Chapter Text
It was that month again, nearing the same week when years ago Sam had lived a hundred Tuesdays watching Dean dying over and over, in every possible or impossible way a person could die.
A decade or more had passed since then, but when this month- that same week- rolled around, Sam would get vigilant, overly protective and hyper regarding Dean.
He would hover around him, his cautious gaze following him everywhere he want, no matter what he was doing.
If he was in the kitchen cooking, Sam would sit with his laptop there pretending to work on something but sneakily making sure Dean wasn’t killing himself by falling on the knife.
If he was working on the car Sam would follow him with the excuse of learning more about the car’s mechanism which Dean knew Sam never much cared about.
He wouldn’t even let him sleep alone and spent a lot of time in Dean’s room at the pretence of watching a movie-marathon with him until they both fell asleep there together.
Normally this would have annoyed Dean, being this smothered by his brother’s protectiveness, being followed around and watched over every minute. But he was surprised that he didn’t begrudge Sam’s possessive concern at all.
Because had it been him in Sam’s place he wouldn’t have survived that kind of fear for his brother that long. Living a hundred Tuesdays watching his brother die every day would have killed him before any hunt could.
He was in awe that Sam had survived it. Proud of the man his little brother had become.
He couldn’t go back and change what had happened, couldn’t take away the scars Sam carried, but he could help by understanding what his brother was going through and allow Sam what he needed. If Sam felt better guarding him, watching over his every move, it was a small price to pay.
But he also knew how harrowed Sam was, and he worried that a little injury here, a little concussion there, would only set Sam to panic.
Sam had overcome his insomnia, incessant nightmares and the deliria that had masked his sanity after he had been freed from the cage.
But stress always lead him towards a breakdown. Got back the nightmares and sometimes even the hallucinations.
Dean could survive it all, being tormented, even Hell all over again, but he couldn’t live through a day where he became the reason for his brother’s anguish.
He looked at the wound he had gotten at the last hunt as he showered. Observing that instead of healing, it had swollen some more and was now oozing. He would have to wrap it properly and bury any grimace or pain he felt. He didn’t want Sam to know. Not now, not this week.
Dean sighed, not pleased about it a bit….He didn’t like hiding anything from Sam anymore. They had learnt it the hard way… not to hide sickness or injuries, or keep facts or incidents from each other. It always cost them their relation. They had both fervently worked on that and evolved so much as a family.
Dean no longer supressed the need to be taken care by his brother, even if it went against his years old way of being the protector. He had come to realize that as much as he loved being the big brother and the one protecting and pampering his little brother. He also revelled in the love Sam showered on him. It felt good to be needed, but it felt even better to be so ardently loved. So now if he was wounded, or took ill he sought Sam, his presence, his careful ministrations, they both did… and life was better for that.
But this he would have to hide, at least until Tuesday passed.
Dean sauntered into the kitchen planning to make a sumptuous breakfast for the both of them. If he kept busy and kept Sam busier maybe he could be distracted.
It was pointless to hope…..
Sam walked into the kitchen, looking dazed and groggy as if he had forcefully kept himself awake…. which he had. It had been Dean who had woken up to Sam nodding off next to him and dragged him to his room so he would sleep some more.
His hair askew, eyes swollen and marred with dark circles, Sam looked like a nightmare. But even half asleep and probably dead on his feet Sam was probably back on his guard.
“Good Morning,” Dean said with an exaggerated cheer, which made Sam smile as he came to stand by Dean’s side. ”Morning…” Sam replied with his eyes still closed, slowly finding his way in the hollow of Dean’s neck, resting his head there.
Dean just smiled, letting Sam his way, knowingly. He could sense his brothers need for proximity and also feel the anxiousness flaring within Sam. Without turning around and still working on the breakfast, he held Sam’s wrist with one hand, grazing it gently. “I am here Sammy, I am here, okay?” He softly assured him. Sam nodded, looking up at him and smiled, always touched at his brother’s ability of understanding him, his spoken word…but even every unspoken worry.
Dean dragged his loopy brother by his hand and made him sit at the bench. Not leaving his side, he poured a mug of steaming coffee and slid it to him. As Sam sipped on the beverage, Dean gently pulled his hair away from his face, then pressed at the nape of his neck trying to knead out the stiffness he knew Sam was feeling.
