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The hunt had been doomed from the start.
John had woken Sam and Dean up in the middle of the night, looking frantic and far too strung out, saying he’d honed in on the vamps they’d been hunting and they needed to hurry. Dean had hopped out of bed and gotten dressed without question, face set in determination and excitement.
Sam, on the other hand, had tried to argue. He’d said that it was too late in the night, and John clearly wasn’t thinking straight. He wasn’t sure if his father was drunk or on something else - he’d been getting more and more risky lately. He always did around the anniversary of their mother’s death.
John, true to himself, hadn’t listened. He’d waited until Dean was tossing their duffels in the car to smack Sam upside the head and tell him if he didn’t stop backtalking, this hunt would be nothing to how John would correct him later.
And Sam, true to himself, had shot a snarky comment back, earning a hard shove into the wall and a deadly glare from his father when Dean returned.
God, Sam hated him sometimes.
The car ride was short. Five minutes through town to an abandoned warehouse that stood decrepit by itself.
Dean, amazing big brother he’d always been, had noticed that Sam was upset, and sat in the back with him despite John’s harsh comment about him babying the kid. Dean ignored him and stayed by his brother, teasing him until he got a small smile out of him.
They arrived at the warehouse and got out silently, stocking up on weapons.
“Dean, you go around the back and hop through a window, I’m gonna pick the lock on the side and go in,” John said, pointing to Dean as he loaded his gun. “Sam, I want you on the perimeter. You shout the second something’s off, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam and Dean said in unison, Dean smiling at his father as Sam glared at the ground.
Now, Sam was walking the perimeter, machete in hand as he crept around, deadly silent. That was the one thing their father had never been able to scold him for - stealth. Sam had always been the silent one. Now that he was older, John had taken to using him for stakeouts. Dean didn’t like it, but John didn’t particularly like his complaints, either, so Sam was used to stealthily creeping around.
He was anxious.
They’d fought vamps before plenty of times, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared for his brother and father. He knew they could handle themselves, but his chest was tight anyway.
Hunting was dangerous. Vampires were dangerous. Something could always happen, at any time, and though Sam had learned to be prepared, he never felt truly ready for it.
He whipped his head around suddenly when he heard a branch snap in the trees behind him. He didn’t waste a second diving behind a fallen log and gripping his machete tightly, keeping his breathing silent.
After a few tense moments, two men emerged from the trees, walking slowly and carefully. Sam tensed from where he was hidden. Vampires.
“You’d think hunters would stop rushing in so carelessly,” the taller man hummed, nudging his partner in the side. “If only Lance had let us be in there.” He gazed at the building almost hungrily, and Sam felt sick.
“Lance has his reasons,” the other vampire said sharply. “Those hunters are strong. We need to be careful.”
They walked by Sam then, boots crunching fallen leaves as Sam held his breath. They walked up to the building and slipped deftly through a cracked side door. Sam stood and followed after a moment, knife gripped tightly in his hand.
He wasn’t supposed to go in. He knew that. John had made that abundantly clear on the car ride over. This was too dangerous for him; they didn’t need his help anyway, so he was to stay outside.
But the vamps knew they were here. They knew they were hunters, and clearly they were more prepared than John had originally thought.
Sam hesitated by the door, listening intently for any sign of the vamps. It was silent. Too silent.
He barely had time to duck before a large hunting knife was embedded in the doorframe right where his neck had been moments prior. He scrambled back, raising his machete to block another strike. He didn’t recognize the woman attacking him, but the fangs sprouting from her mouth were enough of a clue that he should kill her.
Sam swung his weapon at her neck as hard as he could and felt his stomach twist at the squishy noise her head made as it landed on the ground. He kicked it away and slid inside the building, deciding that he really couldn’t wait outside any longer. He wasn’t safe outside, and he doubted he’d be any safer inside.
The warehouse was dark, the only light coming from a few dusty windows near the ceiling. There were boxes and pieces of machinery Sam didn’t recognize lying around haphazardly, and the place was covered in dried blood.
Sam made a face but continued, back to the wall as he crept silently deeper into the building.
It wasn’t hard to figure out where he needed to go. He could hear a fight deeper in the warehouse. Scuffling and grunts, the occasional shout - he recognized his father's booming voice directing Dean through the fight.
Sam picked up his pace when he heard a loud thump, and Dean cried out in frustration.
He stopped before rounding the corner, adjusting his grip on the machete and steeling his nerves. He peeked around the corner and his eyes widened at the sight.
Dean and John were surrounded. There were at least half a dozen dead vamps sprawled out in piles around the large room, and at least another half dozen putting their all into the fight.
John was holding his own against three of them, swinging his weapon and kicking when they tried to get close.
Sam’s vision tunnelled when he saw Dean.
Dean was pressed up against the wall, barely holding a vampire away from his neck, both hands on the vamps face as he struggled. Sam didn’t waste a second running in, machete raised high.
He tackled the vampire off of his brother, ignoring Dean’s shout when he saw him. He pinned the vampire down and pressed the knife to his neck.
