blinked and fixed his gaze on his brother. Dean leaned forward, knowing Sam only wanted to be heard by him.

"Get rid of him, will you? Just for now," he whispered tiredly.

"Yeah," Dean murmured, pushing Sam's bangs back one more time before turning around and standing up to face the angel.

"Metatron, you want to be part of the story? Clear out. We need time to consider," Dean said, his tone brooking no argument.

Metatron, unaware or perhaps just ignorant and obstinate enough to believe Dean was no threat, ignored the man's tonal cues and bypassed his implicit authority.

"You don't have time to consider, Dean Winchester," Metatron pressed, "I am giving you the opportunity-"

"Metatron," Sam interrupted angrily, his voice gravelly but surprisingly strong. His unblinking gaze fixed on the angel. "If you've read the stories - the classics - you understand betrayal, do you not?"

Metatron licked his lips and took on a uniquely petulant bearing.

"Yes, but-"

"Then you realize that if you betray us, I will die," Sam stated firmly.

"I won't betray you!" Metatron brayed, practically stomping his foot. "And you'll die anyway!"

Struck, the room went silent. Metatron slumped, knowing he'd crossed a line and disappointed they weren't looking past it.

"Leave us," Castiel said quietly, "and we will consider your offer, Metatron."

Metatron took a second, fury building as he looked at each of their distrustful expressions. He stared at Dean, who was covering his little brother from view now.

In the middle of the stand-off, Kevin entered back into the study with the bucket and Tylenol. Metatron's beady eyes tracked the boy's body language which practically screamed apprehensive caution. He put the bucket on the floor below Sam and settled down next to him without a word, handing the Tylenol over too.

"Thanks Kev," Sam murmured.

Metatron frowned, every inch of him radiating indignant pride, impotent anger. He wasn't receiving the automatic trust and gratitude he obviously thought he was due.

"Fine," he wailed, disgusted. He vanished on his own finger snap, vaguely reminding Dean of Gabriel, yet another douchebag angel... but one that still pulled through for them in the end. Hopefully Metatron would be the same.

The fire crackled loud and crisp in the angel's wake. Kevin coughed. Castiel's posture relaxed. Dean swore. Sam let out a sigh of relief and rubbed his eyes.

"He's a fucking psychopath," Dean ruled. He pulled the coffee table closer to the edge of the couch and sat down in front of the sofa Sam and Kevin were on.

"Sociopath," Sam corrected dryly.

"Agreed," Castiel sighed. He stepped forward and sat next to Dean, closing the tight circle around Sam.

"Kevin... what's your... verdict?" Sam struggled to ask between reflexive swallows.

"Um..." Kevin stalled, worried about Sam.

“My head’s better now but my stomach,” Sam strained, holding himself around the waist.

“Okay, here,” Dean murmured as he handed Sam a water bottle to wash down the Tylenol he'd fished out of the bottle earlier. At his first gulp, Sam's stomach seemed to revolt. He made a muffled sound of pain which had Dean pulling Sam forward over the edge of the couch and lifting the bucket up for him.

"I'm all right, 'm all right I think..." Sam said and spat into it. No blood, just regular saliva. No water or pills either. All good signs. “We should talk about Metatron. What he just said," Sam said sickly as he pulled up wiping his mouth.

"Are you well enough to have this conversation?" Castiel asked, eyes round and sincere.

"It's only going to get worse," Sam rasped. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," Castiel said evenly. "Illness and death typify human suffering."

Sam gave a withering smile and a sarcastic thumbs up.

"Great, thanks Cas," Dean commented, putting the right words to Sam's actions.

Silence reigned over them as Sam regained steady breaths. "I think we should go for it," Sam said finally, looking at Dean, knowing his big brother would be the hardest to convince.

Castiel nodded. "I agree. There is no reason not to."

"What? What about the betrayal thing? Sam, you said it yourself," Dean argued. Sam shook his head.

"If we do nothing, I die-"

"We don't know that, Sam."

"Dean," Sam called softly, wide, red-rimmed eyes seeking Dean's, "we do know that."

Dean grimaced, his emotions getting the better of him as he looked at his brother slowly wasting away.

"We don't," Dean rebutted, swallowing thickly. "If Metatron is betraying us, it'd make perfect sense to manipulate us like this. Of course he would say you’ll die if we don't trust him."

"Metatron claims Sam will most likely die even if we do trust him, Dean," Castiel said, his voice low and careful. Sam looked at Cas and realized the angel was easy to face. His distinguished bearing and measured sympathy afforded Sam an emotional breather, a moment to assess the costs and benefits of Metatron's offer rationally without seeing abject fear in anyone’s eyes - in Dean’s eyes.

"Metatron has no reason to betray us. His reason to join us, to be... part of the story," Sam repeated the angel's words with a bitter edge of repulsion, "is too pathetic to be false." Dean huffed in agreement over the insult.

"I found Metatron on a federal Native American reservation. His home held no furniture; just literature stacked to the ceilings and a single armchair. It seems as though he is telling the truth about his background," Cas provided.

"Yeah but," Kevin started tentatively and all heads turned to face him. Kevin tensed but pressed on, "I mean... if he's a sociopath like Sam said, what if betraying us makes for a better story in his mind? He doesn't know the difference between right or wrong, he just wants a great story, right?"

Sam gave a small smile and noticed he may be the only person present that ever had the opportunity or interest in reading much classic literature.

Sam stretched. "I think we're just going to have to hope he thinks it's a more interesting story if he doesn't betray us."

Chapter Text

Sam's fever was up, rendering him slightly delirious. He was zoning in and out, Dean answering his questions with simple words but otherwise keeping quiet, trying to let him rest. At the moment, Sam was just staring at the blanket he was clutching, the only source of warmth Dean was letting him have as he wiped Sam with a cool wet washcloth after stripping him down to his tee and boxers.

The blanket was more a lightweight comforter. Soft light blue on one side, colorful patchwork patterns on the other. It reminded Sam of a blanket he used to have as a kid. He and Dean had been taught earlier than most children to drop toys and stuffed animals as juvenile comforts. Sam had found a loophole in blankets though. Blankets were practical.

Dean found his loophole in Dad's jacket, which was even more practical. The jacket was damn near a fail-safe actually: John was attached to the jacket. If he wanted his kids to drop their items of sentimentality, John would have to start with his own damn jacket.

Though a blanket was reasonable to carry with their lifestyle, it wasn't as protected as their dad's jacket. Sam would bet John would've thrown his favorite comforter away if Dean hadn't covered for him.

Dean really went to bat for Sam during the summer months in particular, appealing to the true survivalist in the patriarch that saving at least one warm comforter was a necessity if John's hunts took them to, say, the desert - where temperatures could fall to forty degrees or lower at night even in the summer. Or higher altitudes, the Rockies or Appalachians where it could reach equivalent lows.

Sam idly wondered how Dean knew about those things. Dean had been young when he'd made those arguments. It wouldn't have surprised Sam if Dean, anticipating their father's decision to ditch his favorite blanket, had asked a teacher if it got cold anywhere in the U.S. even in the summer. That sounded like something Dean would do.

Dean also never told Dad Sam loved that blanket. Dean knew though. Whenever Sam was sick or sad, leaving behind a school or new friends, Dean would pull the blanket out of the trunk loudly claiming Sam looked cold as an explanation for Dad in the front seat, and spread it over them.

Dean kept that blanket long after Sam really had a need for it. Growing up the way they did it was difficult to ignore how blankets failed to deliver half as much security as weapons or knowledge about what was out there in the dark. Grew up Sam did, quickly, with his father drilling no-nonsense skills, tactics and information that'd protect them and then with his brother secretly allowing him whatever vestiges of false childish comfort he could still glean from his favorite blanket or toys or books...

When Dad finally ruled Sam's blanket was no longer useful in any sense of the word, it'd been riddled down raggedy, stained, and molted fluff with so many holes it'd accumulated over the years. Dean didn't have a leg to stand on when he tried to keep it.

Sam had been so surprised Dean had still wanted to keep it. Even more surprised he'd looked so helpless and hurt, watching from the passenger seat as Dad found it in the trunk and said it was gross. "It’s basically a huge rag now," he’d chuckled and then dropped the thing in a dumpster in the parking lot of their motel.

Later Sam had quietly promised Dean that it was fine, he didn't need the blanket anymore anyway and Dad did have a point that it'd gotten nasty over the years. Unfortunately, somehow that wasn't what Dean had wanted to hear. With every reason Sam gave him about why it wasn't a big deal, he got the impression that he was just making it worse for Dean because his brother kept looking sadder and sadder.

Eventually he'd snapped at Sam to drop it and Sam, bewildered and frustrated that he hadn't succeeded in making Dean feel better, did.

Sam was remembering these things as his fever burned on, these little things from such a long time ago.

He remembered now loving the blanket for what it was. He'd stare at the patchwork patterns and imagine each patch was its own universe going on and on for infinity in the same pattern. Sam was just lucky enough to catch a glimpse of them all because he had the blanket that wove all those little universes together. Just for him. No one else understood.

Well except maybe Dean would.

"Dean," Sam breathed, fingering the comforter, playing with the rifts and folds of each universe, nostalgia creeping up on him. "They're universes," Sam said distractedly, feeling a washcloth brush down his leg, the cool water sliding down his skin and onto the mattress.

"Sam, what?" Dean asked, a hint of humoring his sick, loony brother in his tone.

"The patches. They're uni...verses," Sam informed, realizing his teeth were chattering. "'M cold," he added, looking down.

"Yeah but you're running a fever still," Dean replied as he moved up and pressed his hand against Sam's forehead. He wiped Sam's bangs away as he pulled back.

"When're we leaving?"

"Few hours. Kevin's packing up," Dean said heavily.

"Where's Metatron?"

Dean gave a sly smile.

"Outside. Waiting."

"Really?"

"Cas is making sure he stays put," Dean said with a satisfied sneer.

Sam huffed and let his eyes drift around the room. He was going to miss Dean's room. He didn't want to leave. The thought of it seemed to catch his heart in a vise, each and every thing that could go wrong, especially knowing their luck, running through his head, and he wouldn’t be able to deal with any of it in the comfort of Dean’s room.

And another pang of distress. There was some bizarre fear of outside that he'd never really known before, of surroundings that he just wouldn't be able to control, that couldn’t guarantee predictability or safety or ease for anybody.

Even approaching faceless waitresses at diners seemed daunting, knowing he looked the way he did, knowing anyone setting their eyes on him were likely to fear him over the stigma of whatever illness they’d think he had. It made him ‘other,’ something that made normal people nervous, skittish or scared. Sam didn't want that. He so desperately didn't want that.

Dean would be his buffer. Sam knew he wouldn't be able to find anyone else in the world better than his big brother to be that for him. The anxiety still gnawed though. The stress alone it would put on them was winding its way through Sam's nerves, twisting into something that he knew could easily keep spiraling if he didn't calm down.

Sam breathed and forced himself to relax. He turned back to the comforter. He examined the patterns on the blanket and thought of the universes.

Dean leaned forward, pulled an edge of the blanket out of Sam's arms to better cover his chest. "Little universes, huh?"

Sam’s eyes widened with surprise. “You ‘member.”

"Mmhm, looks like the one you had as a kid," Dean said softly, almost wistfully and if Sam didn’t know better he’d think Dean was getting as dosed with nostalgia as he was. "So what's this patch?" Dean asked, pointing to a perfect robin's egg blue, "the Smurf universe?"

Sam told himself he couldn’t start crying again. It’s just that he’d forgotten that Dean would always ask Sam to tell him about the universes he imagined in each patch before bed. It had put them to sleep so many times.

"It's, ah,” Sam blinked the water out of his eyes, “the Cerulean Universe.”

“Cerulean, huh?”

"Yup.” Sam popped the ‘p’ at the end. Dean chuckled.

“It’s a good word," Dean complimented, pulling the blanket up to Sam’s chin.

"Dean, Cerulean," Sam repeated loopily.

“I got it,” Dean laughed affectionately.

Sam was starting to feel better and more lucid. Dean placed a damp washcloth over his forehead which woke him up even more, allowed him to think more clearly about their meeting with Metatron. He'd been wondering about how Metatron had referred to him.

"Dean?"

"Mm?"

"What Metatron said... D'you think I'm a hero?"

"No," Dean answered, "I know you are."

Instead of a blushy smile like Dean was expecting, his little brother's expression shifted to analytical confusion. Something wasn’t adding up for him.

"What?" Dean asked gently.

Sam swallowed thickly, his eyes roaming the bedroom before they settled, looking up at his brother. "You used to read to me..."

Dean snorted and gave Sam a disbelieving smile. "You want me to read to you?"

Sam's faced screwed up with annoyance. "Shut up, no. Knights of the Round Table... from, uh... that old Classics Illustrated comic book..."

"Uh huh," Dean murmured, curious where this was going. He pulled the wet washcloth off Sam's forehead, dunked it into the bucket of water and strung it out. "Had all of King Arthur's knights and they were all on the quest for the holy grail," Sam explained. He looked to Dean to make sure his brother was following.

Dean nodded and placed the wash cloth back over Sam's forehead. Sam swallowed nervously. "I, um... I remember looking at this picture of Sir Galahad. He was kneeling and... light was... streaming over his face." Sam pulled his hands out from under the covers to gesture the inspiring image from memory. He let the silence stand, thinking about his next words, and his hands sunk slowly back to the bedspread, his posture visibly sinking with them. His eyes were red and watery from the fever but Dean could see there was an emotional attribute to them now too. "Dean, I remember thinking... I could never go on a quest like that."

Dean leaned back, surprised. "What? Why?"

Sam grimaced, disliking the sharp quality of his brother's voice. He was running the risk of Dean not understanding and dismissing this without helping Sam come to terms with it. Sam took a deep breath and braced himself for that possibility. He was going to tell Dean the truth though. He had enough courage to do it and enough hope that Dean wouldn't shut him down; that his big brother would hear him out.