He felt Sam relax as he leaned into him, resting his head on Dean’s stomach. He smiled and fondly ruffled his brother’s hair.
“I am making breakfast, you hungry?”
Sam nodded slightly and Dean moved away.
He quickly worked on the breakfast and set the coffee pot to work. Sam just sat staring, his eyes trailing behind.
Dean effortlessly fixed some eggs, some bagel with cream cheese and his favourite bacon fried to crisp and served it for both of them, taking his place opposite his brother.
He smirked as Sam’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the tempting spread laid across.
“Did I forget your birthday or something?” Sam asked, his voice still rough from sleep.
“Like I would just make such little breakfast for my birthday Sammy, and like you could get away with making me work instead of serving me,” Dean remarked
Sam began as if to argue only to be interrupted by Dean, “We can have this very tantalizing argument the whole day, but I’d rather you eat first, don’t want you shrinking away on me.”
“Like you are bloating away in front of me,” Sam egged on.
“All muscle and no fat, signs of a healthy man.”
“You can think whatever keeps you happy, doesn’t mean it’s true,” Sam retorted.
“I would be happy if you stopped yacking and ate,” Dean spoke with a full mouth.
Sam grimaced at his brother, at his age old habit of talking with a full mouth, but always secretly revelling in their banter and playing his own part in it.
Hungry and tapped out, Sam tore into the meal, “Hmmm,” he moaned.
“Good?” Dean asked eagerly.
“The best,” Sam complimented, smiling when he saw the happiest grin breaking out on his brother’s face.
Sam always felt amazed when he saw Dean at the bunker, had felt so from the day they had gotten their own place.
Dean had taken to it as his home immediately, made the place habitable. Bought cooking appliances, home décor, new pillows, beds, and the works. But more than anything it was Dean ‘nestling’- as he termed it- that left Sam surprised.
He knew Dean had always taken care of him, literally bought him up. He wouldn’t ever forget Dean’s attempts at scourging enough money to keep himself and Sam fed. He would cook the same things in different ways so Sam never got a chance to throw a fit wanting to eat fancier.
But he never knew Dean could cook this amazingly, and be so fond of it too. After a decade of eating packaged or fried, unhealthy meals the last few years had Sam eating an array of different cuisines, all home cooked with utmost love by his brother.
Sam had never been for second helpings or binging. But his brothers delectable cooking had turned him into a foodie, and that was one change he revelled in…for himself, and for Dean. Whose satisfaction lied in making a home for them, feeding them as he pleased…. liberally and without the fear of not having enough.
He just wanted Dean happy, safe and alive. Dean had given up on a lot in his life, endured a lot of trauma…they both had. Which is why it was so hard, so hard to forget this week every year. He knew he was being a bother. Trailing behind his brother, alert like a guard-dog of some sort.
His self-reliant brother wasn’t used to this kind of coddling, he knew.
But he wasn’t going to be apologetic for loving his only surviving family. For loving his brother like he loved him. For wanting to safeguard him from any pain physical or internal and he would do so, obsessively if needed.
He was broken out his thoughts by a yelp from Dean, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Dean hissing as he wiped off the scalding beverage that had spilled on him.
“Dean!” Sam jerked, moving towards him. His mind flashing back to watching Dean being burned to death when he had been showering, because the hot shower had been scalding instead of soothing.
“Dean, what happened?” He picked Dean’s hand, his own hands firm as opposed to his voice which was trembling.
“It’s nothing, its nothing,” Dean calmed,” I was trying to get the pot out, coffee just spilled… it’s just a little burn Sammy. Don’t get your panties in a twist dude,” Dean joked.
“Shut up Dean, it’s not a little burn, these are angry blisters. They could get infected, you could get sepsis,” Sam rambled uneasily, quickly fetching the first aid box.
“Dude stop…stop okay,” Dean tried relaxing him, “This is just a burn….we’ve had worse, you have to relax brother…”
“I CAN’T relax, “Sam barked, taking Dean back from the offending coffee machine as if it had personally attacked him to the table.
