Chapter Text
It's not like he hadn't heard a bullet hit flesh countless times before.
Again and again.
Bullet after bullet.
A lot of the times killing the target.
And Save for a few instances, it never really fazed him, not enough to stick with him insistently at least. Especially not the sound.
The sound of bullet hitting flesh didn't bother him. It never had and it wasn't going to start bothering him now.
But he thought back to the quick moments spent behind his eyelids waiting for the sound of bullet on metal, only to hear a squelch, the tearing of skin and the rushing of blood. The very faint gasp let out of Dean's lungs as the bullet plunged into his gut- yet he didn't even flinch.
The squelch rang out in his mind, sending bile rushing up his throat like how the blood had rushed to fill the wound and spill out. Veins shattering, muscle and fat splitting to give way to the metal nib forced towards his brother's organs- being way to close for comfort, close enough to be able hear said organs churning to keep the body functioning, like how Sam could hear his own heart beat. He wondered if Dean's had skipped a beat too, or even damn near stopped before he got the chance to reel himself in so he could be calm for when Sam opened his eyes to see the damage.
The sight of a bullet wound was never something that bothered him. Not ever, and if wasn't going to start now...but he saw the blood oozing out of his brother, the bullet doing it's part to block some of the bleeding but selfishly still letting some past.
Bang.
The sound the bullet hand made before it made contact with his brother. Before the flesh broke way to let it in. Before it tore through his skin and veins, brushing gently against his organs as it stopped right before them.
So if bang was the first noise.
Then the last noise was the sound of wet fabric and a oozing, fresh wound being pressed upon, a shaky hand jittering against his gut as he tried desperately to keep himself from spilling out, failing of course.
But then he smiled.
Sam snapped awake. Finding himself in his bedroom. But only for a moment.
He blinked once, before a hand shot up to cup over his mouth.
He blinked again and now he was leaning over the toilet bowl. Resting shakily on his knees as another gag racked through him.
Squish. Squelch. The sound of a thick liquid oozing out to fill up the space.
The ooze filled his throat again and he heaved, sniffling a little. He groaned, watching as snot dropped down and combined itself with the sick sat in the water below him.
He sniffled, trying to reel in the mucus but only getting a faint, congested whiff of exactly what he was knelt over, causing him to gag again.
_____
Dean heard the footsteps out in the hall, then he heard a door slam open.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes and groaning. Too tired for this shit, but having a gut feeling he knew what those sounds meant- and it probably had something to do with the gut.
He reached for his crutches. Adjusting them on his arms while he's already beginning his walk out of his room.
The rubber bottoms hit the ground with rhythmic clinks every time. Clink. Clink. Clink. All the way down the hall, to the open bathroom door.
He stopped in the doorway and watched with a furrowed brow for a moment as Sam heaved painfully, his hair falling in his face and surely covered in vomit by now.
"Oh Sammy" he breathed, stepping in with another gentle clink to stand beside Sam.
Sam didn't perk up until he heard Dean slump to the ground, then he looked over just quick enough to see Dean's legs awkwardly fold under him as he lets his knees buckle, dropping clumsily to said knees as he slide his crutches down to lay beside him on the tiles.
Sam sniffled, choking up a little on the lump forming in his throat, which had temporarily quelled the spewing.
"Oh Dean-" he croaked, lip quivering.
"Hey- no, no. No" Dean put a finger in front of Sammy's pale face "I said no more didn't I?" He promotes gently. He adjusted his position to come closer.
"what's going on Sammy? Feeling a little sick?" He asked.
Sam groaned a little and shrugged, looking back into the toilet as he felt his chest tighten with another oncoming heave.
Dean sighed and raised a hand to rub Sam's back, relieved when he didn't feel warm or sweaty though his shirt.
The older felt his brother's shoulders quiver and shake with every gag, eventually reaching over with his other hand to gather up Sam's hair and pin it to them back of his head with a gentle grasp- it miraculously seemed mostly clean.
Dean held Sam's hair and rubbed his back for a good while. At some point Dean was sure Sam wasn't even throwing up anymore and just dry heaving, yet he let him continue. As the potential vomiting charade went on, Dean's head slowly leaned forward to rest on Sam shaky shoulder. Squishing his cheek against his brother as he glanced over him and into the bowl. At this point Sam was panting. Some shorter strands had fallen from Dean's grasp and hung in front of his face, swaying with each sharp breath.