"Because I'm not... clean," Sam confessed. The shame and vulnerability he felt must have been reflected in his eyes because Dean immediately softened.

"Sam," he started, his voice calm and sympathetic. Just the sound of it made Sam want to break down. He knew he couldn't though, not if he wanted anything solved here.

"Deep down, I knew. I always knew..." Sam trailed off, looking down at the covers. He needed to get this all out before Dean could refute him outright. It was difficult to admit though, much less to his brother. Sam swallowed and a single tear broke free and ran down his cheek. "Even when I was just a kid. I knew I had demon blood in me. The evil of it... inside of me. I knew, Dean. Even then I think I knew that I'm... I wasn't pure."

"Sammy," Dean whispered heavily and Sam gazed back up at his brother. Dean reached out to stroke a hand through his hair. "You're worthy, little brother. You’re a hero. You’re my hero."

Sam's lips quivered and his sinuses stung. He couldn't cry over this though - he'd promised himself he wouldn't earlier so instead he closed his eyes and breathed. He breathed and let Dean card through his hair and focused on how good it felt even if he didn’t deserve it.

"It doesn't matter," Sam sniffed, "because these trials... they're purifying me."

Dean's hand stopped where it was, at the top of Sam’s head and Sam blinked up at him. His brother’s expression had shifted from compassionate to objective. He gave one more stroke against Sam's hair, his hand's gentle exit, before pulling back and tilting his head.

"You think you were throwing up demon blood?" He asked, his voice still quiet but harder than it was before.

Sam shrugged miserably. "Yeah," he coughed, "don't think it's gonna work though."

"Why?" Dean retorted, his tone harsher still. Sam didn't answer immediately. "You defeated the devil, Sam."

Sam gave a small shake of his head and rubbed his nose, trying to get out of the emotions and into the debate to meet Dean where he was.

"That was different..." he explained, sniffling and blinking back the last of his tears.

"How?!" Dean shot back, annoyed.

"Because I was made for Lucifer," Sam replied honestly, simply.

Dean's face pinched with irritation. "You weren't made for anythin-"

"I can deal with demons because I have their blood, I could deal with the devil because I was born his vessel," Sam counted, his voice level and rational. Unfortunately it only seemed to rattle Dean more.

"None of that was your fault, Sam!"

"No but it was my fate, Dean!" Sam shouted back, now somehow pissed because Dean was pissed. Somewhere in the back of Sam's mind he wondered how they did that to each other. Something about unconscious mimicking, a need to meet and join the other in their temperament. Or perhaps anger loved company just as much as misery. Surely, if one of them was anger they had no problem pushing the other's buttons as an invite. On the heels of that thought, Dean practically stomped on one of Sam's.

"So what?!" Dean yelled, repeating the childish phrase that would always have Sam climbing the walls with frustration while they were kids. Sam would be arguing a point - Dean wouldn't like where Sam was headed with it - and then his big brother would snap So what? Dean always made it sound like Sam was pulling points out of thin air, turning and twisting them into unnecessary and biased theories, opinions and conclusions. But they weren't then and they weren't now.

"Listen to me," Sam gritted out, "If Metatron is right, the grace of God has to channel itself... through me, Dean."

"Yeah. And?"

Sam spread his hands out at Dean with exasperation. "Dean! Come on! Of all the people in the entire world I would be the last person anyone would expect to survive God's grace.”

Dean pursed his lips and stared at his brother, his eyes telegraphing a strange mix of emotions. Wild concern was one, like Sam had said something that was making Dean question his little brother's sanity. That element was both comforting and unnerving to Sam, that Dean believed in him so much he thought Sam might really be going crazy if he didn't share the same faith in himself. The second primary emotion coming off his brother was fear though. Pure, unadulterated fear. Sam didn't know what exactly it was he'd said that was causing it but he suddenly wanted to take it back.

He couldn't though. It was already out there.

Dean cleared his throat and when he looked back up at Sam, his eyes were wet and when he spoke his voice was gravelly. "You're wrong."

"Okay," Sam backed down. This wasn't meant to be confrontational. He realized if he continued, he’d just freak Dean out more. Using a better, more reasonable tone of voice, Sam proceeded. “Just… all things being equal. This quest, the final trial. There's nothing about who I am that gives us an edge here. It actually gives us nothing but disadvantages across the board." Sam was as calm as possible, speaking carefully so as not to strike Dean's nerves again. "That's... all I was trying to say," he whispered.

"Sam," Dean started, a pained look on his face, "haven't you realized that all we've ever been dealt are disadvantages? Man, this is no different from all the other times the odds have been stacked against us."

Sam had started shaking his head before Dean had finished and cut in immediately when Dean was done. "We've always dealt with evil. This is different, Dean. This is God. And I've..." Sam tried to swallow the lump in his throat, "I've done things..."

Dean flared at that. "You saved the world, Sam!" Dean yelled and Sam, ever able to follow his brother, let out a huff of disbelief.

"I started the end of the world! I was Lucifer's vessel. I murdered innocent people and-"

"You're not a monster."

"Yes I am!" Sam shouted back, his voice cracking halfway through, a mix of anger and frustration and defeat breaking his resolve to sound strong or steady. He should’ve calmed down, should’ve leveled out but the slapped look on Dean's face made him push on in a desperate bid for Dean to come around and acknowledge it. "Yes I am! And you know it too. Deep down you'll always know it, same as me. That night - St. Mary's Convent - my fate and my choices combined to make me a monster. There was and still is no redemption for me on that... or any of the other things I've done. You said, that night, there was no going back from the monster I'd become and you were right. Your words still stand, Dean. They'll always stand." Sam was breathing hard. At some point he'd sat up against the headboard, throwing the blanket aside to focus solely on his tirade.

Now that he was done though he noticed the confusion in Dean's expression.

"When... did I say that, Sammy?" Dean asked, his tone devoid of angst or anger. Just pure, and oddly worried, curiosity.

"That I was a monster? Right before I-"

"No. The other thing," Dean replied distractedly. He looked down, eyes darting around in deep thought trying to recall what Sam had described.

Dean remembered the parking lot, telling Sam that he didn't think they could ever be what they were to each other. Sam had lost his trust, yeah, but he'd never said there was no going back for Sam in particular. He'd never been that contemptuous of his brother.

Dean had said something close to it once to Sam but only after Sam had provoked him to say it and then punched his lights out. The conversation hadn't continued any further than that.

Dean snapped back to look at his brother, wondering if Sam was putting words in his mouth deliberately.

Sam bit his lip and looked down at the bed, guilt and self-loathing radiating off him as he thought about the events that'd led up to St. Mary's Convent. Sam shrugged, trying to minimize any obvious tell of how much the memory of something, something Dean clearly didn't remember, hurt him.

"The voice mail, Dean," he said simply.

Chapter Text

"The... voicemail..." Dean paused, trying to remember. “The one I left you where I said we were still family?"

"What?" Sam practically snarled. "You called me a monster, a freak, a... a bloodsucking vampire," Sam gritted out. "You said Dad said you either had to kill me or save me and you were done trying to save me. You were giving me 'fair warning,'" Sam air-quoted but it only showcased his shaky, uncoordinated hands. "You said you were done trying to save me."

Dean was looking at his brother, disbelief and sympathy playing across his face, shaking his head like that wasn't what he'd said.

"Don’t do that. Don’t look like that! You said it. I wasn't me anymore! There wasn't any going back!" Sam’s voice broke.

"Sam... no..." Dean reached out but Sam slapped his hand away.

"Fuck you! Yes you did! You said that and you knew. You always knew." Sam cried, tears finally breaking free as his anger and grief mingled, reliving the memory. "The next time I was going to see you," Sam's voice cracked, "you were going to kill me," he cried.

"Sam, I apologized," Dean corrected, coming closer, his hands out. He endured the responding rain of pushes and shoves Sam tried to make hurt. "I never said any of that."

"You hated me!" Sam rasped, hitting Dean right in the solar plexis when he was coming too close. It knocked the wind out of Dean and he backed off. Tears streamed down Sam’s cheeks. "It was too late, you said," Sam choked out. "I was evil! Dean, I'll always be that and... and I never knew why you didn't just kill me after because you knew it too."

"Stop," Dean cut through, shocked and furious. He gripped one of Sam's wrists just as Sam hit him again and pulled it into a full extension.

"Dean, no!" Sam practically shrieked, so pitched in distress that Dean almost let go. But Dean held on, determined.

The kid's automatic response after all their training should have been a punch to Dean's chest or face with his other arm. Dean braced to block it but instead Sam just reached up trying to get his arm out of Dean’s grasp.

Dean winced as Sam strained and cried gasped pleas to let him go. He was taking advantage of Sam, he knew. He was born physically and emotionally compromised but Dean couldn't let this stand. Plus he was only trying to restrain him. Once Sam exhausted himself he’d be able to listen.

Sam was looking worse though, his face and neck flushed, his body trembling with fury and fever. To speed this process up he grabbed Sam's other hand and pulled both arms down and crossed them against Sam's chest. Dean sat directly in front of him, holding his brother’s forearms tight so Sam’s elbows overlapped each other. Dean had effectively strait-jacketed his little brother and felt horrible about it as Sam struggled to get out of the hold, huffing and wheezing, his hair wet and sticking to his red, feverish face.

Sam seemed to give up and go limp under Dean’s hold. Dean held tight still, knowing it could be a ruse. Sam used to do fake-outs as a kid while they sparred. He’d rest under Dean to gather his last reserves and build an element of surprise for his next power move. It was never powerful enough to get out of whatever hold Dean had him in but they were always good tries, Dean always gave him that.

And Dean would've been okay with that. He even would have preferred it compared to what did happen.

After a heavy, almost self-calming, exhale, Sam's face twisted into unbearable anguish and he curled away as far as Dean's hold on him would allow. A wave of convulsive sobs and gasps shook and rattled through his little brother's body. Dean couldn't find a word for the sound of his brother falling apart like this.

Sam remained limp under Dean, only moving so far as to get as comfortable as possible under Dean's hold, rolling into himself. He turned his head away, folded his knees up.

Dean found himself letting go and Sam just settled his hands against his chest to hug himself. He reclined and pressed himself against the nearest pillow to muffle his cries.

Dean bit his lip, trying to stop himself from getting emotional over just the sight of Sam like this. He dragged the patchwork universe blanket over, nudging it against Sam's chest. Sam latched onto it, unthinkingly reaching for more, the soft fabric getting squeezed so hard Sam's knuckles went white.

Dean extracted himself carefully, trying his best not to jostle Sam, treating him like a fragile glass on the edge of a table. Sam didn't even seem to notice, now almost completely in his own world of self-loathing and hopelessness.

Dean knelt on the bed facing Sam, uncertain if any kind of affectionate touch would be wanted. When Sam gave a few hiccuping whimpers into the pillow, sounding like he was having trouble breathing, Dean stepped in and placed a delicate palm against Sam's back.

"Sammy," he whispered, "calm down."

Sam trembled under his touch and Dean started rubbing his back.

"Breathe, little brother, come on," Dean almost begged, reaching his other hand to thread through Sam's hair.

Dean bit his lip when Sam didn't respond. He moved up closer and lined his forearm up with Sam's spine and left a warm palm against the back of his neck. Sam reacted with a small inward motion like he wanted to pull away but didn't have the strength to do so. It was breaking Dean's heart. He had to say something, had to make this better somehow.

"Sam," Dean said softly, "I promise you. I didn't say any of that. I... the angels had me on lock down," Dean explained, knowing Sam knew about that weird angelic green room. Sam knew too because he'd seen it himself in the warehouse in Van Nuys where Dean had again nearly lost all faith in his brother.

Recalling that memory prompted Dean to think and feel like he was the shittiest brother ever. Twice was too many times to refuse the benefit of the doubt to Sam.

Still, Dean had never reached the point of harboring actual hate for Sam that he’d described he’d heard in the voicemail. Dean had never fallen into the trap of contempt for his little brother. He'd been on the brink of it once before Bobby had ripped him a new one but Sam had never been privy to that. And Bobby had successfully convinced him. He'd been thrust into that stupid room with nothing to do but stew over Bobby's words, the past, their father, his decisions, his attitude, and he'd called Sam to reach out, apologize, take back what he'd said in the motel room.

Dean closed his eyes, tried to remember the exact words he'd used.

"I called you. You didn't answer," Dean spoke in simple, short sentences. Sam had begun to quiet and Dean knew he was listening. "It went to voicemail. I... I said... um," Dean gently tightened his grip against Sam's neck reassuringly, "I was still mad. I owed you a serious beat down," he started and stopped when he felt Sam tense. He moved his hand up to Sam's head, brushed the kid's hair back affectionately, trying to comfort him. "I said I shouldn't have said what I said in the motel room. I told you we were still brothers, still family..." Dean trailed off and found himself leaning in and whispering the rest of his words. "No matter how bad it got, that was never gonna change. Sammy, I'm sorry," Dean breathed, channeling the memory of it through him and no longer interested in framing it like it was something from the past.

He was hovering in so close to his brother. Dean waited, frozen in place no more than two inches between them when Sam gave a jolted cough and without even looking into his brother's eyes, twisted around and reached out.

Dean wrapped him up immediately, desperate to pick him up and hold him in his arms.

That's what they did now. The sky was blue, the grass was green, Dean hugged and kissed and cuddled his sick little brother.

Dean had expected the trials to cause damage but he hadn’t anticipated how many wounds would be lanced and healed too.

Sam clung to him as he pulled him into his lap. "That's not what I h-heard," Sam gulped between sobs. "I swear... I swear..." he wept, "if I had heard that... I wouldn't've gone through with any of it," Sam finally choked out with gut-wrenching regret.

Dean ducked down against Sam's neck. "It's okay, it's okay, Sammy," he whispered, starting to rock them back and forth. He could feel Sam's heart beating rapidly, the kid shattering against him as he tried to say more.

"I w-would've come back t'you," Sam promised wetly, "I would've... would've left her," he added tragically.