He gently placed Dean’s injured hand on the table and set about cleaning and dressing it.
He worked on his brother’s injury as if his heart wasn’t racing and mind wasn’t conjuring terrorising images from the past.
Dean winced, halting Sam in his work,” Sorry…Sorry, Dean…did I hurt you?” he asked wide eyed.
Dean held on to Sam’s forearm soothingly, “I am okay, the cream burns a little….that’s it...”
Sam nodded and continued working slower and more gently. His eyes didn’t leave the wound, his shakiness didn’t cease. And Dean held his arm even tighter.
“Sam…listen,” he tried.
“Dean,” Sam stopped him.
“Sammy you need….”
“Don’t Dean,” Sam said, resolutely. “Please, just please don’t,” Sam asserted, and with such force that Dean could say nothing, and he wouldn’t even if he wanted to.
Instead he deviated,” I was just going to say that my right hands injured so why don’t you feed me the rest of my breakfast….Bitch.”
Sam looked up, at the escape Dean was giving him and smirked,” Not your servant jerk, help yourself,” and got up to keep their medical box away.
They settled down after breakfast. They had been on a string of hunts lately and had decided to regroup, take a break. And it worked since it was ‘that’ week with Tuesday just a day from now. Dean could see how it affects Sam even when they’re home and as safe as they can be, he can’t imagine how much worse it would be if they would be hunting, with so many more things that could hurt, harm or probably even kill them.
As they day goes on, Sam gets more and more paranoid. And it gets harder and harder for Dean to hide his injury and the pain that’s escalating by the minute. By noon Dean’s body begins to get stiff and achy, a few hours later his eyes get warm and after a few more he begins to get dead on his feet.
Shit! He was coming down with an infection from the wound. The timing is the lousiest and he curses the ‘Winchester’ luck…running them into more problems when they’re desperately trying to flee from them.
How was he going to hide this from Sam? He mulls it over, thinking of excusing himself with a pretend call from a hunter friend that wants to meet only him. But Sam would follow either way, either by force or in hiding. Same would be the case no matter where he went. He thinks of spiking Sam’s coffee or beer with something to get him to sleep a few hours, giving Dean some time to recuperate at least enough to not collapse on his own feet.
But there is not enough space or opportunity to follow on that because Sam is always around him. And Sam would never forgive him, that alone makes him not even attempt it.
Dean understands Sam, he really does. That desperation, that uneasiness and terror. He had felt every bit of it, when Sam died in Cold Oak, when he jumped down in the pit at Stull. So he gets it. But he also wants to hide, so Sam can get a break and not have a coronary at Dean falling ill….Also because he is tired, so very tired.
He is glad when Sam just plans to warm a ready to eat Pasta, because he won’t have to cook or get queasy and throw up in front of Sam.
He eats some to please Sam, but he swallows painfully and repeatedly to keep it down. His body is giving himself away and he needs to escape, he needs to hide but Sam is insistent and his paranoia begins to chaff at him.
They’re cleaning the kitchen, and their dishware when it all goes down.
Dean is at the end of his rope, tired and slow when a glass falls down in the sink near his hand, scratching him slightly.
Sam jerks him away with force,” Dean!”
Dean willingly moves away and has no strength to calm Sam and suddenly just so bleary he doesn’t even want to.
Sam makes him sit down, checks him over and loses it.
”What the hell Dean? Can’t you for once freaking take care of yourself? Just for once. Don’t you get it, don’t you get it what I go through every time you burn or hurt yourself. I know it’s not in you but stop being such a stubborn stupid ass for once in your life and think of somebody but yourself. A million things could happen if you aren’t looking out for yourself. Stop thinking you are invincible, you can get wounded enough to die, you can…..Believe me, I have seen it happen,” Sam bellows and pulls Dean’s hand to wipe the blood.
Startled by Sam’s outburst and barbed words Dean moved away sharply,” Leave me alone Sam. I am stupid okay, you don’t have to keep saying that to make it more obvious. You were always the brains and I was always supposed to be the muscle of this team, so let me go lick my wounds in peace, be by own…because that’s what I do…think about myself and nobody else,” Dean burst out, his body fading fast. He wanted to just lie down now, let sleep take over. He didn’t want to keep talking to end up saying something that hurt the both of them worse.
