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They help the kid clean up. There are a few brand-spanking new bullet holes in the walls, but nothing a few carefully rearranged posters can’t hide. He doesn’t stop shaking the whole while but Dean knows better than to mention it. He’s a tough kid. He’ll be okay.
Sam leaves briefly to walk the hotel's perimeter, checking more for curious onlookers or concerned citizens than potential threats. Dean asks if he still has his inspector’s badge on him just in case before he leaves; Sam shoots him a dirty look and takes off, muttering about immaturity and stupid Kids in the Hall references. Dean grins as Sam goes. If he doesn’t, he might throw up. He killed the thing that hurt his brother less than twenty minutes ago. The reality hasn’t entirely caught up yet.
He and Micheal continue straightening up the room for a while (Dean’s still quietly impressed; he honestly expected tears), when he catches Mike glancing at him and frowning. He doesn’t call the kid on it until the fourth time, praying that whatever the line of questioning is, it’s boring. They’ve both had enough excitement for one night.
“What’s up?” Dean tosses out casually.
Michael’s eyes wander from Dean, to the door Sam just walked out of, then back again. “He’s... your brother?” he asks haltingly. “The one you were talking about?”
“Yeah,” Dean confirms. “Why?”
Michael’s brow furrows. “It just seemed like...”
“Like what?”
Michael shakes his head and resumes pushing the carpet sweeper over the rug. “Never mind.”
Dean tilts his head, opens his mouth--
“A king or two queens?”
“Two queens.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
--and then snaps it shut. Shit.
When Sam returns to a spotless bedroom and dead silence Dean barrels over his confusion in favor of making sure Mike’s locked up securely for the night. If the kid sleeps a wink it’ll be a goddamn miracle. Dean reassures them they’ll be in their room all night if he needs anything, anything at all. Michael nods but Dean knows he won’t bother them short another shtriga appearance. Kid’s got his pride and doesn’t want to look like a baby. He recognizes the feeling. Then he and Sam return to their room. The one with two queens.
*~*
“He gonna be okay?” Sam asks as they get ready to bunk down. Dean, spitting toothpaste in the sink, doesn’t answer right away. It’s a complicated question anyhow. “He's tough, but...”
Dean rinses the mess down the sink. “Probably not. Not until he sees his brother,” he admits, sitting on the bed and unlacing his boots. “But he’s ‘bout as well could be expected.”
Sam nods. “Makes sense. Hope Asher and the other kids will be alright.”
“Yeah.” Dean doesn’t really want to think about it. He’s having a hard enough time viewing this as a win as it is, considering the whole damn mess was his fault to begin with. “How about you? You in one piece?”
Sam shrugs. “Was feeling a little woozy after the attack at first but I’ll live. Honestly, I’ve been through worse.”
Dean thinks of walking in on the creature draining the life out of his baby brother at ten years old, how pale and confused and small he seemed afterward, and mutely disagrees.
“Yeah, well. You’ve always had a delicate constitution.” Behind him, Dean can practically hear Sam’s eyes rolling in his head.
“You got me. I’m swooning,” Sam says dryly. “Better take care I don’t collapse and catch the consumption.”
Yesterday, there were six kids in the hospital dying of pneumonia. Tonight, they killed the monster that did it and they might die anyway. Sixteen or seventeen years ago, his brother could’ve died of pneumonia and his stupid neglect. Tonight, he could’ve died again.
Dean moves automatically. He gets up, walks over to Sam’s bed, and gets to work on his shoes. He hears Sam say his name but ignores him, yanking off his boots but leaving the socks. Sam’s feet get cold. Leaves the pants, too, just in case the cops come by asking about gunshots and they have to book it. He jerks down the covers then push and rearranges him until he’s under the blankets, tucked in.
Safe.
Sam looks at him with wide, bewildered eyes, and Dean’s sure he’s been found out. Michael saw it and he’s just a kid. How could Sam not pick up on it? It’s embarrassingly obvious.
“Dean--”
“Go to sleep, Sam,” Dean snaps, turning away. His heart rabbits frantically in his chest. Jesus. How’d he turn into this? When did it happen? Was he always like this? Or was it his failure, that first, nearly fatal, failure that turned Look after Sammy into something... else?
The idea makes him sick. He tries to walk away but is stopped short by a hand grabbing the hem of his shirt. He swallows hard but doesn’t jerk away. He looks down into his brother’s face. Sam’s eyes search him with narrowed, calculated focus. Dean doesn’t look away. He doesn’t have the right. If Sam needs to judge him, tear him apart for this... compulsion, then he’s gonna stand here and take it. He owes him that much.
“Dean,” Sam says lowly. “Do you need to take care of me? You need to take care of your little brother?”
God, the words shouldn’t make his insides go hot. Dean can’t even deny it so he just closes his eyes and nods, hoping that his shame is more apparent than the molten want bubbling up within him. Sam releases his hold, keeping him tethered with only one finger hooked around the fabric. With that single digit, he drags Dean back to his bedside.
“Thank you. You’re doing good, looking after me. You always have.” Sam whispers. Dean can only shake his head, knowing it’s not true--Sam knows how untrue it is--but can’t tell him to shut up. He enjoys it too much. “But you forgot something.”
Dean’s eyes fly open. Sam’s looking at him like he wants the last of the Lucky Charms, soft and stubborn and pouting. That expression on an adult face shouldn’t have the same effect on him now as it did sixteen or seventeen years ago. It shouldn’t have the same effect but worse; shouldn’t make him want to give Sam any and every little thing he asks for, to drop everything so he can move mountains and part seas, to drop to his knees and--
He’s one sick puppy. “Yeah?” he croaks.
The smile Sam shoots him isn’t childish at all. “You forgot my goodnight kiss,” he murmurs.
Dean takes care of that. Then he does it again. And again. And again. He makes sure his little brother is taken care of, and then some. Sam reminds him if he forgets anything else. Turns out, he’s forgotten about quite a bit.