Dean froze, realization dawning. He pushed Sam away and thinking he'd said something wrong, Sam moaned unintelligibly, distraught and reaching back out for his brother. “Dean, please no, I’m sorry,” he begged.

"Stop, stop, Sammy, it's okay, it's okay, lemme look at you," Dean hushed quickly, trying to stamp down Sam's cries. Dean framed Sam's face with his hands and tilted him up to look into his eyes. "Sammy, did you really hear that voice mail? Of me saying those things? You weren't in withdrawal hallucinations or anything?"

Sam’s breathing was still unsteady and tears slipped down his cheeks but his eyes focused under his brother's intense scrutiny. He shook his head.

"No I'd... had…” Sam swallowed nervously, ashamed. “I was fine. I swear, Dean, I heard something else. I heard what I told you I heard," he said, his voice crackling with a raw, sore throat.

Dean’s jaw clenched, disturbed by the implications and thumbed the tears off Sam's face. Sam blinked and sniffled under his brother’s ministrations, his eyes wide and vulnerable, seeking his big brother’s direction how things were going to go next. He'd take anything Dean was going to say and they both knew it. It killed Dean there was still doubt, still some unknowable fear in Sam's eyes that Dean was going to reject him. Like this conversation would reignite some sentiment Dean had once had that Sam was evil and deserved nothing. A sentiment Dean had never had.

"Sammy," Dean breathed, "we got played," Dean said, brushing Sam's hair back before pulling him back into the hug.

It could've been either side, the angels or the demons. Hell, it could've been both sides conspiring together. They'd never know. But if Sam would've left everything to come back to Dean just from hearing his voicemail then it would’ve had to have been tampered with by one or more forces that wanted Lucifer to rise.

Dean's blood boiled thinking about Zachariah or Ruby, both the closest ones with the power and motivation to do such a thing.

"We got played? What?" Sam whimpered, voice trembling even as he grasped onto Dean, tucked his chin in over the back of Dean's neck and held on. Dean's thirst for vengeance, his hatred for what'd happened between them when they'd only still just been kids in their fucking twenties. They were too young to handle any of it. Too naive to believe something as mundane and easily accessible as a cell phone message could be twisted and altered into something that'd end up tipping the scales between preventing or beginning a fucking apocalypse.

"Someone fucked with my voicemail, Sammy," he whispered into Sam's ear, hugging him closer, "I never said any of that."

With those words Sam immediately tensed, his body telegraphing his comprehension. Once accepted, Sam melted against his big brother in defeat. His tears dried, exhaustion overcoming him, and Dean could tell things were coming to a close.

Dean hung on to his brother too as he angled and leaned against the headboard, the pillows uncomfortably lumpy against his back but he didn't care. His focus was only on Sam, whose fever-warm body was still steady and breathing and depending on him.

"You've never been a monster, Sammy. I've never given up on you... and I never will," Dean said, picking his words carefully. Sam responded, clinging back on to Dean, desperate and relieved all at once to hear his words. "You're my hero, Sam," Dean said, his voice surprisingly gravelly now, eyes watery, "and you're gonna survive this, all of this," Dean promised, and let the pause linger for emphasis, but also to get himself together for what he was going to say next. "You are good and you’re pure, Sam."

At the last word another tear broke under Dean's eye. He wiped it off and sniffed just as he felt Sam's body jerk with his own short sob.

"I love you," Sam said, his voice wet and wobbly.

"I love you too, Sammy," Dean breathed, propping his little brother up higher against him to get more comfortable. Sam went with it and found the most comfortable position chest to chest with Dean then landing his head back on Dean's shoulder with his head facing out at the room.

They stayed there for awhile, Dean monitoring Sam's heart against him, Sam trying to figure out where to go from where they were but failing because his thoughts were muddying again. His eyesight and focus was degrading, so he let his gaze drift down to the Universe blanket.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, dropping a hand from the tight grip on his brother's back and reaching out for the cover.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Can we take this blanket with us?"

Dean quirked the first smile he'd had in awhile and huffed a breath of relief, reaching out to help Sam grab the comforter and pull it over them.

"'Course, Sammy," he said roughly as he angled them downwards more so he could lie down. He spread the blanket out over them, Sam still attached and wrapped around his side. When they were settled Dean gave a weak pull to Sam's shoulders to get him to come up and break his head over the covers. Sam complied weakly, sniffing wetly, still getting over the emotional fireworks of the past hour, and tucked his head in just below Dean's collarbone.

Dean heaved a long, drawn-out sigh and tried to relax. Sam's breath and heartbeat was syncing up with his. As he fell asleep, Dean didn’t move an inch and would have if the world depended on it.

Dean found himself slipping into his own sleepy reverie.

When Sam had been a baby, Dean was older and bigger and he protected Sam from his nightmares. The nostalgia Dean felt was unmistakable now where spooning his little brother was as common these days as it was back then.

But it wasn't called spooning when he'd been a kid and it wasn't really spooning now. Just like Sam clinging to him now wasn't cuddling. They were all just words, things they'd learned were sappy, useless, or stupid as they'd grown older as boys under a single ex-military father. Dean was only willing to admit the words technically fit them and what they did but it didn’t feel the same as what everybody thought of it as.

As kids Sam and Dean had needed the comfort, the closeness. John had been that way to Dean once, giving him hugs and kisses. Dean knew it wasn't wrong. He just knew things were darker after Mom died; Dad stopped being so affectionate. Dean took the cue from his father but he remained affectionate with Sam. He carried that piece of what it was like when Mom was still alive on.

It was resurfacing now. Dean was discovering he could be as affectionate as he used to be. It was the trials. And it wasn’t just Dean pulling from when they were kids.

In every way Sam was a fully functional thirty-year old man but at what point did the constant face of death destroy the pretension of maturity?

As Dean held his little brother asleep in his arms, felt the man's heart beating, echoing the sounds of the same heart coming from the baby he'd been thirty years ago, and not finding any difference, Dean knew that point.

Chapter Text

Sam's eyes snapped open. He was on his side, completely unable to move with Dean practically on top of him, his lead-heavy arm across his chest, elbow digging into his stomach. If that wasn't enough, Kevin's nervous whispers, the kind he used when he was trying to sound delicate, was coming from behind them like he thought it'd be more appropriate to speak to the backs of their heads instead of being a normal person and facing them.

Passive-aggressive coward, Sam thought irritably just before gasping with pain as Dean jerked awake with an accidental jab straight into Sam's stomach with his elbow.

"What?" Dean murmured sharply.

"Gah-"

"Guys!"

"What's happening?"

"Damn it, Dean!"

"Sorry," Dean murmured, pulling off Sam to twist around and look dazedly at Kevin. Sam winced and rolled forward onto his stomach, willfully ignoring the conversation between Dean and Kevin for a second to get over the gut punch his dear brother had just delivered.

"-ready to go in like... ten, fifteen minutes," Kevin whispered.

There was a pause, Sam writhing around to get comfortable and Dean still staring up at Kevin blankly.

"What?"

"We're ready to go."

"What time is it?" Dean perked up, making the bed shake, causing Sam to groan weakly into the pillow. Dean put a comforting hand on his back. Sam slapped it away.

"Whoa," Dean said, ignoring Sam's temper, as he looked at the time.

"Can you be ready soon?" Kevin asked. "Cas and Metatron-"

"Yeah yeah we're up. We're good, Kev. Jus' give us a few," Dean drawled, rubbing his eyes.

"Okay," Kevin replied, slowly back away, "s-sorry," he added.

"Shut up," Dean said kindly, waving him off.

Kevin left the room and again there was blessed silence. Sam heard Dean sigh, could tell Dean was wiping his face clear of sleep. Sam burrowed into the pillow, his stomach roiling now not just from Dean's elbow but the anxiety of leaving too. They had to be ready in fifteen minutes? No way. He couldn't do this right now. He felt nauseous.

"Dean," Sam murmured heavily into the pillow.

"Yeah," Dean replied groggily, still bleary.

"We're not really going in fifteen minutes, right?" Sam said with a weird mix of anger and fear. He'd also accidentally made the statement a question. He wanted Dean's assurance he wouldn't have to do this so soon. He definitely needed more time before getting ripped out of their home here in the bunker, headed for his nearly inevitable death. He needed his brother to tell him, agree with him. It was asking too much. The time frame was unreasonable. He'd just woken up for god’s sakes.

"Yeah Sammy," Dean replied softly, still not moving from his spot in bed next to him. Sam's chest was constricting, the dread starting to get to him. Dean wasn't on his side for this?

"Dean, no. I can't. We'll go tomorrow morning or something."

Dean angled down to look at Sam, an eyebrow raised. "We gotta go, dude," Dean said in a way that indicated he thought he was stating the obvious. He quirked a small smile. "You can handle it, tiger," he added, knocking his fist against Sam's shoulder.

With that one simple gesture, Sam's fear twisted into anger and he hit Dean's hand off him. "No. We're not going yet. I don't want to," Sam said, steadfast.

Dean's expression shifted to annoyed confusion. "You said we should go. So now we're going, Sam."

"We will. Just not now." Sam turned his head on the pillow so he wasn't facing Dean.

The bed was still for a second, Dean obviously thinking about Sam's behavior. "Any new symptoms?"

"No. I'm just not ready."

Dean let out an impatient sigh and got out of bed. Sam closed his eyes as Dean made his way around to Sam's side. He heard the sounds of Dean getting dressed, inwardly building his anger. If Dean thought he'd be getting Sam out of bed and thrusting him into this death trap of a journey before he was ready, he had another thing coming.

Sam waited for Dean to talk to him before opening his eyes again. Instead he heard the sounds of a wheelchair unfolding and angry curiosity got the better of him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sam practically growled as Dean finished with the wheelchair and started rolling it to the side of Sam's bed.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Dean snapped back, leaving the chair next to Sam. "I'm gonna go grab our things. Your ass better be in that chair before I get back, you understand me?"

Sam clenched his jaw and stared daggers at his brother, determinedly still lying down in bed. "No.”

Dean shrugged and turned around to leave the room. "Suit yourself," he said as he was about to walk out.

Sam whipped up in bed. "If you think you're going into my room to pack my stuff-"

"What? What'll you do, Sam?" Dean shot back, gesturing to his brother in bed.

"I swear to God," Sam said through gritted teeth.

Dean rolled his eyes and left the room.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, furious.

"Get in that chair, Sam," Dean warned from the hallway, "or I'll put you in it myself."

In the hallway Dean could hear his brother's response echo from their bedroom.

"Fuck you!"

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head, annoyed by his brother's attitude. He was just about to go into Sam's room when Kevin appeared. He nodded as the kid approached.
"What's up?"

"I wanted to grab a few of the med supplies you have in your room. We were holding off until you guys woke up."

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," Dean chuckled. "All of it's outdated anyway. We'll hit up a hospital or clinic or something on our way."

Kevin whispered a breathy "okay" as he started to move towards their room again. Dean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"What?" Kevin asked.

"What else?"

Kevin looked slightly uncomfortable and shrugged under Dean's hand.

"Just... wanted to see Sam."

Dean gave Kevin a small amused smile before shaking his head.

"Wait outside - you'll see him in fifteen minutes, all right?"

Kevin looked surprised but nodded his acceptance. "Okay," he said openly as he turned back around to head back outside.

...

"They'll be out in like fifteen, twenty minutes," Kevin said as he walked up the steps to the road outside the bunker. Metatron stopped pacing to look at him, gauging the veracity of the statement.

"Good," Castiel responded evenly.

"More like about fucking time," Metatron sniped. "What the hell have they been doing in there anyway?!"

"Sleeping. Sam needs his rest," Cas replied.

"And what's stopping him from getting some in a car?" Metatron countered. "We gotta get this show on the road. Otherwise our 'faithful hero' will drop dead within fifty miles of here!"

"Metatron, this is the thirteenth time I have respectfully asked you to stop making statements such as those."

"Well they're true!" Metatron insisted, bending his knees and whipping his arms open with frustration. He looked to Kevin with wide eyes, implicitly asking for support. Kevin just stared him down and shook his head with disapproval. Metatron sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.

"Humans," he muttered with disdain, resuming his pacing. "Y'know. Real stories - the good ones? They don't keep us waiting on their characters."

"This isn't a story, Metatron," Kevin shot back.

"Oh whatever," Metatron waved at Kevin dismissively. Castiel looked to the sky and prayed for patience.

A few minutes later and the door to the bunker opened to reveal Dean bringing a few packed duffel bags out.

"Finally!" Metatron spat, then realized Dean had come without his brother. "Where's Sam?"

Dean, unabashedly ignoring Metatron, set the bags down and looked at their setup. A white van was parked behind the Impala - Dean had been sure to tell Kevin and Cas that if Metatron was coming with them, he'd be driving separately. He studied the van.

"A white windowless van, Cas?" Dean eventually asked, turning to the angel. Cas tilted his head, confused. Kevin smirked.

"I said we should spray paint 'free candy' on it," Kevin offered, smiling.

"I don't understand."

"Me neither," Metatron shrugged, looking at the vehicle.

"This van is suspicious, Cas," Dean explained, uninterested in full disclosure. "Is it too late to switch it out with something else?"

"What would you prefer?"

"Something comfortable for Sam if he has to lie down in the back. Kevin?"

Kevin nodded and walked over to Cas.

"Can you take me with you? We're looking for like a minivan or SUV..."

Cas nodded. "Of course," he said just as he touched Kevin's forehead and they disappeared. Dean sighed.

"They'll be back in mere minutes. Will you?" Metatron asked pointedly. Dean pivoted in pace to stare at the angel, obviously trying to keep his temper in check.

"Get those bags in the backseat," Dean finally said. He began to turn around when Metatron snapped, the bags vanished from the ground, and Dean spotted them stacked onto each other in the backseat of the Impala.

"Hurry, up," Metatron enunciated seriously.

Dean grit his teeth together and walked down back into the bunker.

...