He pulled back and started to leave for his room.
“No,” Sam burst out. Then pleaded, “Dean please… wait,” meekly as if beseeching. Dean stopped, holding onto the wall at the door of the kitchen, the only support preventing him from tumbling.
Sam creeped closer, his arms snaking around his stomach as he hugged him from behind, resting his head on Dean’s shoulders and holding onto him.
“I am sorry Dean,” he pressed closer,” I really didn’t mean to say that. I swear Dean,” he sounded teary.
“I know you’re not stupid, you’re the smartest person I know….and Oh God, never selfish, you couldn’t be even if you tried to.”
“But you’re also the same person that hides wounds, downplays injuries, sleeps off every illness,” Sam rattled in distress, wanting Dean to understand.
His voice now low and raspy, he avowed what they both already knew, but he needed to say, “You’re my brother Dean….and I love you….I worry about you. And not just today…”he paused,” I mean yeah its worse today… this week,” he said tightly.
“But I worry about you every day. After all that we’ve been through, I just don’t want you to be hurt again, or lose you again Dean,” Sam pushed on.
“You’re not losing me Sammy, you know it. But every year, this…”Dean stopped unable to convey what he wanted to, in fear of hurting Sam.
“I know Dean, I know…I know how I deal with it is literally insanity. I know it might be bothering you. But I can’t help it,” he sighed, frustrated. “I try, I really do…but…it’s just…”
“It’s just what Sammy?”
Sam stalled, plenty to say but unable to find words. But he had to.
“It’s just….I can never save you,” Sam stiffened his hands clenching around Dean’s shirt where he was holding him. “I can never save you Dean. I couldn’t save you from Hell, I couldn’t save you from being trapped in Purgatory and I couldn’t save you any one of those hundred Tuesday’s when you just kept on dying in front of me,” Sam said, voice quivering.
“You would die of an electrocution, you would die after eating a bad Taco… you would die of a damn cut. Can you believe it? A freaking cut!!”
Dean stood in a trance, numbed by his brother’s pain.
“And so many of those Tuesdays, you wouldn’t die quick. You would die a slow and painful death. Puking your guts out till dehydration took you or fluid in the lungs that slowly failed your heart, or a fever that made you delusional and killed you after a seizure.”
Sam gulped, “But none of those times I could do anything no matter how hard I tried,” he reiterated as if defeated.
“So you know, when you get a cut, a burn or you fall ill or if you’re even just moping because you’re feeling out of it…I want to do something about it, something….anything that might help you. It gives me a chance to make it up to you. It feels like redemption for every time I failed you,” Sam was down to a whisper.
“And this….this isn’t just about redemption…It’s because you are my brother, and because I love you. And the watching out and saving and dying for family…It isn’t just your job. It’s mine too,” Sam emphasised. “You’re not the only one who can’t stand the thought of being alone,” Sam wept quietly, tears now seeping down Dean’s neck.
Dean held onto Sam whose body was quivering as he sobbed. He clasped Sam’s arm around him in a death grip. Holding onto the security and devotion that his brother so amply offered him. He hadn’t needed words to understand what had Sam unnerved because he could identify the same fear, same feeling of guilt and terror of losing family…
He was stunned, such consuming and overwhelming love making him weak in his knees. He lost balance, and any strength to hold himself and slid down. Realising a little late that it wasn’t just the love that had bought him down, his body had just lost its fight and given up on him too.
“Dean,” Sam cried, his knees hitting the floor beside him, his hands skimming through Dean’s hair. “What is it?”
“I hear you Sammy, I hear you and I get it, all of it. And I want to talk, which is so not me,” he laughed. “But God how I want to….But can we do it a bit later? I don’t feel too good,” he said only to look at Sam’s eyes widen in alarm.
He hurriedly explained,” Don’t pee your pants dude!” he whacked Sam with whatever bit of strength he still had,” Remember I got hurt on the last hunt,” Sam nodded. “I think it got infected this morning, just getting a fever because of it…it’s nothing else okay?” he promised.
Then demanded,” You wanted to take care of me? I want you to take care of me,” he fondly admitted, “I like it when you do.”
