Work Text:
Sam liked to think he was good at hiding things but Dean knew. He knew his little brother better than anything—forty years in hell wouldn't change that—and Sam should know how stupid it was to think he could keep things from Dean. He didn't think Sam had forgotten that much. It hadn't even been a year for him since Dean…
Flashes of hell flickered behind his eyes with the phantom pain of Alastair's knife and Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, breathing heavily. Okay, no thinking of hell. Especially when he was this tired. Worry about Sammy instead.
It had not been an easy hunt. They were both bashed up a little, but Sam seemed to be even worse off, slumping against the door, arm guarding his ribs protectively, eyes closed as if he were sleeping, though Dean could tell from the furrow in his brow that he wasn't.
He seemed to perk up enough when they got to the motel, but it was all a ruse. Dean could see the blood on Sam's shirt he was trying to hide under his jacket. Dean didn't understand. Why the hell was Sam hiding injuries now? They had a well-practiced post-hunt routine and knew better than to hide injuries. That was the kind of crap Dean pulled, not Sam.
"You mind if I grab the shower first?" Sam asked tiredly as soon as they got into the room.
Dean furrowed his eyes. "Yeah, sure. When you're done, let me look at your injuries."
Sam's jaw tightened. "I'm good. Just some bruises." He went into the bathroom and closed the door before Dean could say anything, and soon there was the sound of the shower running.
Dean felt helpless, and he didn't like feeling helpless, especially when it came to the care of his little brother. He grabbed the first aid bag anyway and cleaned some of his own cuts before he heard the shower turn off.
He waited, but Sam didn't come out of the bathroom. He waited some more, and finally huffed an annoyed breath and went to knock on the door.
"Hey, you gonna give me a turn any time tonight?" he asked tiredly.
The only reply was an obviously pained cut-off gasp from the other side of the door.
"Sammy?" Dean asked, instantly concerned.
"I-I'm fine," Sam said, voice strained. "Just…don't look."
Dean frowned even harder. "What, you still naked? You forget your clothes or something?"
Another sharp inhale and Dean had had enough. "Sammy, I'm coming in."
"No, don't—!"
Dean pushed the door in and saw Sam standing over the sink, bare-chested, blood dripping down onto the off-white porcelain and dirty bathroom tile as he tried to twist himself to tend an injury on his back.
He hunched, almost cowering as Dean walked in, ducking his head as exhaustion and—shame?—overcame him.
And that was when Dean looked beyond the fresh blood and saw countless other scars. Some, he obviously remembered, particularly that one in the middle of Sam's spine, but the others were new. Still pink and shiny, some mere scratches, others indicating injuries that would've had to be sewn up, others the puckered blotches from stab wounds.
"What the hell?" Dean demanded, unable to fathom how Sam could have collected so many scars in the course of a year.
Except the obvious—Dean hadn't been there to watch his back.
"It's not that bad," Sam mumbled.
Dean took a step closer. "Sammy, these scars…where did they come from?"
Sam just shook his head, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Dean sighed and simply grabbed the rag Sam had been trying to clean his injury with, pressing it to the deep gouge in his back right under a shoulder blade, trying to stop the bleeding a little. Sam hissed, back arching slightly. Dean glanced down at the horrifying collection of scars. There was a particularly nasty one on his shoulder, looking like it had cut right into the meat of it. He reached up to touch it carefully.
"Don't!" Sam snapped, jerking away.
"Sammy…"
Sam sank down to sit on the closed toilet seat, hunching over to hide as much of himself as he could. He was shaking, probably from the chill in the room, despite the steam from the shower.
"You got these hunting while I was gone, didn't you?" Dean asked quietly.
Sam looked away, fingers clenching into the meat of his arms. "I didn't…it wasn't a good time for me," was all he said.
Which, Dean took to mean that Sam had simply thrown himself into any fight, not caring if he got out alive. Hell, that was also something Dean did.
"That's the kind of crap I do," Dean told him firmly.
"Yeah, well, maybe I took up both of our positions while you were g-gone," Sam said. "Maybe I didn't have another choice."
Dean hurt. A deep ache inside his chest stealing his breath. Not knowing what else to do, he simply went back to tending Sam's wound, cleaning it before butterflying it closed and taping gauze over it. When he had finished, he helped Sam into a clean shirt and turned to clean up the supplies when Sam suddenly spat out.
"You can say it. That I'm weak."
Dean spun around to stare at him. "That's not what I was going to say, Sammy."
Sam was shaking again. "I just…I couldn't…I couldn't do it."
"Do what, Sammy?"
Sam's head came up, eyes wet. "Save you," he whispered.
That was when Dean broke completely. He dropped the first aid stuff and crossed back over to Sam, simply pulling him into a firm embrace. Sam leaned against him, taking a shuddering breath.
"I tried everything and still couldn't save you," he choked out. "These scars just…they remind me that I'm a failure."
"Sammy, stop," Dean said, voice strangled. "It's okay. You were still here waiting for me. That's all I ever needed. And whatever's next, we'll figure that out later." He ran a hand through his hair. "But you gotta stop this self-destructive crap, Sammy. Please. For me."
Sam squeezed his waist tightly, taking a shuddering breath. "Yeah…yeah, I know."
Dean pulled back and gripped the back of Sam's neck, forcing him to look up and meet his eyes. "And I promise you, that from now on, I'm gonna be watching your back, little brother."
Sam's lips curled up in a smile and he nodded. "Yeah. Same here."
Dean smiled back and ruffed his damp hair.
He knew things were not going to be easy from here on out, but if they could look after each other like they always had, then he thought that they would probably be okay.