Sam was up, his fury at Dean having galvanized him into sharp, pissed movements around the bedroom as he got dressed. He was still nauseated and feeling warm but otherwise he was in acceptable condition. He heard Dean's footsteps down the hall coming towards him before his voice echoed through into the bedroom.

"Sam, I got our bags packed. They're outside. Cas & Kevin are picking up an extra vehicle so we don't have to deal with Metatron. How are you doing?" Dean stopped at the threshold, staring at Sam putting an over-shirt on. "You're up," Dean said, surprised.

"Yeah. Didn't need a stupid wheelchair," Sam muttered viciously. Dean leaned against the door jamb in thought. Was Sam pissed at him or the wheelchair on that one?

"Well... good-?"

Sam stopped what he was doing and looked at Dean with vitriol.

"I'm not ready, Dean," he said sharply.

"I don't care, Sam," Dean returned. Sam pursed his lips, eyes lit with rebellion against his brother. "What the hell, Sam. Drop the attitude," Dean said, grabbing the Universe blanket off the bed along with a few other pillows.

"This is mean," Sam said lowly, watching Dean fold the bedding haphazardly. "I just want one more night."

Dean finished gathering the stuff together in his arms and sighed from across the bed. He fixed his gaze on Sam.

"You're not going to get it. You said we'd go. And now it's time to go," Dean said calmly.

Sam swallowed and looked away, his eyes watering at the injustice. Why wasn't Dean bending on this when he'd been so lenient about everything else?

"You can do this, Sam."

"I can't. You're wrong," Sam said shakily.

"You really think that?" Dean asked worriedly.

"Yeah," Sam whispered, looking down.

A few seconds of silence passed. "Well," Dean huffed, "guess we'll find out. C'mon, little brother."

"I hate you for making me do this," Sam whispered. He didn't see it but it was that moment that triggered Dean into matching Sam's terrible mood. It also happened to be the moment Sam forgot about wanting to take a tour of the only home he'd ever had; to say a final goodbye to the only place he'd ever felt safe.

"C'mon Sam," Dean said harshly as he grabbed a fistful of Sam's shirt and tugged it sharply towards the door with him. Sam reacted by hitting Dean's wrist.

"Don't... fucking touch me," Sam said and Dean let go as he saw Sam was following after him into the hallway. He was practically seething; Dean could feel his brother's eyes drilling into the back of his head and it was getting on his nerves.

"You're such a fucking brat," Dean whispered loudly.

"You're a piece of shit," Sam shot back.

"Well you're a fucking moron that wants to delay saving the world."

"One night, Dean. Wouldn't make a difference after we've spent weeks here and you damn well know it," Sam argued.

"I don't know that. And you don't either, Sam."

"It's called logic, asshole."

"I don't even know what you're talking about right now," Dean said quickly with a dismissive wave as they started climbing the stairs. Dean heard his brother mumble something probably scathing but he'd already turned off his interest in Sam's shitty mood.

Halfway up the stairs to the bunker's entrance Dean realized Sam had stopped to just stand on the steps, his shoulders hunched in and arms clutched across his chest, shivering. His face was down, probably inwardly battling the request which only further irritated Dean.

"Sam just fucking ask, will you?" Dean said sharply, pulling the Universe blanket out and roughly flipping it out and around Sam's back to the front. He tilted his head down to see Sam's expression. Sam was no less pissed but he grabbed the ends of the blanket to keep it wrapped securely around him.

"This isn't enough. I need a jacket-" Sam commented snidely after he'd taken two more steps up.

"So we'll get you a damn jacket, Sam," Dean muttered angrily, pushing the heavy door open to the bunker and letting the blast hit Sam straight in the face. "Oh. Sorry," Dean deadpanned as Sam dealt with the shock of wind, recovered, then braced himself to keep going.

"Such an asshole," Sam murmured as he passed Dean to go outside.

...

Kevin and Cas had returned with a dark gray SUV. Kevin had asked Metatron to move their gear into the less sinister, more family-friendly vehicle to give him something to do so it’d keep him quiet for a few minutes. Unfortunately Metatron had just snapped and it'd been done. He resumed his litany of complaints. He made Kevin want to scream.

They were saved by the door to the bunker opening and he heard Sam's voice filter out.

"-an asshole."

"Shut up," Dean's sharp command responded immediately. They trudged up the exterior stairs to the street as Metatron leaned over the railing to take a look at them.

"Hey guys!" Kevin greeted cheerfully, "Sam-"

"Don't talk to Sam - he's being a pissy little shit right now," Dean offered belligerently as he walked to the back seat of the Impala to throw the pillows inside.

"I'm not... God," Sam breathed.

"Sam?" Castiel prompted, interested.

"I'm not ready to go," Sam said determinedly. "This is fucked up. We're leaving too early."

Cas tilted his head in sympathy, Kevin looked to Dean, and Dean sighed with frustration as he leaned against the car.

"WHAT?!" Metatron yelled, stepping forward, his eyes bugging out. Sam gripped the ends of his blanket around him tighter but he stood his ground. "Are you insane?! We've already wasted precious time on your stupid nap! Do you even understand how ridiculous this has all been? How much we've been needing to get going since the moment Castiel found me?!"

Metatron was slowly approaching Sam during his diatribe. Dean stepped closer, begrudgingly protective.

"You are a tiny, insignificant, sniveling ant that's been given the opportunity to die for something so much more important than you... and you want a full night's rest?! Who the hell do you think you are?!" Metatron shouted, his last sentence forcing Sam to take a step backwards.

"That's enough, Metatron," Castiel said.

"What the hell is he even wearing, Castiel?!" Metatron whined angrily, "Look at him!" He gestured to Sam, now huddling and trembling under the Universe blanket, defeated sadness and fear in his expression.

Metatron bent forward, hands on knees.

"Is that your blankie, Sam? Is our fearless hero really-"

"Okay, shut up," Dean interrupted, voice steady and deep as he reached his brother. He wrapped an arm around Sam's back protectively and Sam bit his lip as he looked at the ground, allowing it.

"But-"

"Get in the car," Dean ordered.

Metatron sneered at the older brother for a few seconds until he gave up, rolled his eyes, and huffed with disapproval before turning around towards the minivan.

"A blankie," Dean muttered contemptuously, then shouted back at Metatron, "you look like a fuckin' hitch-hiking serial killer and you're calling a blanket out." Metatron shot him a dirty look and flipped Dean his middle finger before getting into the passenger seat of the van.

"I really don't want to drive with him," Kevin murmured to himself, massaging his temples.

Ignoring Kevin's comment, Dean pulled Sam slightly towards him and the Impala.
"C'mon."

Sam took one step forward and shrugged Dean off him, his temper somehow flaring right back.

"I didn't need that."

"Oh my God," Dean breathed, rolling his eyes as he let go and walked over to Cas. He heard Sam open & close the Impala's passenger door as he moved to face the angel. Cas's eyes were squinted, his gaze focused on what Dean had no doubt was Sam getting into the car.

"Sam seems-"

Dean held up his hand to cut Cas short.

"You going to get the pieces we need for the third trial?" Cas hesitated before nodding. Dean mimicked the angel's confirmation and looked into his eyes. "You be safe, okay?"

"I will, Dean."

"And check in on us whenever you get a chance," Dean said, his voice rough but it was still a clear hopeful request.

Cas' lips turned up slightly and nodded. "Okay."

"Good."

Cas stared into Dean's eyes for longer than necessary. Dean allowed it, now completely accustomed to this. He got the impression that Cas enjoyed looking into his eyes, his soul. It was both flattering and uncomfortable but Cas was an angel. In the number of ways he could have gone wrong as a member of his species, looking into Dean's eyes was as innocuous as it got.

"I will see you soon, Dean. Good luck."

Dean nodded. "You too."

With that, Castiel vanished and Dean took a moment. He washed a hand down his face. A minute later the sound of Kevin's voice registered close by and Dean turned. He spotted the kid by the passenger seat window talking to Sam. Taking a few steps forward, Dean opened the driver's seat door and ducked in to join the party.

"What's goin' on?" Dean interrupted. Kevin stopped immediately and looked at him like a deer caught in headlights while Sam shifted to stare out the windshield, determinedly silent.

Dean was better at reading his brother so he focused on him: a scarlet tinge running to the apples of his cheeks, jaw clenched, wide open unblinking eyes refusing to meet his gaze.

Was Sam embarrassed?

Kevin coughed and Dean raised his gaze up to the passenger seat window. "I was... just saying that Sam could get some rest in the back of our car if he wanted," Kevin explained hesitantly.

"Uh, okay. Sam?"

Sam clenched his jaw repeatedly and gave a small sharp head shake, eyes still focused straight forward at the road. Dean raised an eyebrow when he looked back up at Kevin.

"Um, okay. I was just checking," Kevin said, backing up. Kevin awkwardly waved and said goodbye to them before turning back to the minivan.

Dean glanced at Sam before pulling out his keys and turning the ignition.

"That was weird," Dean murmured distractedly as he let the engine warm up. Sam finally let out a huff and bent his head down to rub it.

"What?"

Dean couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the hint of a dimple through Sam's fingers.

"Sam," Dean prompted lightly. Sam put his hand down and looked at his brother wearily, a tiny smile playing on his face.

"He... he said he'd noticed..." Sam rolled his eyes and chuckled once before looking back at Dean, "he was offering the minivan so we could 'have some space,'" Sam air-quoted.

Dean's expression shifted from curiosity to a knowing grin.

"Aw," Dean undertoned.

"Shut up," Sam said, smirking, "jerk."

"Bitch."

"Dean... sorry-"

"Shut up."

Dean shifted to drive and they started down the road, Kevin's gray SUV pulling up right behind them.

They were off.

Chapter Text

Under any other circumstances, Dean would be jumping for joy. Back behind the wheel of his baby, on the road with his brother next to him, cleaned & polished loaded weapons and a fully stocked first aid kit riding in the trunk. These moments were usually what his dreams were made of. He just needed Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Simple Man" on the tape deck and a couple cold ones in the cooler to round out the surface perception he had everything he could possibly want.

Spring was sneaking up on them too. As Dean had passed the sign welcoming them into Nebraska headed for Kearney to pick up I-80 West, he idly started to appreciate the signs of life struggling to bloom under the unseasonably cold weather.

It had been half past three when they’d left Lebanon. The sun was setting. Bits and pieces of technicolor flora were draining to the blue-gray hue of dusk.

Depending on how Sam was doing they'd either stop in Kimball or they’d push through into Wyoming and hit Cheyenne for the night. Normally Dean wouldn’t question it and push them through.

Things were obviously different now.

Dean listed the drawbacks in his head: a douche angel and an innocent kid driving in the car behind them. It'd seemed natural at the time that Kevin would be coming with them but about an hour ago it had occurred to Dean that Kevin could've stayed back, safe in the bunker, getting the break he deserved.

Dean should've realized, should've been thinking in the kid's best interests like that. For once he could've handed Kevin the key to the bunker and pushed him off their path and out of danger.

Then again, Kevin had to have realized the opportunity himself, right? He was a smart kid. But he hadn't mentioned anything... and after rewinding and replaying the past couple of weeks, Dean had to square it with himself that Kevin wanted to come with them. Dean considered it a terrible judgment call but he had to admit it sort of felt good.

Then there was Sam beside him. Normally a good thing, granted, but Sam was still wearing that pinched look, what Dean called his bitch faces. Again, normally not a big deal but combined with his pale face and his body looking too small under the Universe blanket he had wrapped around his entire body, Sam's bearing was more unnerving to Dean than what a negligible and fleeting nasty attitude would otherwise be to him.

Dean kept the music off, uninterested in getting on Sam's nerves. He'd also been unusually quiet, stomping down on his compulsion to ask Sam if he was okay every fifteen minutes. He knew he had to allow Sam whatever down time he needed to get over things.

Dean flicked the headlights on when he saw Kevin do the same in his rear view mirror. His eyes had simply adjusted to the dark as he'd been thinking about what he was going to ‘borrow’ from whatever lucky hospital or clinic they chose.

Maybe he should just rob an ambulance? All the equipment in there was meant for a vehicle anyway. On second thought, why didn't Cas and Kevin just get an ambulance to drive?

Dean shook his head and rubbed his eyes. It was probably good they didn’t; it’d freak the shit out of Sam if they always had an ambulance behind them for him. Still, the idea of just hitting up an ambulance had merit. He needed a wheelchair though and he was pretty sure they didn’t keep those in ambulances.

Sam shifted next to him, drawing the blanket tighter across his chest and stomach and sighing as he leaned forward.

"You cold?" Dean asked, breaching the silence that'd been hanging between them for the past couple of hours. It was more specific than "are you okay?" so he figured maybe he'd be in the clear.

Sam swallowed and shook his head. "No," he replied quietly, keeping his arms wrapped around his waist. "My stomach's just..." he trailed off miserably.

"Nausea?" Dean gripped his hands on the wheel to stop himself from reaching out to feel Sam's neck. If there was one thing Sam couldn't handle when he was sulking it was unwanted touching.

"Nah."

"Hungry?"

Sam swallowed again and let out a deep sigh as he leaned back. He shook his head with his eyes closed.

"Constipated?" Dean prompted, forcing neutrality in his tone and expression.

"Uh," Sam huffed, "no, Dean," he said but there was no heat behind it. Dean glanced at his brother. Sam's eyes were half-open, idly staring at him.

"You still in a shitty mood?"

Sam sighed tiredly. "Maybe. I don't know," he replied honestly. Dean kept his face forward with his eyes on the road.

"We'll stop. North Platte. Maybe one more hour to go," Dean offered. In his peripheral vision he saw Sam nod in acknowledgment. "Just hang in there," Dean added softly.

Silence reigned in the car again after that. Dean called Kevin to let him know where they'd be stopping for the night. He heard Metatron in the background complaining about the premature halt and, as had become habit hearing the angel's voice, Dean felt like punching something.

About forty-five minutes later Dean honestly thought Sam had fallen asleep. To his surprise Sam's voice was smooth with wakefulness when he spoke, albeit dull with exhaustion.