Sam smiled tremulously, nodded, “I am gonna take care of you, I gotcha,” he held onto Dean who tipped forward into Sam’s arms as if giving him the reigns,” You better, bitch!” He quipped making Sam laugh in the face of his worst nightmare which had suddenly become too real.
“Come on, let’s get you to the room,” he offered and gently eased Dean to his feet, scared when he heard tiny gasps of pain from Dean.
Sam closed his eyes, just for a second. On any other day Sam cherished the shift in their equation, of being the care-giver. He revelled in the change in his brother. A no holds barred, expressive Dean, who didn’t fear vulnerability…not with him at least. This is what he had wanted all his life. To be equals. But when it really did happen, it also scared him.
Dean had always been the one to be strong for the both of them. He wanted to as well, but how could he when he felt so weak and fearful himself.
When Dean held onto Sam’s arm around his shoulder, Sam realised maybe he didn’t have to.
He smiled at his brother and they both took slow steps to Dean’s room.
“You should have told me,” Sam chided him, with no heat to it.
“I would have if you didn’t seem like you would disintegrate in front of me if I even sneezed,” Dean remarked to get a soft pinch on his side that made him snort.
“I don’t have to worry about you having gotten cursed or something right?”
“Unless it’s you who cursed me, no…”
“Dean!” Sam groaned.
“What?” Dean whined,” You know I haven’t been anywhere without you. And Sam people can fall sick without it being something supernatural.”
“People yes.”
“Wow, way to tell me I am not human,” Dean gibed.
“Dean…”
“Sam is this your way of getting out of being my slave for the day? Because seriously, you got nothing to go and shoot at. I just have a ‘normal’ people reaction to wounds going on here. And stop arguing with me, I can’t talk and walk at the same time, or you’ll just have to carry me back,” he reprimanded Sam who was now sheepish to have bought it up.
Dean was leaning heavily against Sam by the time they reached his room, and his beloved memory foam. Sam laid Dean down gently, who was unusually plaint and staring at Sam glassy-eyed.
Sam made quick work of getting medical supplies to check and re-dress his wound, then to help abate the fever that seemed to have risen even in the few minutes it took for them to reach Dean’s room.
Sam made Dean turn on his good side and opened the bandages, wincing as he saw the fiery redness around the gash which was now oozing amply.
Sam looked up to give an earful but stopped when he found him pouting which made him smile with affection for his brother.
He deftly changed the dressing, applying the antiseptic and wrapped it securely. Then set out to check if Dean was hiding any other injury – he wouldn’t put it past him to do so- But was pleased to find none.
Wound dealt with, he checked Dean’s fever which was a high 103.2 as he had expected from the way Dean was confused and groggy.
He made Dean sit up to give him the medicine, who by now was having a hard time sitting on his own. Sam gently held him close to his side and bought the tablets to his mouth, then the water which Dean pliably drank from Dean, making no show of wanting to do anything by himself.
Dean not being manly about his illness or unable to even attempt refuting the support was unnerving Sam.
And he was unable to hide it,” Dean?”
“Hmm.”
“You’re okay, right?” Sam asked, voice childlike…waiting for big brother to comfort him.
Sensing his brother’s distress and sensitivity of the moment Dean straightened and looked at Sam in reassurance,” I am. Just a fever Sammy, not dying here, chill…”
“Don’t…don’t Dean. Don’t say shit like that….” Sam shivered.
“Sorry,” Dean replied with a smile as he shut his eyes to the room that had begun to spin. Then put his arm around Sam’s neck and hugged him,” Sorry okay? I need to lie down now…but I’m okay…” he reassured again.
Sam helped him lie back and tucked him in exaggeratedly just to elicit a response, and laughed when it made Dean smack him hard.
He sat down at the edge of the bed next to Dean, who shifted to give him some room, beckoning Sam to be closer to him. Sam smiled, then settled alongside him, his fingers grazing through Dean’s hair. Dean had been ill a while now, feeling sluggish and exhausted from a few days, even if the fever had appeared only today. On top of that hiding it from Sam had been the most exhausting.
So he allowed his exhausted body to rest, relishing the soft caresses and the medicines to take affect and pull him into oblivion.
