Work Text:
The Impala rumbled to a stop at their current dusty motel with its headlights lighting out the peeling paint and dirt stains. Dean yanked open the driver’s door and grabbed the frame to steady himself. His legs were like jelly and the blood soaking into his jeans was a nasty reminder of the gash on it. But, it was the drums in his head that kept him from breathing, with every beat, Dean practically felt a drill entering his brain.
Two children had been killed recently; two brothers who died under the terror of a pack of ghouls. Only chewed bones remained. Dean couldn’t even begin to think what that would be like. If Sam — if his baby brother…
A groan from the passenger seat cleared his mind, making him forget about anything else, but the owner of said sound.
“You good, Sammy?” Dean winced; his throat felt like sandpaper. With his big brother instincts kicking in and limping, he circled their car and reached out to Sam, only to find Sam slumped against the door, his face ashen. Sam’s eyes were shadowed with pain as he tried to grab the door not to let himself fall.
Sam offered a weak smile. “Just peachy.” His voice was raspy and tired. “You’re the one who looks like a badger chewed you up.”
Dean chuckled, sounding more like he was coughing. “Says the guy with a ghoul claw marks all over his ugly mug.” Dean aimed to sound calm and casual but failed when he saw the scratches on Sam’s face.
Wrapping Sam’s arm around his shoulders, and after making sure his brother was steadied, they closed the doors of the Impala and walked to their room with slow and deliberate movements. Their breathing was tired and heavy, but the warmth of their bodies together felt like heaven to Dean.
The motel room was a dump — all dirty beige and flickering lights with a smell of cheap disinfectant and stale cigarettes. Carefully, Dean laid his brother down on the bed and collapsed next to Sam with a grunt, wincing in pain as his back protested the action.
Dean counted his breaths, taking a break from his tiredness.
“Have to clear our mess,” Sam said with a small voice and paused. “My head is spinning — I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Taking it all in, Dean’s heart raced. Fuck, this was bad.
“Concussion,” they both spoke in the same breath.
Dean closed his eyes as his heart raced. He needed a second.
Out of nowhere, a ghoul pops up and clocks Sammy in the face, making him fall and hit his head against a grave. Quickening his movements, Dean released himself from the ghoul holding him and charged at the other one. They both fell to the ground and before his enemy could make a move, Dean used his machete and buried it in the being’s rotting flesh. A shot was heard from behind and ghoul-number-one fell stunned to the ground. The screams of the ghoul below him made him get up on his feet and with a trained movement he sliced off the head of the second one. Without wasting a beat, he turned around and did the same to the first ghoul.
“Head, face, back.” That took Dean out of his memories. “My ankle’s bad too, broken, maybe.” Sam let out a tight laugh. “Think my ass’s wrecked up too.”
They had this thing, in which both would voice their wounds to make the other know. It was a great system to prioritize things that started after a bad hunt when Sam was still a teen, and they hadn’t stopped doing it.
“You’re gonna have a hell of a scar there.” He said, pointing to Sam’s face after they turned to look at each other. “Some chicks dig it.”
Sam snorted a tired laugh. “I bet.”
“Head, and legs,” he informed Sam. His stomach was not in good shape, but Sammy didn’t need to know everything. Not right now. “Give me a second and I’m grabbing the first aid kit.”
“I give you half.”
Dean half smiled, it was good to have Sammy here, but the smile faded away when he remembered Sam could be living happily and healthily in a safe place, instead, he was here, bloodied and in the face of danger. But as much as Dean wanted to feel bad, Dean had Sam and it was all worth it.
Swallowing, Dean stood up, feeling the burn in his leg and stomach, and walked over to the bag where they kept the first aid kit. As he bent down, Dean grabbed himself onto the bed when the room spun around him. Damn, maybe he had hit his head too. He pulled out the kit and stopped moving, waiting for his dizziness to subside.
When Dean felt ready, he slowly stood up and returned to his brother, putting all his attention on every step. Sam was looking at him, his gaze a little lost but Dean had the feeling Sam still could see right through him. It was funny, Dean had always been used to people’s gazes. Gazes that carried hunger and desire, but Sam’s? The intensity that it bore was always too much. It wasn’t something carnal, hell no. They were brothers after all. But it was something stronger. Deeper. Purer. It penetrated every layer of Dean’s being. And same as always, Dean ducked his head and avoided it.