“Not my brother,” he snarled, but before he could behead the thing, he felt hands on his shoulders. He whipped around to find himself face to face with another vampire, this one looking rightfully pissed. Dean was busy grappling with two other vamps, and Sam took the moment to be pissed at their father again - they were not ready for all this.
“Dean!”
He didn’t even mean to call for his brother, not really. Dean was wrapped up in his own fight, Sam could see that. But something about being manhandled into a chokehold by a large and angry vampire elicited fear from him, and Sam had always called out for his brother when he was afraid.
“Sam!” Dean cried, kicking one vampire away while beheading the other.
For a moment, Sam thought Dean might get to him. Brave, fast, strong Dean. But then a hot, fiery pain bloomed in his neck, and he screamed as the vampire's teeth dug into his skin. He kicked his legs uselessly, clawing at the man’s face in a fruitless attempt to get him off. The vampire only sank his fangs deeper. Sam screamed again, tears brimming in his eyes from the pain.
Then Dean was there, pulling the vamp off of Sam and beheading him with a ferocity Sam had never seen from him.
Sam didn’t even have a chance to thank Dean for saving his life, instead stumbling and falling to his knees. Dean caught him before he could fall the rest of the way to the ground and pressed his hands to Sam’s neck immediately, attempting to stench the blood flow.
Sam cried out in pain, grabbing Dean’s wrists and trying to tug them away.
“I know, Sammy, I know,” Dean said, voice panicked and tight. Sam looked up at him, blinking heavily and swallowing guilt at how worried Dean sounded. That had never been his intention. He just wanted to help his brother, but again, he screwed things up.
“Dean-” he tried as Dean carefully lowered him to the ground, cradling the upper half of his body and keeping his hands pressed firmly against the wound. Dean ripped off his jacket and bunched it up, shoving it against Sam’s neck, and he cried out in pain, back arching off the ground as tears prickled at his eyes.
“I know, Sam,” Dean said again, eyes full of fear. “I gotta keep pressure on it, alright?”
Sam groaned in response, turning his head away from Dean. God, he couldn’t bear seeing him look so distraught, especially knowing that it was his fault.
Vaguely, Sam heard John finishing off the few remaining vampires, grunting as he swung his weapon through the air.
“You’re alright, Sammy,” Dean said, cupping Sam’s face and brushing tears away with his thumb. “Promise. You’re gonna be just fine.”
“Dean!” John barked suddenly, hurrying over to his sons. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, voice full of fury.
“Sam’s hurt, Dad,” Dean said, not even bothering to look at him, all of his focus on Sam.
John knelt down and batted Dean’s hands away so he could look at the wound. Sam groaned again, curling away from his father and towards his brother.
“Dean,” he whined, clutching Dean’s shirt in his fist.
“I’m right here,” Dean said frantically, one hand still cupping Sam’s cheek. “Right here, buddy, I swear.”
“Dammit, Sam,” John snapped, pressing the fabric down on Sam’s neck again. He cried out in pain and kicked his legs uselessly. “I told you to stay outside.”
“Dad.” Dean’s voice was low and serious, and Sam was just as surprised as John to hear it.
God, his neck was really starting to hurt. He knew he was still bleeding, too, and he knew that wasn’t a good thing. He was starting to feel woozy now, and he knew they needed to get out and patch him up.
“Go,” Sam said, his voice sounding far more petulant than he liked. “We needa… go.” Even the simple sentence had him panting, and if he was any more coherent, he’d probably be embarrassed as hell.
But he figured he’d lost enough blood to get a pass this once.
“Carry him,” John ordered, pointing at Dean. Dean immediately tucked his arms beneath Sam’s knees and around his back, hoisting him up with a grunt.
Sam groaned as his head lolled against Dean’s chest, neck throbbing in time with his pulse.
“Hurts…” he murmured, looking up at Dean with half-lidded eyes.
“I know it hurts,” Dean said, voice tight. “I know. But you gotta stay with me, alright?”
Sam whined and turned his head away from Dean, but Dean shook his head sharply.
“Uh-uh - nope,” he said, shifting Sam until Sam turned to glare up at him. “Gotta keep your eyes open, kiddo.”
“Not a kid…” Sam grumbled, lips turned downwards in a pout he knew he’d never get away with in any other circumstance.
“You’re my kid,” Dean said, shouldering open a door and picking up his pace as he headed to the Impala. “Which means I can call you whatever I want.” He looked down at Sam. “Bitch.”
“Jerk,” Sam grunted, voice barely a whisper. Dean swallowed thickly and seemed to tighten his hold on Sam.
“You’re alright,” he said again. “We’re gonna patch you up and you’ll be right as rain.”
“Dad’s gonna be mad…” Sam whispered.
“Dad can kiss my ass if he tries anything,” Dean said sharply, eyes shining with something fierce.
Huh. Sam must really be in bad shape if Dean was talking about their father like that.
They finally made it to the car, and Dean laid Sam across the backseat, climbing in with him and sitting on the floor next to him. John opened the door by Sam’s head and set down a first aid kit, digging through it frantically.