When Dean’s breathing evened out, Sam slowly slid away from Dean but the second he moved away he could hear Dean’s disgruntled protests. Sam sat back, not moving in fear of waking Dean and settled against the headboard, continuing the soft grazing until sleep pulled him in too.
Sam blinked awake, disoriented a minute but certain the next that something had bought him out of his sleep. Suddenly remembering about Dean, he turned towards him.
Dean was moving, flailing in intervals…a sheen of sweat was shining on his face and he was repeatedly groaning.
Fever dreams.
Sam his touched his palm to Dean’s forehead. He was burning up. Shit.
“Hang on Dean,” Sam murmured and rushed to get him more medicine some cold water and a washcloth. He would have to cool Dean quickly if he was already on the verge of delirium. If the washcloth didn’t work he would have to pull Dean under a shower
Sam quickly fetched what he needed and rushed back to Dean, who by now had twisted himself into a huddle on the bed and was mumbling incoherently.
“Sammy, please don’t go…” he heard his brother pleading and stopped in his tracks, wondering if this was a past event playing in his dream or a hidden fear resurfacing with his shackles down.
“I am not going anywhere,” he soothed him while he broke the medicine in a glass of water. Dean was in no state to be woken to take them. He held Dean’s head in one palm raising him a little against his own body to make him drink it. Dean was delirious but he was still asleep, so it wasn’t an easy task to make sure the medicine was swallowed. Between all the sputtering Sam got Dean to drink most of the mix.
Then he took a cold washcloth and turned to Dean, wiping his face, neck as he placed another cold towel on his forehead. Dean squirmed initially when he suddenly felt the chill from the ice-cold cloth, but then allowed it a clear indication of just how terrible he felt.
Sam continued the same pattern for over an hour, hoping for Dean’s fever to subside, for him to calm down.
But it had been over an hour and Dean had gone from mumbling to flailing in Sam’s arms and now he was awake, eyes wide open staring around the room and back to him.
He stared at him imploringly and fisted his shirt,” Don’t leave me Sammy, please don’t go…”
Sam shut his eyes painfully, then looked down at his brother,” Where will I go Dean? Even if I would it wouldn’t be without you…” he reassured.
“I was alone,” he muttered thoughtfully, then loudly confessed,” I don’t like being alone Sammy. I try, I really do…but I can’t….”
Sam teared up at his brother’s pleas. His strong, stoic brother who had survived so much, was the most vulnerable about being left behind. From their frank conversations on good-days he knew Dean didn’t fear him walking out on him. But they were ‘Winchesters’ and life had and always could take the worst turn when they least expected it to.
“Sshh, shh,” he soothed his brother, settling his broad palm against Dean’s back sliding it across to calm him.
Dean’s hands clenched Sam’s shirt tighter, attempting to get him closer,” I am sorry Sam,” he said…his eyes peering wildly at Sam.
Sam held onto Dean’s tightened knuckles,” For what Dean?”
But Dean was confused, stoned by the medicine and kept mumbling.
Sam waited with baited breath for Dean’s fever to break, for his delirium to cease. But minutes turned into hours and Dean stayed warm as before and his fever dreams morphed from vulnerability to flashes from hell, purgatory and a whole life mixed of terror.
An already troubled Sam, had tried holding onto his sanity, taking care of his brother to the best of his ability. But as the night wore on and Dean didn’t come around, slowly Sam began losing a hold on his rationality too.
Cas may have taken over Sam’s hell but hadn’t wipe away Sam’s trauma. He was strong and unyielding in the face of all that he had endured, especially in the pit. But when it all got too much to bear topside. He many a times slipped, losing sense of what was real.
Then…Dean was with him, making himself Sam’s stone number one…to whom Sam held on till sanity returned. But Dean wasn’t here, he was lost in his own hell as he fought through fever, and hallucinations.
So even as Sam sat with Dean tightly held in his arms, he wasn’t really aware. He was lost in his own head, oblivious of the time, of the month or year or if he was back to Broward County where he was losing Dean.
And he cried, tears streaming down his face and into Dean’s hair, fighting sleep…fearing he would wake up to a fit and thriving Dean, only to lose him again and again…