He put the box next to Sam and took out ibuprofen and the holy water they kept inside — water’s water, as Dad used to say.
“Open up,” Dean said and waited for Sam to do as instructed. Dean shoved the pill into his mouth and brought the water to his mouth to drink. “Ibuprofen,” he explained.
Sam winced as the pill went down all the way to his stomach. “Okay.”
After that, Dean took Sam’s face in his hands and examined it. A scratch marked a bright red line from his right temple to the chin. Dean touched it gently, and Sam scrunched up his face.
“Sorry.”
He knew it would hurt Sam, but he needed to check that it wasn’t deep. And it wasn’t. There were three more claw marks on his forehead with dried blood on them. They didn’t look deep either. Lastly, there was blood under his nose, but it seemed the bleeding had stopped. “Okay. Face looks good,” he said, adding a tiny smile to cheer up his brother. With a piece of alcohol-moistened gauze from the first aid kit, he cleaned the wounds, echoing the same Sam’s pained faces made as Dean did the work.
When he finished, Dean asked, “How’s the back?” He hoped the back was okay because he’d rather not move his brother.
“That’s where it hurts the most.”
“Shit,” he said, clenching his fists. They both shared a look, and then, Sam nodded. “Can you hold on a little longer? I want to check your ankle first.”
“‘Course I can.”
Dean arched his eyebrow, looking at Sam. This wasn’t a good moment to play brave. But when he thought about it… Sam had at least ten minutes of lying on his back on this bed, plus the half hour he spent sitting in the Impala. Dean winced, agreeing that his little brother could do it. Still, Dean would work as fast as possible to spare Sammy the pain.
“Okay.”
Dean was already moving towards Sam’s feet when his little brother took him by surprise by the wrist. The sudden move hurt Dean, but he suppressed a wince. He stopped, about to ask what was wrong, when with a calm voice, Sam said, “Take one, too.”
Dean made a face, not knowing what his little brother meant. Sam must have seen his confused face, because he, then, explained, “Ibuprofen. Take one.”
Frowning and snorting in disbelief, Dean dismissed Sam’s worry, “I’m fine. I can wait.”
“Dean.” Sam tightened his hand as if to make a point. “Take one.”
Dean sighed at Sam’s authoritative tone, already knowing Sam wouldn’t take no for an answer. They didn’t have time for this. “You’re a bitch,” he said as he reached for a pill and took the bottle of holy water Sam was offering after letting go of his wrist.
With one pill now in his system, Dean made his way to the edge of the bed, while Sam carefully twitched his feet, in an attempt to get his sneakers off. It was a good thing Sam wasn’t wearing socks; it made the job easier because the right one came off with no problem. They weren’t so lucky with the other one, so Dean untied the laces and forgot for a second that Sam might be hurt, which he knew was true when Sam gasped, closing his mouth so fast Dean heard the teeth clash.
The sound made Dean close his eyes.
When he opened them, in front of him, Sam was walking towards Dean and three headless people were lying on the ground. Dean blinked, trying to understand what had happened. Sam held his hand to make him stand because somehow he was on the ground. His brother’s face was bloody and that was when he remembered the hunt and recognized the cemetery around him. Before he could ask what had happened someone grabbed him from behind…
“Fuck,” Sam said in a pained voice, bringing Dean back to the present.
Dean looked at him, focusing again on his brother. “Sorry.” Dean gently slid Sam’s sneakers off his feet, revealing a fat and purple ankle. They had seen worse, but still.
“How bad is it?”
“You’re gonna live,” he replies, patting Sam’s knee. “Don’t see any blood, so I don’t think it’s broken.”
“Ice, then?”
“Ice it is,” Dean agreed.
“There’s an ice machine outside.” Sam gestured towards the door with his head. “To the left.”
Dean pursed his lips, considering their choices. It could be best to take care of the swelling first, but he would have to keep Sam from moving. But Sam’s back was still a problem and that implied moving Sam.
“Fuck,” he whispered, biting his lips.
Sam raised his head from the pillow to look at him. For his face, Dean knew he had come to the same conclusion. “The ankle can wait. How you doing?”
“I’m fine. Stop asking.” Dean cracked his neck and stretched his arms out to free himself from the slow pain consuming his body. The ibuprofen had helped, but his body was still killing him. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll check your back first, then your ankle.”