"What bag did you pack my stuff in?"

"Huh?"

Dean gave Sam a double-take, confused.

"My duffle - which one did you use to pack my stuff?"

"Uh... I don't know. Are you feeling better? We're about fifteen minutes awa-"

"I have a blue one and a green one," Sam interrupted and for a second Dean thought Sam's inner brat was surfacing again until the kid's voice softened, "Please Dean - do you remember which one you picked? It's important."

"Why?" Dean couldn't help but ask, his curiosity getting the better of him. He felt Sam's eyes on him and risked another glance. Sam was just staring at him, looking like something significant really was hinging on his answer here.

"I... think... the green one-?" Dean finally said. "Now do I get the prize?" he joked, turning to Sam to gauge his reaction.

His heart sank when he saw it though. Sam seemed crestfallen, like Dean's answer had just stolen something from him. Sam's eyes were glistening with unshed tears, his mouth parted slightly with the shock of having lost his... duffle.

"Sammy-?" Dean prompted, worried now. Sam snapped out of it and took a deep breath as he wiped his eyes and shook his head. "Sam what the hell was in the blue bag?" Dean asked.

"Nothing," Sam sniffed, shaking his head and looking determinedly out the passenger door window. "Really it was... it's nothing."

"Dude, it's obviously not nothing-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted, cutting his brother short. "It's fine. It's my fault anyway," he said lowly, flipping the blanket covers around him sharply and trying to settle back into his seat.

Dean made a face, annoyed Sam wasn't letting him in on this. "What's your fault?"

"Dean, drop it. We can't go back. It doesn't matter," Sam whispered, still looking out the window.

Dean had nothing better to do with his frustration than to clench his jaw and grip the wheel tighter. A few minutes later he heard Sam sniffling and out of the corner of his eye saw him surreptitiously wiping his face off with the blanket.

Whatever they'd left behind in that duffel was a big deal. Knowing Sam, Dean was willing to bet dollars to donuts it was something embarrassingly sentimental he didn't want his big brother knowing about. Maybe a gift from Jess or photos of the dream he'd been living at Stanford. Maybe Kermit, Dean thought with a small twist to his heart. Maybe it was something with Amelia, the girl he'd fallen in love with while Dean had been in the fight-or-die trenches of purgatory.

Dean loved his brother but sometimes it hurt to know Sam only ever wanted out. Dean was a packaged deal: companionship and hunting. One didn't exist without the other for him and Dean knew Sam. Dean knew that if they hadn't been fated and forced by heaven and hell Sam would've left him a long time ago in search of a companion that wouldn't hunt.

Just like Dean knew now that once the trials were over and Sam closed the gates to hell once and for all, his little brother would leave him for whatever was in that damn blue duffel... and Dean would have to let him.

Dean coughed and rubbed his own eyes, wishing he'd never gone down this train of thought. Sam wasn't going to leave him for awhile, he reassured himself, and they had way more important things to think about anyway. Things like Sam's survival. The kid had to live before he could leave and out of all the people Sam had chosen or would ever choose to be with throughout his life, Dean would always be the best one at keeping him alive. Dean shifted in his seat, realizing he could rest easy knowing he held that place.

Dean pulled onto the main street in North Platte and caught another glimpse of his brother under the streetlight. His eyes were red and sore but his cheeks were dry; Sam must have relaxed five or ten minutes ago from the looks of it.

"Almost there, Sammy," Dean murmured sadly, slowly recognizing his brother's emotional stresses were cutting them both down more than he had anticipated.

He caught the small nod Sam made against the window. Dean wanted to reach out, rub Sam's back or something, but held off just in case.

His cell went off at that moment, distracting them both. Dean grappled for it a few seconds before pressing to accept Kevin's call.

"Yeah?"

"Hey are you guys pulling into the motel up ahead?"

"S'what I was thinking, yeah."

"You want us to grab dinner?"

Dean blinked, surprised. "Uh... yeah," he replied dumbly.

"What do you guys want?" Kevin asked and Dean saw the SUV behind them slowing down and signaling. He glanced beyond Sam through the passenger window just in time to see a diner he hadn't noticed pass them by.

"Um. Burger and fries for me... Sam?"

Sam flinched out of whatever reverie he'd slipped into.

"What?"

"Food?"

"Not hungry."

"Get Sam a sandwich," Dean said, speaking back into the phone, "something plain." Sam rolled his eyes with a small smile and shrugged.

"Yep you got it," Kevin replied and disconnected.

Dean set the phone down as Sam turned around in his seat to see Kevin signal in an empty street and pull into the diner.

Dean pulled them into a Lucky Duck Motel, a relatively reliable chain, and Dean parked near the office.

"Sit tight okay?"

Sam nodded. Dean got out and just before closing the door Sam piped up. "Hey-!"

"What?"

"Can you put us as far away from Metatron as possible?"

Dean snorted then stopped, realizing Sam wasn't making a joke. He tilted his head with curiosity, still crouched into the car.

"The, um..." Sam blinked and twirled his hand like he was trying to remember a word, "the resonating thing-"

"Is that still happening? I thought he'd capped his grace so you wouldn't have to hear it."

Sam shrugged lamely. "It's still there... but... not as bad, y'know?"

Dean winced in sympathy and continued to look at his brother. His unpleasant attitude aside, he was in rough shape. Hollow cheeks, greasy hair, and wrapped up so tight in the Universe blanket he was practically swaddled. As soon as he could, Dean wanted Sam fed and warm and asleep in bed.

"All right. Be right back," Dean murmured and closed the door behind him.

He jogged in, ordered three rooms after some thought, one as far away from them as possible, used a fake credit card, got the keys and jogged back out within seven minutes exactly - Dean kept track.

He turned the ignition, pulled out of the space and moved further into the parking lot, getting as close to their room as he could. The headlights lit up their door number as he pulled in.

"Here we go," Dean mumbled absently, shifting Baby into park and turning off the engine. He shifted to face Sam. "Okay, how you doin'?"
Sam didn't turn to look at him. It seemed like he hadn't heard him even though Dean was positive he had. He just stared at the door, lucky number thirteen, his expression numbly impassive.

"Sam-?"

"We just... left," Sam said suddenly, his tone equally devoid of emotion, his eyes still staring at the motel room door. Dean waited on his brother.

"I just... wish..." Sam trailed off, took a deep breath, and shifted his gaze to down, letting his hair fall forward.

Dean bit his lip, considering, then got out of the car. It took two seconds to come around and open Sam's door.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean whispered, reaching into the folds of the blanket for him.

Sam sighed and nodded, getting a hold of Dean's arms and using them as leverage to get up. He rose to a full stand and faltered.

"Whoa, okay," Dean murmured, taking a step between Sam's feet and hugging him. "We're good. It's okay."

"I'm okay," Sam rasped. His grasp around Dean's shoulders loosened. "Jus... got dizzy for a sec."

"Okay," Dean replied easily. He pulled off and moved in again so they were side-to-side, Sam's arm around his shoulders, Dean's arm around Sam's back. "This okay?" Dean checked.

"Yeah," Sam answered and with that they took their first steps towards the door. Dean licked his lips nervously, knowing his words had to come now while Sam was focused and distracted on something else.

"Listen, Sam," he started, then waited for Sam to tell him to shut up. When nothing like that happened Dean called it a win and kept going. "We had to pull the band-aid off fast on the bunker, man. We weren't ever gonna feel good about leaving."

"Dean-"

"Let me finish," Dean interrupted but then he had to stop anyway because they'd just made it to the door. Dean fumbled with the lock device a couple times before it beeped green and they continued their slow march into the room.

"You're gonna make me a list, okay?" Dean said, bypassing the first bed from the door.

"What?"

"Of all the things I missed when I packed for you in the bunker," Dean continued, seating Sam heavily onto the second bed.

"Dean-"

"And when Cas comes back," Dean huffed as he sat down next to his brother, "we'll ask him to go back and grab whatever you want."

Sam blinked at his brother dumbly before a spark of hope lit up in his eyes. Dean smiled kindly and hoped his own twisted sense of loss and jealousy over whatever was in Sam's bag wasn't coming through.

"I hadn't even thought of that," Sam sighed happily, visible relief coursing through him as he leaned forward and balanced his elbows on his knees. Dean shrugged, keeping his smile intact.

"I know. I'm pretty awesome, right?" Dean quipped. Sam chuckled and nodded, grinning now. His face had a little more color too now.

It was bittersweet. Dean rubbed Sam's back encouragingly, trying to find and isolate the happiness flowing through Sam to funnel it into himself and just leave it at that. If Dean dug any deeper he'd realize Sam was saying he needed mementos and reminders that Dean knew nothing about. These things that would anchor Sam with hope for a better life after all this... a life that wouldn't include Dean.

Dean swallowed and blinked a few times, trying to get out of this bullshit head space.

Sam was oblivious, rubbing his hands together and pushing his hair back, his light and energy seeping back into him. Dean hoped his appetite might boost as a result too.

The older brother's resolve strengthened. Whatever Sam wanted, if it was going to help carry him through, it was worth it. It was all worth it.

"No list," Sam said suddenly, looking at Dean like he had just set him free. Dean quirked an eyebrow.

"What?"

Sam shook his head, smiling. "No list. Just... just that blue duffel," Sam replied, his voice smooth and excited. Dean raised both eyebrows expectantly and when Sam just kept looking at him with delight, Dean lifted his hands up and shrugged.

"Okay," he said, getting up, not fully understanding but hey whatever. "I'll be right back," he added, getting up to get their bags.

Fuck it, Dean thought. Anything his brother was this happy about had to be something Dean could be happy about too.

Chapter Text

After getting their bags inside Dean asked Sam if he wanted to wash up or anything and Sam declined, still feeling drained. Dean acknowledged it and figured in that case he'd take a quick shower and ducked inside.

Dean didn't close the door to the bathroom, better to hear if Sam called for him, so when the shower spray went on it was loud and clear. Sam sighed and finally slumped down onto his pillow. It took a few sore moments of moving like an old man to successfully get his feet up on the bed.

He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. He kept accidentally coming back around to how he'd always taken his health for granted. He lifted his hands to look at them, examining the delicate bones, the veins on the inside of his wrist. Even though he'd literally died several times before, his life had never seemed so fragile to him as it did now. The blood flowing through his body, his heart beat, small rhythmic streaks of electricity pulsing through him, were the only things keeping him alive, allowing him to exist and think and hold this beaten & hell-ravaged soul inside.

Perhaps it was the state of his soul that allowed Sam to withstand the trials' symptoms. He felt no sense of resentment towards his body's failings. Perhaps it was a fitting symmetry of a kind: a battered soul wouldn't feel betrayed by a battered vessel.

Sam recognized his dramatic musings for what they were when Dean's terrible off-key rendition of Skynyrd's Simple Man blared out and echoed from the bathroom's acoustics. Sam huffed a small smile and sighed again. He took in the motel room's decor. The curtains were maroon with a chevron pattern, the floor carpet a dark brown floral disaster, and the bed linens featured some nice shades of murky green. The boring landscape artwork was framed by wood spray-painted gold. Sam could tell because the paint was chipping and flaking off.

Sam turned over and found his Universe blanket. It was particularly cheerful and stood out in the drab room with its bright colors and patterns. Sam pulled it up and spread it out over his queen-sized bed. Sometimes the little things made all the difference these days.

As Sam huffed back down onto his bed, slightly out of breath, someone banged on the room door.

"Hey it's me!" Kevin called from outside and Sam frowned.

"Hold-" Sam coughed, "Hold on Kev." He listened for his brother, who'd stopped singing at some point but the shower was still running. "Dean!" he hollered, and the water turned off. "Dean!"

Dean appeared soaking wet and dripping with a towel cinched around his waist with one hand.

"What's up - what's wrong?" He asked seriously, looking Sam up and down with wide eyes. Sam swallowed and looked apologetic when the door banged again.

"Hey," Kevin called from outside, "it's me."

"Could you get the door?" Sam asked, his words overlapping Kevin's and Dean was already on his way over. He gripped the knob with his free hand and opened the door only so far.

"Get-in-Get-in-Get-in," Dean said urgently and Kevin hopped to, rushing inside with a generic white plastic bag carrying three styrofoam boxes of food. Dean slammed the door shut and padded straight back into the bathroom whispering what sounded to Sam like, "shit fuck it's cold, holy shit, oh my God," before slamming the bathroom door to towel off and change. Before Sam could revel in the comedy of it Kevin got started.

"Please let me eat with you guys here. I cannot handle one more minute with that-"

"Metatron?" Sam prompted knowingly even though, to be fair, he knew nothing about what it'd be like to have Metatron in the passenger seat. Kevin grimaced with wide eyes and nodded as he moved over to Sam's bed, setting the bags down on the mattress between them to pull the boxes out. Sam straightened up to sit against the headboard.

"What's he like?" Sam asked softly, folding his arms across his chest, ready to listen.

Kevin let out a frustrated sigh as he opened the boxes: burger for Dean, grilled cheese for Sam, club sandwich for himself.

"Well," Kevin sighed, "the guy doesn't stop talking, for one thing."

"About what?"

Kevin finished laying the food out on the patchwork bedspread and sat down. He leaned over to untie his shoes.

"Stories - classics mostly." Kevin pulled up to face Sam. He folded his legs under him and reached for his sandwich. Sam swallowed back the small pang of revulsion he felt at the sight of Kevin about to dig in, anticipating how he'd be expected to eat as well once Dean came back. Kevin held the sandwich to his mouth but stopped in thought, then lowered it to talk. Relieved, Sam refocused on him.

"He literally ran through every fatal flaw, archetype, theme, motif, you name it. He talked about so many classics he'd read I was seriously ready to throttle him. Felt like torture," Kevin said sincerely, shaking his head. Sam's brow furrowed and he raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you in advanced placement? That sounds more like an ongoing college lecture more than torture-"

"Trust me, it's torture," Kevin quipped with a smile before taking a full bite of his sandwich. Sam smiled back. The nausea of seeing Kevin eat had passed so that was good. As long as Sam didn't think about having to eat himself he was in the clear so he just left Kevin to chew in silence as he mulled over his report on Metatron. "I think we were right to trust him though," Kevin suddenly spoke up, his mouth half-full. Sam flinched slightly and eyed Kevin curiously.