Dean patted Sam's shoulder, rubbing between his shoulder blades as he sighed.
"You think you're done?" He whispered, releasing Sam's hair only to brush it back and grasp onto it again.
Sam took a moment, swallowing and gasping through pants before he finally nodded and sat up a little. Dean sat up in sync with his brother, keeping a hand on his back as Sam steadied himself on his knees.
Dean surveyed him for a moment before he nodded as well and removed his hand slowly.
"Ok" he said, reaching to gather his crutches "lets get you back to bed then, hm?" He prompted, pausing to meet Sam's eyes before he pushed himself up with a grunt.
Sam watched with a furrowed brow and somewhat startled gaze as Dean straightened up, gripping tightly onto the handles of his crutches.
Despite the look Sam was giving him, Dean looked down at his brother and smiled. Adjusting his weight and taking a little step forward, holding out his hand.
Sam scrunched up his face "Dean, I'm not a little kid" he huffed.
"I know you aren't. But holding my hand doesn't make you a little kid" Dean argued, shaking his hand a little to bring Sam's attention to it.
Sam's eyes glanced at the offending hand and gave a very weak bitch face.
"Dean, you can't walk your hand off the handle" he retorted, gesturing to the dangling crutch on his outstretched arm.
Dean shrugged "sure I can. I can handle one crutch" he said.
"Really?" Sam doubted, tilting his head a little.
"Really" Dean promised, ignoring his brother's scowl and holding his hand further out.
The room was silent for a few moments before Sam sighed and took Dean's hand, letting Dean assist in him getting up- though he didn't let Dean bare his weight. When he was on his feet, Dean didn't let go of his hand, giving it a squeeze. He shrugged the crutch off his arm, struggling to grab it with his other hand awkwardly tucking it under his arm opposite to Sam.
Sam watched it happen with a judgmental gaze "that's not gonna work" he noted.
Dean grunted, adjusting his non-grip on the discarded crutch before shooting a smile at his brother "nonsense" he huffed "come on" he tugged Sam's arm gently as awkwardly shuffle out to lead Sam back down the hall.
Sam kept a worried gaze on his brother, who seemed to grunt with every step taken while struggling to hold himself up and to hold the discarded crutch under his arm. Sam constantly wanted to pull his hand away and help Dean walk, but he knew he would be rejected and just made to hold Dean's hand again, so endured.
Finally, they made to Sam's door which was still wide open from the earlier dash- a moment that Sam had completely forgotten about, not truly being conscious during it anyway.
To Sam's surprise, Dean released his hand as they passed the threshold and continued to the bed along. He dropped his crutches against the wall and slumped onto the bed, sloppily fixing the blankets from his seated position. When he seemed satisfied with his fixing, he pulled them back anyway and shuffled in.
"Dean?" Sam breathed, still standing in the doorway.
Dean looked up at him and patted the bed beside him "come on you, back into bed" he said.
"But-" Sam cut himself off, shaking his head "what are you doing?"
"Just come here" Dean sighed, gesturing with his head.
Sam pouted and scrunched his face up. But he did as he was told and approached the bed, and as reluctant as he was. As soon as he got in the bed beside Dean, he was curling up against him and gripping childishly onto his shirt.
Dean smiled and shifted himself to lay down, wrapping an arm around Sam and rubbing his back.
"Do you wanna tell me what happened?' Dean whispered after a long stretch of silence to which he was then sure that Sam wasn't going to move.
Sam hummed and snuggled in closer, one of his hands gripping Dean's shirt, over where the wound hand been.
Dean felt Sam squeeze his shirt and sighed, remembering the bullet as it tore through him. He nodded gently and held Sam a little tighter. Rubbing his hand between his shoulder blades and resting his chin on the top of Sam's head- he could take a guess of what happened, and he knew he wouldn't get an answer. At least not tonight.
His eyes slide shut and he focused on the feeling and sound of Sam breathing against his neck. He breathed out an 'it's ok', nuzzling against his brother's impossibly soft hair as they both began to drift off.
"It's not your fault" was the last thing he whispered before sleep claimed him, basking him in sweet unconsciousness.