Dean didn’t wait for Sam to agree. He grabbed Sam’s legs and as slow as he could he pushed Sam towards him, causing both ankles to hang off the edge of the bed.
“You know I can move, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, not caring. The ankle looked bad, and he wanted to take care of it as soon as possible. He returned to Sam. “Okay, I’m gonna move you.”
Sam gave him a bitch face and to make a point, he turned over his stomach, showing Dean his back. Then, he turned his face to look at Dean. “Told you I could do it.”
Dean almost didn’t hear him. He was too shocked to talk. Sam’s shirt was a complete mess. It was torn from top to bottom, with little pieces of fabric still holding it together. Large claw marks appeared between the pieces of clothing, running all the way from one shoulder to the other, and others from the upper back to the lower part. While bright red covered all of Sam’s skin.
It was bad, really bad.
Sam had never been this hurt.
“Fuck, Sam.”
“That bad, uh?”
Dean wanted to grab him and yell at him for not speaking up. Hit it in the head, maybe that could fix him. But there was no time. Adrenaline surged through his bloodstream, fading all his pains and making him hurried. He set the first aid kit aside and grabbed the needle and thread. Using the scissors, Dean cut away the remnants of Sam’s shirt and put alcohol on his hands and the needle.
“It’s gonna hurt, Sam.”
Sam swallowed loudly. “I’m ready.”
Dean avoided looking at Sam. He didn’t want to see the hurt on his brother’s face. Carefully, he put alcohol on the wounds and cleaned them as best he could with gauze. Tears were welling up in his eyes and his hands were shaking as he heard Sam moan in pain, but Dean continued his task.
Just like his dad taught him years ago, Dean strung together the four wounds on Sam’s back. It took longer than he would have liked but he needed to be precise to let the skin heal correctly and avoid future ugly scars.
When he finished, Dean heard his brother bawl. There were little beads of pain coming out of his eyes.
“It’s okay, Sammy. I’m done.”
Sam shook his head. “You’re not. Look under the jeans.”
Dean’s eyes widened like plates, remembering Sam telling him his ass hurt too. With his hand, he pushed Sam’s jeans down a little and looked at a new wound, not as deep or as big as the ones he’d already stitched up, but painful enough for Sam to swallow his shame.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you after this. You’re warned. Lift your waist,” Dean ordered, as he reached under Sam to unbuckle the belt and unbutton the jeans. He carefully slid the denim over Sam’s boxers until it reached his knees. The wound was still hidden under Sam’s white underwear, but the blood mark on it told Dean exactly where it was.
“I’m gonna pull ‘em down, Sam,” Dean said, only out of courtesy, because he was already sliding the left side of Sam’s boxers down to reveal the wound, trying not to show more than necessary. At least, the wound wasn’t that big. Three stitches would be enough. “Hold your breath.”
Dean put his full attention back to his work. After knotting the thread, he covered the stitches with gauze, just as he had done with the ones on Sam’s back, and patted Sam’s good buttcheek. “Okay, I’m done now. Right?” He paused. “Right?!” Dean almost laughed when he turned to see his brother’s face. Sam was red as a tomato with his eyes tightly closed. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”
Seriously, Sam and Dean had seen each other naked more than once. Dean never wasn’t going to understand Sam’s shyness. It wasn’t that big of a deal. They were brothers. But he knew Sam, so he decided to give him more privacy.
“I’m gonna grab the ice. It won’t take long.”
Dean was back and forth for the ice in no time. He helped his brother get rid of the jeans and instructed him to stay face down while he helped him move his body up the bed. He lifted Sam’s bad foot and put two pillows under it for support, then put the ice inside a t-shirt and carefully placed it on Sam’s ankle before wrapping it up with bandages.
He looked down at his work, mentally counting the problems Sam had told him about. Head, checked. Face, checked. Ankle, checked. Ass, Dean grinned like a child, checked. Back, checked.
It was all good, and Dean felt relieved… exhaled and tired. He looked at Sam and his brother had his eyes closed, probably the pain had made him sleep. In the morning, he’ll wake him up to give him another pill.
He yawned and looked at his bed, it was full of weapons. Dean scrunched up his face, feeling the adrenaline draining from his body and taking away the energy to fix the mess. To add more, his legs slowly began to hurt again.
Fighting tiredness and soreness, Dean lifted his shirt and looked at the torn skin on his stomach. Dean whistled to himself but felt proud of all he did under their circumstances.