"Why’s that?"

"Mm," Kevin hummed as a placeholder before swallowing his bite. "I don’t think Metatron will betray us."

"Yeah?"

Kevin squinted his eyes and looked off in thought for a second. "The stuff he was saying… Metatron thinks the trials are only the beginning of your story. I don't think he has any intention to double cross us to," Kevin faltered but Sam nodded easily, "get you killed." Kevin paused to look down and swallow then looked back up into Sam's eyes, "He's so desperate about being part of a story, you know? And since he's chosen yours..."

"He won't let me die," Sam finished Kevin's sentence, nodding. Kevin sighed and nodded unhappily.

"Not peacefully anyway," Kevin said offhandedly before biting into his sandwich. Sam looked up.

"The hell does that mean?" Sam asked, concerned. Kevin froze mid-bite, then resumed chewing quickly so he could answer.

"Metatron kinda... like... really likes bloody endings for heroes." Kevin explained hesitantly, a slow apologetic cringe taking over his expression.

Sam closed his eyes, leaning his head back. "Tremendous," he deadpanned. Kevin winced and put his food down, his appetite no longer what it was. After some time spent in silence, the sound of the toilet flushing in the bathroom snapped Sam back to what was important. He cracked his eyes open to look at Kevin.

"Hey," he murmured and Kevin looked up. "None of that to Dean, all right? He doesn't need to know," Sam whispered tiredly.

"Okay," Kevin promised, nodding earnestly. “I’m sorry.”

Sam made a face and shook his head. “Don’t be sorry.” He sighed. Dean would be out in a second and he needed to change the subject. "Hey," Sam prompted, suddenly upbeat, "does Metatron smell like cabbage?"

Kevin cocked his head to the side, baffled. "What?"

Sam actually gave a small chuckle at Kevin's reaction just as Dean opened the bathroom door wide and sauntered in freshly showered and shaved. He grinned at the sight of Kevin and Sam on the bed, then his eyes really lit up at the food between them.

"Eats!" he clapped his hands together before moving forward to snatch his burger up with relish. "Where's Metatron?" he asked offhandedly as he moved over to the other free queen-sized bed in the room.

"Probably like... standing... somewhere-?" Sam ventured comically, recalling Castiel's penchant for it.

Dean snorted softly as he put his feet up on the bed and grabbed the remote with his free hand. “I got him a room. Probably wasn’t a need,” he said offhandedly. Sam shrugged.

There was a lull between the three of them. Kevin ate as he sat cross-legged on Sam’s bed. It was awkward so Sam sat up straighter and quietly waved for Kevin to come up and lean against the headboard next to him. Kevin swallowed down a bite.
"I’ll go back to my room soon," he said tentatively as he maneuvered himself and his food over next to Sam and watch TV. Dean gave an indifferent nod of approval and went back to channel surfing. Sam rolled his eyes and smiled. Kevin gave a small smile back and bit into his sandwich, content to watch whatever Dean landed on.

The three of them relaxed and Dean murmured "sweet" while chewing his food when he found a station that was only ten minutes into Jurassic Park. Sam huffed and got comfortable next to Kevin. He secretly hoped he wouldn't be found out for awhile that he was the only one not eating.

"By the way," Kevin murmured, leaning in towards Sam so their shoulders touched. Sam's eyebrows raised as he tilted his head slightly to look at him, "he totally smells like cabbage." Sam gave a low-grade laugh and Kevin joined in.

"Cabbage and like... mothballs," Kevin added honestly with disgust.

"What?" Dean asked, turning away from his engagement with the film.

"Metatron smells," Sam supplied, smiling. Dean tilted his head to the side for a second.

"Not surprised," Dean replied comically and went back to his burger. The movie played on.

"I think we have a couple air fresheners in the car," Sam whispered to Kevin.

"Worth a try," Kevin laughed. He glanced at Sam's grilled cheese, still wrapped in the box. "You gonna eat?" he asked openly, but quietly so Dean wouldn't overhear. Sam appreciated it. He sighed and looked at the food. "I can heat it up for you," Kevin added.

Sam contemplated with pursed lips then let it go and nodded. "Yeah okay, thank you," he relented. Kevin beamed and jumped up with the container to microwave. He turned the corner into the kitchenette and out of sight. Sam realized Dean was watching him with a grin.

"You got yourself a fan," Dean teased quietly. Sam glared. "He looooves you," Dean added right after taking a huge bite of his burger and opening wide.

"Ugh you're disgusting," Sam retorted, shaking his head but having a hard time suppressing a smile. Dean laughed.

"Hey man anyone that badgers you into eating besides me gets four stars from where I'm standing," Dean murmured, still speaking in an undertone so Kevin couldn't hear.

"I thought you'd get jealous," Sam bantered back. Dean recoiled and made a face.

"You're weird."

"You're weird. I'm not the one with an unhealthy obsession with somebody else's appetite."

"It's not an unhealthy obsession with your appetite if your appetite is unhealthy to begin with," Dean counterpointed with no heat behind it.

"Of all people to lecture others on healthy diets, you do not get to be one of them. You wouldn’t even know what a salad was if it wasn’t for me."

“I still wish I didn’t know what a salad was,” Dean returned, making them both laugh.

Dean threw a pillow at Sam just as Kevin walked in with Sam's nuked food.

"I thought it was only girls that had pillow fights when they were all together," Kevin quipped then inwardly paused to wonder how the hell he got so comfortable to say stuff like that around Sam and Dean.

"Yeah well," Sam settled the pillow Dean had thrown him onto his lap to serve as his tray, "Dean threw the first pillow."

"I'll admit it: I love pillow fights," Dean offered distractedly, watching Robert Muldoon's character introduction talking about Velociraptors outside the paddock. The joke kind of died with Dean there but Sam chuckled anyway as he reached to take the first bite of his grilled cheese. It was delicious, waking Sam’s tastebuds after a long slumber of finding everything bland. This grilled cheese had some pepperjack in addition to the cheddar though so it had a spicy kick to it that Sam found himself loving.

When Sam had finished half, Kevin left for a second to go to the bathroom. Dean leaned over and caught his eye.

"Hey. It's okay? You okay?" Dean asked freely, a mix between assessing Sam's food and Sam himself.

Sam stared at Dean, his brother's simple check-in having a surprising effect on him. Grateful affection rushed through him and while he wasn’t wrong to feel it, he knew it was also partially due to exhaustion from the drive. He swallowed and nodded back to Dean.

"Yeah... yeah I'm... okay," Sam said haltingly, feeling a slight lump in his throat because it was true and Dean cared.

He pushed it all down. He refused to let this weird moment of weakness get the better of him. He took another bite of his grilled cheese as evidence to Dean and Dean quirked a kind smile and nod before going back to the movie.

Sam blinked the water out of his eyes. He knew he was more than justified to feel these things. The simplicity of them sharing a motel room and watching a movie and eating take-out, it was like any other good memory of basic comforts and care they'd afforded one another over the entirety of their lives.

It was like nothing and everything was changing at the same time. All Sam could think about was how many more nights would he get to have just like this one before he died.

Sam rubbed his eyes harder and forced himself to just eat the other half of his grilled cheese and watch the damn movie.

---

Dean got up to square a few things away as the movie came to a close. Sam and Kevin had fallen asleep in the other bed so he grabbed Sam's duffel and pulled out clothes for him in the morning, picked up some napkins and empty boxes off the floor to throw away. Sam had long since finished with the grilled cheese, the box still on his lap. There was an uneaten corner left inside though. Dean picked up the box and Sam grunted, moving, his eyes opening to slits. Dean unabashedly popped the last corner of the grilled cheese into his mouth and muttered to himself it was good as he crushed the box and threw it into the trash with the rest of them.

"Hey," Sam muttered, bleary.

"Oh, hey. Go back to sleep," Dean replied softly. Sam blinked his eyes open further and sat up a bit more. Dean turned off the TV.

"What? No, I'm awake," he said groggily. Dean gave a muffled snort as he folded his own clothes back into his duffel.

"Oh okay," he said dumbly, rolling his eyes. There was no reason for Sam to insist he was up right now. Dean himself was going to hit the sack in a second anyway. Still if he was up he could give Sam a job to do.

"You wanna wake Kev up so he can go to his room?" Dean asked lightly, nodding towards the kid sprawled out next to Sam. Sam shifted around to get a better look at him.

"He's drooling," Sam said, his voice full of crackly amusement. Dean smiled as Sam laid back down and tossed an arm over his eyes. "I don't wanna wake him up," he said wearily, "I don't even care."

"You sure?" Dean asked, turning off the rest of the room's lights before coming over to his bed and sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Sam.

"Yeah," Sam replied.

"All right. Sleep tight Sammy," Dean said, flicking the nightstand light off and pulling his shirt off in the dark. The heater had been on this whole time and Dean was feeling it.
He slipped under the covers and sighed. Then he realized this was the first time in a while he wasn't sharing a bed with Sam. He spread out, arms and legs akimbo across the whole mattress with a slow sigh of pleasure, hitting the cold pockets in the sheets with his feet and loving it. He listened to his brother's steady breaths and Kevin's small rustling movements on the other side of the bed.

Dean figured Kevin would be a habitually restless sleeper and idly hoped it wouldn't bother Sam too much. Sam wasn’t without his own bothersome sleeping patterns too though. Ever since he was a kid Sam unconsciously inched towards whatever heat was in the bed when he was asleep, especially if he was running a fever. Dean doubly hoped that wouldn't happen. Not that it wouldn't be fantastic blackmail material to see Sam curled up around a poor unsuspecting Kevin - and now Dean pushed himself to recall exactly where he’d left his phone in the room so he'd be able to snap a shot of it if it did happen - but really he just hoped Sam's temperature would remain in a healthy range tonight.

Dean turned over onto his back and made useless wishes to all these ends. With a decisive huff he closed his eyes and soon fell asleep.

Chapter Text

When Sam was two weeks old, he fell asleep in Dean's arms for the first time.

Mary placed him gently in the four-year-old's arms, handed him the bottle, and softly, patiently, guided the eldest brother. Dean could barely contain his excitement when Sam settled and began drinking. He begged his already-attentive mother to 'look it' over and over again and as soon as she assured him several times that she was well aware, he fell silent, grinning as he watched Sammy stare up at him with wide open dark blue eyes with the tiniest specks of gold and hazel.

The bottle was empty and Dean was still riveted as the baby drifted to sleep, eyes closing slowly. Dean pulled the bottle away, his mother whispered for him to be still and quiet. Sam turned his head in closer against his brother.

When Sam was about five months old, Mary would nap and Dean would sneak into Sam's crib. Sam would wake for a moment but then Dean would read stories to Sam that he’d memorized, putting Sam back to sleep. Dean would fall asleep next to Sam too. Mary would wake up to her angels both dreaming next to each other and go do the laundry, her trusty baby monitor in her apron pocket all the while.

In the last couple weeks before Sam was six months, Dean started slipping Sam soft foods. A spaghetti noodle hanging out of Sammy's mouth here, some scrambled eggs smeared on his cheek there, and soon the baby was bouncing on his high-chair eyeing Dean's food instead of his own. Mary relented and started switching Sam from formula to juice and soft baby foods. For barely a week, Dean got to change up the routine by crawling into Sam's crib and finishing off whatever juice Sam had left over in his bottle as he read to his little brother.

At six months, Mary was gone. John handled arrangements, accepted condolences, and investigated the fire. Family friends and neighbors took care of them, supplied them with brand new pajamas and toys. Dean was quiet and refused to speak. He stayed by Sam's side through all of it, diligently watching to make sure his brother wouldn't disappear too.

At seven months old, Sam was big enough and Dean was careful enough for John to allow them to sleep in the same bed. Now that he could ditch the portable crib, John’s vague intentions to travel solidified into something real and dark.

As they traveled around the continental U.S., Sam and Dean sharing a bed went without saying for years. They easily developed preferred sides and positions. Most of the time they simply slept side-by-side, Dean on his stomach and Sam on his back.

Nightmares and Sam would typically squeeze himself in between Dean's shoulder and the mattress until he'd wake Dean at the lowest level of consciousness. Dean would turn on his side and let Sam move in as the little spoon.

Dean preferred that position sometimes, covering Sam like that. He used to fear the shoddy motel ceilings caving in on their bed and comforted himself knowing he was the hero holding Sammy safe and protected under him.

There was one position that annoyed Dean more than any other though and that was when he'd wake up to find his little brother practically on top of him, skinny long legs like a stork’s, arms sprawled across his waist and shoulders like an octopus. Dean would wake up overheated and sweaty and grumble for Sam to get off. Sam would unashamedly grunt back and roll off him. He never apologized though, he never explained why he did it, and he never made a big deal out of it. At some point Dean realized Sam only did it if Dean was having nightmares. Dean stopped hating it so much after that.

After so long living and sleeping together in the same way, both of them were somewhat jarred when Dean started taking John's bed when he was gone. It was the same time John told Dean he was old enough to ride shotgun in the Impala too. At nine years of age, Sam didn't like either development so it was a slow transition. Dean still slept with Sam when their dad had his bed and every once in awhile Dean could be flattered and begged to sit in the backseat with his little brother. Sam was shameless about letting Dean know how much he was wanted, how much his company sitting right beside him mattered.

While Sam vaguely understood why Dean had put space between them, full comprehension dawned three years later. Sam took it to the next level, creating far more distance between them than Dean had ever established because it wasn’t just the comical matter of avoiding noticeable morning wood like it’d been with Dean. Sam was striving for additional space for more deeper reasons like autonomy, agency, getting out from under his brother's shadow, and questioning their father’s edicts. Sometimes Sam thought about Sully’s encouragement to break out on his own and how he’d so vehemently backed out the minute his family wanted him. Things were changing now but it had always been difficult managing his hate of loneliness with his growing desire for independence.