He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and handed it to Dean.
“Do it,” he snapped when Dean hesitated. Dean pursed his lips and leaned down to be closer to Sam.
“This is gonna hurt,” he warned.
“Do it,” Sam groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head into the seat.
The pain he felt then had him screaming and arching his back so hard he felt his body leave the seat. Dean pressed a hand to his chest and shushed him quietly, but Sam was too focused on keeping his eyes from rolling back to hear the words of comfort he whispered.
When the pain finally faded a bit, Sam relaxed, blinking his eyes open as he panted. Dean was still next to him, one hand holding Sam’s and the other still splayed out on his chest. He looked haunted, face pale and eyes wide. He made a weak attempt at a smile when he saw Sam staring at him.
“Told you you were gonna be fine,” he said, voice trembling slightly.
“Not fine yet,” Sam whispered. Dean shook his head sharply, face tightening.
“Don’t say that, Sammy. You’re gonna be okay.”
“I know.”
And he did know. No matter what came at him, no matter what this life threw at him, he would be okay. As long as Dean was there. As long as Dean sat in that car holding his hand and whispering comfort to him, he knew he would be okay. Long as he had his big brother in his life, things would be alright.
“You’ll have to hold him down if he struggles,” John said suddenly. Sam cringed and barely held back a whimper of fear as he saw the needle and thread in his father's hands. Dean looked sick at the thought, but he leaned forward over Sam more, tucking his arms by his sides and using his weight to keep him pressed against the seat.
“You’ve got this, Sammy,” Dean said, voice impossibly gentle. Sam did whimper now, body tensing as he felt John begin the stitches. “Shh,” Dean soothed. “You’re alright.”
Sam squirmed as John continued stitching him up, eyes screwing up as tears began to fall for the first time that night. At least he’d held it together this long.
“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Dean said, leaning closer and reaching up to smooth Sam’s bangs away from his face.
“Hurts, Dean,” he moaned, legs kicking against the door.
“I know,” Dean said, and Sam was shocked to see him blinking back tears. “But you’ve got this. Remember when I had to get stitches in Des Moines? Wraith got her claws in me good, huh?”
“You didn’t cry,” Sam whispered, flinching as the needle dug into his skin again.
“I wanted to,” Dean said softly. “But then you held my hand and I knew I’d be alright. Just like how you’re gonna be alright.”
“You’re brave,” Sam said then, blinking tiredly up at his brother, not even bothering to struggle against him anymore. “Braver than me.”
“No, I’m not,” Dean said automatically, shaking his head. “You ran in to save me, Sammy. That seems pretty brave to me.”
Sam whimpered almost imperceptibly and grabbed onto Dean’s shirt again, gripping it like a vice.
“Almost done?” It was more of a plea than a question. Dean glanced up at their father, who nodded and smiled at Sam when he glanced up at him.
“Two more,” he said, voice gentler than Sam had heard it in a long time. Maybe getting hurt had its upsides. Sam sighed and shut his eyes tight, goosebumps raising on his skin in the cool night air.
“I’ll get you a blanket in a second, alright, Sammy?” Dean said, rubbing a hand up and down Sam’s arm.
“Two more,” Sam whispered instead of responding, clenching his fists.
“One, now,” John said from above him. “You’re doing good, Sammy.”
Sam made a face at the nickname but decided it wasn’t worth the argument. And no matter how much he and John fought, Sam knew that his father loved him. Maybe he could swallow down his bitterness and let the guy father him for a night.
Sam grunted as John tied off the last stitch, leaning back and taking a deep breath.
“I got it,” Dean said, quickly pressing gauze to Sam’s neck and wrapping it in a bandage. He finished quickly and leaned back then, too, breathing shakily.
John left his side to loop around to the trunk and began packing their shit up so they could leave this godforsaken place.
Sam turned his head slightly and reached out for his brother.
“Think I look cool?” he asked, voice hoarse. Dean grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight, eyes watery.
“I think you look real brave, Sammy,” he whispered. “Bravest kid I’ve ever met.”
“‘M not a kid,” Sam whined, frowning at his brother. Dean laughed aloud then, almost wild.
“You’re my kid,” he reminded him.
“Yeah, but I’m grown,” Sam said. Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but Sam continued. “Grown enough for stitches.”
“Kids get stitches.”
“They shouldn’t.”
Dean sighed sadly, and Sam’s heart ached for him.
“They shouldn’t,” he agreed, grip tightening on Sam’s hand. “You shouldn’t.”
“But I’m grown,” Sam protested, head lolling as he blinked sleepily at Dean. Dean chuckled sadly.
“I guess you are,” he whispered. “Even though you shouldn’t have to be.”
“But I am,” Sam said. “And so are you. So we can be grown together.”
“‘Course we can,” Dean said softly. “I’ll stay with your grown ass forever. Capiche?”
“Capiche,” Sam slurred sleepily, eyes fluttering shut as Dean sighed softly, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “Love you, De,” he whispered, already half asleep.
“I love you too, kid,” Dean said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Sam’s head. “You’re okay.”
“I know.”