Just a little longer and he could rest.
With no other choice, Dean reached for the med kit to tend to his own wounds. As he grabbed it, Sam’s hand landed over his, startling Dean. Sam’s eyes were open, looking at him with accusatory eyes.
“The fuck, Sam? You scared the shit out of me,” he shouts, trying to hide the ache.
Sam kept looking at him, with those hazel eyes that had always fascinated people.
“Show me your leg,” he demanded, without lowering his gaze.
Dean played the fool. “Eh? You feeling okay?”
A bitch face presented itself to Dean. And Dean knew he was fucked up. For a second, Dean thought about showing Sam his good leg but then dismissed the idea. If Sam wanted to, Dean would end up in his underwear too until Sam was satisfied with his inspection, never minding his own injuries. Finally, with his eyes rolling back and muttering about how spoiled little brothers are, Dean showed Sam his leg.
“It needs stitches.” Sam was moving his head, checking all angles.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Sam put on another bitch face and reached for the kit without bothering with an answer of his own.
“What the heck are you doin’?” Seriously, wasn’t Sam tired?
“Dah,” his little brother replied in a mocking tone. “Sew you up, what else am I gonna do?”
“Sam, you’re hurt.”
His little brother squinted his eyes, clearly not amused. “So?”
Sam could be hurt, but still had it in him to be a brat. Dean thought of something to say because he wasn’t going to let Sam move. Dean might get hurt, or worse, Sam might. And again, Sam looked at him as if reading his thoughts.
“I know what I’m doin’. I wouldn’t… You know? Hurt you.”
He sounded sad, and Dean wanted to kick himself for not keeping a straight face. His guilt was enough to make him say yes.
Sam motioned his hands for Dean to put his leg where he could reach. After doing so, Sam did the same procedure Dean had done before. Alcohol on his hands, on the wound, then on the needle. Carefully, he began to sew skin to skin.
Dean would never tell Sam, but his heart was jumping like a baby heart with excitement at seeing Sam hurt and yet taking care of Dean, handling Dean’s wounded skin with such care and patience.
His brother was incredible.
When he finished, Sam paused to contemplate his work. “It looks good,” he said at last in an approving tone. Then, he bit his lower lip. “I don’t know if I can get up.”
Dean cocked his head. “Why would you want to get up?”
If Sam were okay his tone would be more serious and sterner, but he just sounded sad and resigned. “Don’t think I didn’t see your stomach.”
Oh. That.
Seeing Sam all defeated and sad, Dean imagined what it would be like to see Sam hurt and be incapable of healing his wounds. He wouldn’t like it. When it all clicked in his head, he let out a sigh. “You want to supervise me? I could mess up, you know? With the headache I have.”
Sam pressed a small smile and nodded, then handed the first aid kit back to Dean. All of that was done without taking his eyes off Dean as if he were thanking him.
Little brothers, man.
Taking off his shirt, Dean went through the steps they had already done a lot that night. Sam watched him intently and told him he needed to be more careful, or he was leaving too much space between the stitches. Dean smiled tightly. Sam has always been bossy, and Dean felt like crying at the thought of being so loved. But that was something only for himself.
After all his wounds were fixed, Dean offered Sam another pill and he took one too. Then, he took off his torn shirt and jeans, and finally lay down next to Sam.
His eyes closed when his back hit the matters.
They walked through the cemetery, arms brushing against each other as they listened intently for any sound. Dean’s fists were clenched so tightly his nails could break the skin. But Dean couldn’t help it; they had just found two small skeletons in a catacomb behind them. They were so intent on looking around them that the tug of their feet caught them off guard. Dean fell to the ground, while something ran towards them, grabbing Sam by the hair and pulling him away from Dean...
“I wish we had gotten here sooner,” Sam said, returning Dean from the memories.
Dean sight, fully knowing what he meant. If they had gotten there sooner the brothers could have been saved and could have lived a life where they could be together, but Sam and Dean failed. No, that wasn’t right. Dean failed.
“Me too, Sammy.”
They kept it quiet and silence took over the room and lulled them slowly. The lights were blurring and Dean’s consciousness was fading from exhaustion. The eyelashes weighed tons, while his body entered into relaxation. Everything was black, but before giving in to Morpheus, Dean felt Sam’s hand take his wrist.
Eyes closed; Dean was happy.