Dean was fine with the increased distance as Sam hit his teens, oblivious even. Dean was growing into a reliable friend and apprentice to their father, a content hunter, a charming and experienced lover. Sam tried to hide his jealousy. He tried to hide a certain sense of betrayal too that Dean wasn’t like Sully. Dean defended their father and lifestyle every time Sam floated subversive thoughts with him. Thoughts like college or how John should never have raised them so transient and poor or asking his brother to imagine building a career instead of hustling or taking strings of low-paying jobs. Dean treated the ideas like treason. He made Sam feel disloyal.

Sam matured further and realized it wasn’t traitorous or disloyal. It was normal.

That was when Sam started to dream of normal, when he began to fight for normal.

His late adolescence was explosive, the bursts of pain and anger just never stopped coming. It hurt they expected Sam to stay in the family business and do a job he hated that would kill him by the age of thirty. How could they condemn him to that? How could John condemn Dean to that? How did Dean condemn himself to that?

Sam wanted real safety, not the kind John claimed they had by knowing how to survive life-threatening circumstances he pushed them into on every hunt. Nearly every case, at least one of them almost died. John had been making them live on a tightrope with no net for nearly two decades and Sam couldn’t understand how they didn’t see it, how they also didn’t want to step off it. It was infuriating.

There were still soft moments throughout Sam's teens though, moments where everything fell away and went back to what it was between Sam and Dean. Sometimes they’d be in motel rooms but it always happened when a close call landed them in the hospital. John was a good man and father but after nearly losing a son it was always a question of ‘when’ and not ‘if’ his guilt would lead him to a bar. The brothers would volunteer to take point for each other in the aftermath, John would allow it, disappear into an alcohol-infused cloud of contrition, and his sons would slip back into what they once were to each other. The familiarity of being close and safe and taken care of was so much stronger with each other than their father anyway.

By the time Sam was eighteen, those moments had become so rare and angry dogs couldn’t have dragged Sam back to that motel room when he left for Stanford. Later he realized how much he missed Dean in his more vulnerable moments freshman year but eventually Jessica arrived. Jessica pulled everything in his life together and gave it a meaning, a future. He had clutched her tight for weeks every night after every prophetic nightmare, desperately hoping she would never realize how fucked up he was and how much he didn’t deserve her because of it.

She didn’t mind. She just let him cling to her in bed, sometimes turning to spoon him, sometimes waking up enough to kiss and fool around.

In very different ways, the two people in his life that’d ever really shared a bed with him were deeply trusted by Sam, always instilling a sense of calm safety and love in him.

So maybe it made sense that something registered profoundly wrong in the recessed edge of his consciousness as Sam reached out in sleep and felt an unfamiliar presence. Narrow shoulders, long thin hair that couldn't possibly be Dean's...

Maybe it made sense that he'd gasp and jerk awake on a mental flip switch, falling off the bed but landing so quietly still and backing away.

Made sense he'd pass the duffel of weapons and deftly pull out a single throwing knife before backing into a corner of the room.

It'd make sense that no one knew any of this had happened until Kevin woke up to go to the bathroom two hours later.

---

The dream was a good one. A little bizarre as all dreams are. He was in a bar but then he realized it had been a coffeehouse all along. He was scanning the place for the best-looking company he could find. An Asian brunette sat at a table looking at her phone.

"This table for two?" Dean asked charmingly, slowly pulling the chair opposite her out. She smirked and nodded. She had beautiful almond eyes... in a suddenly concerned expression.

"Dean. Dean!"

"What?!"

"Dean! It's Sam!" Her voice was now distinctly Kevin's. Dean jerked away from her and landed on his side in his bed in his dark motel room, Kevin hovering over him. A hand on his shoulder and Dean immediately went for his knife under the pillow.

"Dean, something's wrong with Sam!" Kevin's hushed whisper did nothing to mitigate the fear in the kid's voice. Dean let go of the knife quickly and rolled away from Kevin to turn the bedside lamp on. He slipped out from under the covers, stood and blinked at the bed Sam was supposed to be in, ready to assess the situation. He faltered when he found it empty.

"Where's he?" Dean slurred, rubbing his eyes. "Sam?" He rasped, glancing around the room.

Kevin came around to Dean's side just as he was making a beeline to the bathroom since it was the only other place Sam could be. Kevin grabbed his wrist, startling the eldest into looking at him, and pointed.

"He's there, Dean."

"What the hell-?" Dean murmured, starting towards the far corner of the room where Sam was huddled on the floor. He moved in and sat down on the dirty carpet.

"I... I woke up to go to the bathroom and Sam was just sitting here. I don't know when he got up or anything. He won't answer me. He's not responding to anything when I asked him to go back to bed..." Kevin explained as he sat down at the foot of the bed behind Dean.

"Okay, okay, Kevin. I got it," Dean replied quietly as he leaned in, trying to get a good look at his brother. "Sammy?"

Sam didn't respond. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, head bowed down, vaguely rocking back and forth. No apparent injuries but Dean couldn't be sure.

"Hit the lights, will you?" Dean asked, his voice still scratchy as he nudged up closer to Sam. He heard Kevin get up behind him to do as he asked. Dean placed his palm lightly against the back of Sam's head then lower to wrap around the back of Sam's neck.

"Sammy? You hurt?" He whispered, starting to pat Sam's unkempt sleep-head hair down a little. Sam trembled at his brother's touches so Dean stopped and lightly gripped Sam's shoulder instead with what he hoped was a steady, stabilizing pressure.

"Hey Sammy it's just me," he murmured, "just relax."

Kevin found the light switch by the motel room door then. Sickly yellow lighting flooded the room. Dean could see now though. Sam looked pale and drawn, his eyes glazed and distant. Dean pressed his lips together.

"Okay Sammy, just gotta make sure you’re not hurt, okay? Everything’s cool, man." He moved his hands around Sam's body, pressing and releasing his touch, applying the sleep-warm pressure of his hands around the kid's frame, his shoulders, arms, waist, legs. Sam didn’t respond but he stopped rocking. Dean hoped that meant Sam knew he was there and it was making him feel a little safer.

"Is he gonna be okay? Have you seen this before?" Kevin asked from behind and Dean shushed him lightly.

"Just be quiet, Kevin. We all just gotta be cool and relaxed, just breathe..." Dean trailed off as he gingerly placed his hands in strategic locations so he could, with painstaking slowness, unfold his brother from his curled-up position.

When Sam realized what Dean was doing, he jerked and whimpered, tried to pull himself in but Dean quickly interfered, coming up and hugging Sam's chest against his.

An animalistic whine released out of Sam as he writhed in his brother’s arms.

"Hey no, it's okay Sammy, it's all right. It's gonna be okay. You’re safe. I got you. I'm just checking to make sure you're not hurt, Sam, okay? Little brother? Hold on to me, it’s all right," he kept repeating over and over. He moved Sam around, feeling for any blood or sensitivity along Sam’s stomach, abdomen, shoulders, spine, back.

Sam eventually settled down in Dean’s arms, the weight of his head getting heavier against Dean’s shoulder. Kevin watched solicitously from the foot of the bed.

When he was done, Dean let out a sigh of relief. "He's not hurt," Dean ruled evenly.

"What's wrong then?" Kevin asked quietly.

Dean stiffened when he felt something hard against his back, something Sam was holding in his hand.

"Hm,” Dean hummed, rubbing Sam’s back even as his brows furrowed in concentration over how to solve this problem.

"What is it?"

"Don't talk for a sec, Kev," Dean ordered, his tone now more wary than it had been before. "Sammy, it's okay - it's just me, s'just me," he whispered into Sam’s ear, slowly behind him to get Sam's hand and whatever was in it. He felt the knife in Sam’s hand and he hugged Sam tighter, pressed his hand over Sam’s, and kept whispering into his little brother’s ear. "It's okay, let it go. Let go, Sammy," Dean coaxed.

Sam's grip loosened. Several moments of hushed silence passed. Dean finally got a good hold on the knife and didn’t hesitate. He ripped it from Sam’s grip and threw it to the floor, out of reach without even looking. Sam let out a discordant hum of distress and made to get out of Dean’s hug. Dean held him back, wrapping his little brother back up in a fierce hold.

"Sam! Sam it's okay!" Dean said forcefully, drowning out Sam's garbled wheezes and whimpers. "C'mon Sammy, c'mon, relax, it's okay."

Sam shook against his brother and made small spastic attempts to get free. He didn’t lash out though. Dean held onto him.

"Sam, it's okay, you're okay, you're safe," Dean promised, gripping Sam tighter after a stronger bid to jerk free of their embrace. "Shhh, Sammy stop fighting me. Come on. You're safe with me now. Stop, Sammy.” He pushed Sam's head down against his shoulder and took his pulse. It was strong but too fast.

"Dean?" Kevin whispered from behind them. He was holding the knife, having picked it up while Dean was tending to Sam, confused and worried. "Dean what's going on?"

"His pulse is too fast. He's gotta relax or something-" Dean said, interrupting himself with a grunt as he twisted them around without loosening his grip on Sam. Sam whined softly in his brother's arms and Dean resumed his reassurances as he leaned against the wall, rubbing Sam's hair and back soothingly.

"You're safe. You're safe, Sammy, c'mon... Snap out of it." Dean cocked his head to the side to look at his brother. "Look at me, Sam. C'mon look at me, kiddo." He stared into Sam's bright eyes. The specks of hazel from when Sam had been a baby colored his irises more around the pupil as he'd grown up, creating a fascinating palette of colors from the edge of the iris inward: blue, gray, gold, brown in a spectrum... and nowhere in them could Dean see his brother waking up and coming back to him.

Dean sighed and shook his head before pulling Sam's chest against his own again. Over Sam's shoulder he looked to Kevin.

"I don't know," he said, wincing as he rubbed Sam's back as calmly as he could. " He’s in a trance or something..." Dean trailed off, looking back down at his rag doll of a brother. "Put the knife in the weapons duffel, will you?" Dean murmured. Kevin bit his lip watching them but did as he was told.

"Is there anything I can do?" Kevin asked, moving softly back to the brothers. Dean shrugged and shook his head. Kevin nodded sadly. He sat down at the foot of the bed again. He wasn’t going to leave them when they were still on the floor like this, with Sam like he was.

Dean fell silent after a long sigh, going peaceful now and swaying them back and forth, asking nothing of his little brother but to stay and rest in his arms. Even Kevin was lulled into a sitting drowse eventually. He was brought out of it by Dean's whispered request to turn the lights off.

"What?" Kevin desperately hoped Dean wasn't planning to just sleep on the floor with Sam tonight.

"Turn the lights off, Kev," Dean repeated.

"What're you-"

"He's breathing better," he murmured, shifting around on the floor, manhandling Sam around to sit him up straighter. "I'm gonna try to get him back to bed," he added as Kevin got up and turned the lights off. The nightstand lamp was still on so they could all still see.

"I'm gonna... I'll go back to my room," Kevin offered uncertainly, watching as Dean got up into a crouch, holding Sam's limp form up under the arms.

"Don't yet. I might need your help," Dean warned quietly. Kevin swallowed and nodded his assent but stayed by the door so he wouldn’t be in the way. Dean tilted his head to get into Sam's line of sight. "Okay Sammy, we're gonna get up. Can you get up for me? I'm gonna pull you up and you're gonna have to carry your own weight for two seconds, you got that?"

Sam didn't respond, just wavered under his brother's hold until Dean felt some tension in Sam's muscles.

"Good job! Good job, Sammy," Dean whispered, heartened. Dean started lifting Sam up carefully, watching as his brother’s body just went with him, seemingly of its own accord. Kevin wrung his hands but as Sam finally stood, hunched over and against Dean, the eldest smiled.

"'Atta boy. Good Sam, you're doing so good..." Dean murmured as he started shuffling Sam towards his bed.

"Is he... sleep walking?" Kevin whispered to Dean.

"I don't even know," Dean breathed, just the smallest hint of exasperation in it as he walked Sam with the slow step rhythm they'd fallen into.

"What bed-?" Kevin started asking as Dean bypassed the bed Kevin and Sam had been sleeping in.

"You should stay here Kev," Dean said, ignoring Kevin's question, "if it wasn't for you tonight..." Dean trailed off, angling Sam into the aisle between both queens. Kevin hung back though. He knew what Dean was saying. If he hadn't gotten up in the middle of the night to find Sam, Sam very well may have stayed there in the corner until dawn.
"Anyway," Dean coughed, getting an arm free to pull the covers back on his own bed, "And there’s a whole empty bed here because Sam's gonna come back to sleep with me, right Sammy?" He joked, his tone too upbeat to be sincere.

Dean patted Sam's cheek and trailed his hand down to his shoulder and pushed. "Down, Sam, sit down, c'mon," he coaxed and Sam sat, eyes still dull and unseeing. Dean sighed and washed a hand down his face before pushing Sam down onto his pillow. He lifted his legs up and covered him with blankets.

Kevin bit his lip but accepted Dean’s invitation to stay. He walked back to the now empty bed, the one farthest from the motel room door.

"D'you want, um..." Kevin pulled the patchwork blanket together. He held it out to Dean. Dean smiled weakly and Kevin couldn’t believe his eyes. It seemed like Dean Winchester was suddenly on the verge of tears as he took it but it was gone so quickly he couldn’t be sure. He turned and spread it over his brother. Sam remained still and quiet as the blanket fell over him.

"Thanks," the eldest whispered, still turned away from Kevin. "Now go to sleep, Kev, and thank you," Dean said, voice rough with emotion. The nightstand lamp went off. The sheets rustled with Kevin getting under the covers, then again with Dean getting into his side of the bed, the one closest to the door.

Dean sighed loudly. Sam was still as a statue next to him. Dean reached out and took Sam's hand to hold. He wasn't letting something like this happen again. If Sam moved again in the night, Dean would know.

"Dean?" Kevin whispered in the dark.

"Yeah?"

"D'you know what's going on? With Sam, I mean?"

Dean unconsciously grasped Sam's hand tighter.

"No," he admitted. "I'm hoping a good night's sleep and it'll blow over," Dean added tonelessly.

"But-"

"Don't."

Kevin fell silent.

Dean pulled Sam's hand to his chest and couldn’t go to sleep.

---

Sam woke up the next morning, dawn light streaming in through those ugly brown and maroon chevron curtains, birds chirping outside, the sound of cars and trucks rushing past the motel from having just gotten on or off the highway. He was comfortable. He was warm, he felt safe, devoid of pain. Nothing hurt, Sam realized with a jolt. He would be ready to travel this morning. He was even craving coffee.

Already smiling, Sam blinked his eyes open and found himself staring at Kevin sprawled in the bed opposite him, the bed he was certain he’d fallen asleep in last night. He glanced down and noticed he was clutching the Universe blanket, the one he knew he’d spread on the other bed. He swiveled and discovered he was warm because Dean was asleep next to him a little farther up, the side of his body lined up with Sam's back.

Dean’s hand fell against his hair.

"Dean?" he rasped, ducking out of Dean’s touch and sitting up, "what the hell-?"

"What?" Dean winced, sleepy.

"Dean what... what happened?" Sam asked, his voice scratchy but urgent.

Dean sighed and blinked his eyes open to find his little brother staring down at him, his eyes wide and alert and worried.

Dean grinned, closed his eyes and folded his arms. "Y'don' 'member?" he garbled.

"No," Sam replied emphatically.

"Then don't worry about it," Dean said, smirking.

"Dean," Sam prompted, irked. Dean chuckled and Sam's eyes lit brighter with frustration.

"You just sleep-walked, Sammy. Relax."

Sam made a face and looked at the bed Kevin was in then down at the Universe blanket, embarrassment starting to seep in.

"I... sleep-walked to your bed with the blanket?" Sam whispered, slightly horrified at how juvenile it was. Dean snorted with laughter.

"Dean!"

"Not exactly." Dean replied seriously. Dean opened his eyes and cocked his head on the pillow, looking up at his brother who, as predicted, was looking down at nothing, trying to figure out the grim repercussions of this new symptom and his memory loss of the night before. "Sammy, it’s all right. You didn't freak me out."

Sam looked back at his brother with a heavy expression, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed in thought and anxiety.

"Seriously, Sam. Don't worry about it," Dean repeated, keeping eye contact with Sam for longer to drive his point home.

Sam stared at him then blew out a breath, shaking his head. Dean turned to check the clock. "Five-thirty in the morning?" He looked back at Sam. "Really?"

Sam shrugged. Dean rolled his eyes before closing them and turned on his side.

"C’mon, lie down for another hour," he grumbled. Sam twitched a smile and looked down.

"No, you sleep. I feel okay," Sam said. After a beat of silence he ventured on, "I... I want to take a shower and get coffee going," Sam said, quieter this time, self-conscious, hoping Dean would just say ‘cool’ and leave him to it. Unlikely, considering Dean didn’t even let him bathe alone.

As predicted, Dean half-rolled back to look up at him.

"Really?" He was looking at Sam cautiously, assessing. Sam smiled and prayed. Please trust I can do this when I say I can, Sam thought.

Dean looked his brother up and down, considering. Sam did actually seem fine. Refreshed, even. "Okay," Dean said simply, and Sam beamed. "Just, y'know, be careful," Dean added and Sam nodded openly.

"'Course."

"And call if you need anything."

"Okay."

Dean licked his lips and smiled. "Okay Sammy.”

Sam practically bounced up to get to it. Dean smirked and rolled back over to face the door of the motel.

"Make the coffee strong, Sammy," Dean mumbled, just as always, and just as always, Sam poured extra water into the coffee mug he handed to Dean when he woke up two hours later.

Chapter Text

Sam had been up puttering around since five-thirty that morning. He'd taken a a long, hot shower, brushed his teeth until his breath was minty fresh, and his hands were steady enough for a blissfully close shave. For the first time in what felt like years, he'd felt clean and put-together. Whatever happened last night nagged him but he decided he'd dwell on it later. There were so few moments he could indulge himself; he now took them when they came.

He cherished the time alone, too. Or it was more that he was just the only one awake with Dean and Kevin sleeping in the beds nearby. He didn't dare make any loud noises. Instead he just appreciated the sounds of the nearby highway and closer still, morning birds trilling, the last crickets of the season chirping. Dean and Kevin just being there, their slow breaths, had a calming effect on Sam as he sipped his coffee. 

He watched over them. 

His eyes misted, this inexplicable longing for things to just stay like this enveloping him.

Before he unraveled he quickly and quietly stepped back over to Dean's bed, set his coffee on the nightstand, and laid down. There was space; Dean was on his side of the bed closer to the door. He was on his back, arms lazily crossed over his chest. He opened his eyes a slit, barely awake as the bed moved under Sam's weight.

"Sorry." Sam didn't want to wake Dean but he couldn't help himself from apologizing. "Jus' wanna rest," he whispered.

Dean muttered something like "ah huh" and smacked his lips before nodding off again. Sam sighed and settled against the mattress, a sense of peace filtering into him from Dean's direction. The proximity to his brother soothed, helped him feel secure enough to build up the notion that everything was going to work itself out for the best. Sam breathed and closed his eyes, content to bask in this feeling for as long as he could.

Around six-thirty, Kevin woke up. Sam faked sleep. The prophet quietly made his way out. Sam assumed he went back to his room to shower and wash up. When the door closed, Dean hadn't opened his eyes but he found Sam's wrist. Sam tilted his head over to his brother.

"Dean?"

"You still okay S'my?"

"Yup," Sam answered on a deep, satisfied sigh. "Still feeling good."

Dean swallowed and nodded, squeezed Sam's wrist before letting it go.

That was when Sam had an idea. He unplugged his phone from the charger on the nightstand.

---

Dean was on cloud nine. When he woke up, Sam was still good, he was even hungry, and so Kevin had graciously retrieved breakfast for them. Fresh bacon and blueberry waffles and the other half of Sam's eggs benedict had hit the spot.

Sam had further bolstered his spirits during the meal by explaining how there were some spells worth researching that he'd archived online from the bunker. They were supposed to fortify and strengthen souls. He explained his theory that reinforcing his soul might help him survive the third trial.

"If I have to channel God's grace, strengthening my soul sounds advantageous, right?"

"I have no idea but it sounds right," Dean offered, nodding encouragingly. Sam's dimples deepened, his eyes embers of tempered excitement.

Dean listened carefully to the rest of what Sam had to say. It didn't sound like it could hurt trying at all, so by the time Sam was through, despite his wariness with spellcraft, Dean was convinced. Kevin was too.

Sam was cautiously proud and excited. He told them he still had some research to do but he already knew a few ingredients; he'd look up some metaphysical shops along their route to pick them up. 

Kevin left to go back to his room for a few minutes before they checked out. Sam was hunched over his phone looking at the screen when Dean squeezed his shoulder. Sam looked up.

"This is really good." Dean gestured to Sam's phone. Sam breathed and nodded with a smile, eyes bright. Dean backed off, tapping Sam's back as he turned. "Good job, Sammy." He turned away. He got his keys and shrugged his jacket on. When he turned back around Sam had returned to his phone but this time with a faint blush and an easy smile.

It didn't take much to make Sam happy. He'd never grow out of being told he'd done a good job studying. Nerd.

It wasn't long before they had to hit the road. Everybody - except Sam, who was taking his sweet time - filtered out into the parking lot to pile into their respective vehicles. Dean felt extra sorry over Kevin's forlorn expression as he got behind the wheel of the van next to an oblivious Metatron. He had found something to fidget with under the dashboard. Dean predicted he would break it any minute now.

He bit his lip, watching Kevin bicker with Metatron. Maybe there was a subtle way to convince the angel to go ahead of them and just meet them at Shelter Bay in a few days. Dean made a mental note to float the idea past Sam once they were on their way. If anyone could talk the voice of God into that it'd be the pre-law dork in Sam. In the meantime Kevin would just have to endure. Dean idly looked at his baby and the thought occurred to him that at least the angel and prophet weren't sharing a bench seat. For the brothers in the Impala it was an extra reassuring closeness but having no console barrier between driver and shotgun would be extra tribulation for any pair on bad terms. So there was that going for them.

Kevin made a pitchy noise of pleading outrage that sounded something like, "I can't fix it!"

On second thought Dean didn't think mentioning that silver lining would be a great idea.

Kevin got his van going and let it idle so the old engine could warm up after a chilly night. They all waited for Sam to come out. Dean had already spared his brother the embarrassment of taking the universe blanket out to the car so what was he doing? Dean gazed over to their motel room door just as it opened and Sam appeared. He was squinting under the cloudless sky, the sun lighting up his pale complexion. His clothes hung off him differently now that he was thinner. His weight loss had deepened his dimples when he smiled... but he was smiling as he stepped into the morning sunshine, and that was what mattered most to Dean. Also, his hair looked nice. After his shower the strands had dried to soft chocolate silk that gleamed outside and Dean snickered to himself how it was a dead giveaway that Sam had been liberal with the motel conditioner during his shower.

Despite last night's misadventure and even now knowing his little brother couldn't possibly be on the mend, with moments like these there was hope. 

Sam had insisted on carrying his own bag too. It was still the green duffel because Cas hadn't come back yet to get the memo Sam's beloved blue one had to be retrieved for whatever reasons, upon which speculation unfailingly threw Dean into a brooding mood so he willfully dismissed those thoughts. He had to enjoy this, the present, a weary but happy little brother approaching him.

Sam waved to Kevin and Metatron as he walked over. They didn't see. Sam wasn't bothered. When he got to the Impala, Dean murmured a low, "you good?"

Sam rolled his shoulders back. "Yeah, actually. I am." Sam gave a tentative smile. Dean nodded, pleased. Sam threw his duffel into the back and made his way around the car to settle into the passenger seat. Dean got in at the same time.

---

They drove, bound for Shelter Bay, Washington.

Dean led with Baby, Kevin following behind in the van with Metatron. They got back on I-80 west, took a couple state highways to avoid any late-morning traffic around Cheyenne and got onto I-25 north. 

Sam wanted to research his Men of Letters archive more. He took out his laptop, then paused and sighed: a low drum of discomfort had begun between his eyes and he knew he shouldn't ignore it. It was familiar pain though, nothing to worry about as a trial symptom. It was just from starting around six-thirty that morning, hunching and squinting at pdf files of parchment notes that'd been scrawled in cryptic cursive. He knew doing more in the car would crash waves of nausea down on him though so he let it go for the time being. His laptop sat closed in his lap as he stared out at the horizon, let his thoughts drift.

Dean made him a double take. "You not researching?"

"I have the tiniest headache in the world. I want it to go away first."

"Take something for it."

"Nah it'll go away on its own."

Dean nodded and shrugged. Sam breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Dean wasn't stressing out about it, so Sam could relax about it.

Sam peered over at his brother's profile. Dean was as pale as he was. He could see his freckles a little bit, wished he was a little more sun-kissed because that was when they'd get really visible. When he was a kid he counted them and mapped them out just like the the universes on his blanket back then. Also where the new one was bundled in the back. 

"Hey," Dean spoke up, sensing Sam was already focused on him so he might as well talk. "You think there's any way to convince Metatron to go ahead to Shelter Bay and we just meet him there?"

"I gotta ask him about these soul spells first."

"So you think you could really convince him?"

"Maybe," Sam hedged. Inwardly he was doubtful. Dean chewed on his lip in thought.

"Why don't you ask Cas about the soul stuff when he gets back?"

"Think I should hide it from Metatron?"

"It'd be smart," Dean undertoned, "but also he's a piece of work and if you can get the same information from Cas," he trailed off because Sam was already nodding.

"Yeah," Sam agreed half-heartedly.

They lapsed into quiet again. Dean turned up the volume on a CCR tape. Have You Ever Seen the Rain rolled through the interior and Sam circled back around to the night before.

"Kevin didn't seem that different with me this morning."

Dean made a face and turned the music down. "Why would he be?"

"What happened last night, Dean?"

Dean pursed his lips together reproachfully and opened his mouth to reply but Sam got there first.

"And don't say it was nothing because if it was as simple as just sleepwalking out of my bed and into yours with the blanket then you'd be making so many jokes at my expense right now, man."

Dean's jaw clenched. He gave Sam a reluctant smile. "You got me there."

Sam didn't have the energy to fume exactly but he could glare. It felt off not knowing what happened; he felt guilty even though whatever had happened wasn't his fault... probably. He'd have to know what happened to be certain.

"Kevin woke up, found you in the corner of the room and woke me up. I got you back to bed. The end. Happy?"

"No," Sam replied immediately on little brother instinct, bristling from Dean's tone and not from anything he'd actually said. "Yes," he corrected himself. "I mean I know you're leaving out a lot but... whatever," he breathed.

"It is whatever. It wasn't anything."

"Right," Sam huffed sadly. He rolled his eyes to look out the windshield, then his side window.

They drove into overcast weather towards Wyoming. After a few minutes, in a completely unprecedented move, Dean put this palm over Sam's hand where it lay between them on the seat.

When Sam felt the grip, he thought Dean was trying to get his attention. He looked over expectantly and lightly asked "What?" 

Further questions were clipped short when he saw Dean was just... keeping his eyes on the road, acting like nothing was happening. He even deftly signaled and changed lanes while holding Sam's hand.

It was like Dean's hand suddenly had a mind of its own and it had decided it needed to be with Sam's. Sam fought against laughter because he knew it wasn't true. Dean was very much connected to this hand and if he laughed Dean might pull away and that was honestly the last thing Sam wanted.

Sam could smile though, so he did, and then he turned his hand under Dean's grip so their palms could slide together, and they both held each other that way as the Impala ate up yellow lines on damp asphalt under cloudy skies.