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"So why are we here again?"
His disturbingly annoying brother had asked the same question fifteen times already. Sam had counted.
"Jesus Dean. You know missing body, men's murders, possible case? Ring a bell?", Sam was frustrated.
Dean just grinned at him. Apparently, he considered successfully annoying Sam as a personal victory. And kept on driving, humming along with the tune of 'Highway to Hell', tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, occasionally drumming his feet on the floorboard. Classic 'Dean is in good mood' behavior.
Sam sighed and turned back to window watching.
His head hurt. Not from the loud music, not from taking too much work with too little sleep. Not even from the nightmares where Jess burned and screamed and...
He swallowed and looked away from his reflection in the glass.
No, his head hurt because they had been on the road for ten hours straight. Stopping only for gas, food, and for bathroom breaks. Because there was a possibility of a mass-murdering creature called a 'Pontianak' lurking around.
It only killed men. And they were yet to figure out why. But they had to get there before it could potentially wipe all the men from the town.
Sam insisted on making this non-stop trip. Even after being back on the road with Dean for a few months, he was still unable to match his brother's ability to be trapped in the car this long. Dean had developed a ridiculously good tolerance for endless highways and sleepless drives.
The problem was Dean also wanted to take it easy. For him, obviously. Because Dean himself didn't take anything easy. He wanted Sam to get some rest or hook up.
Both options went out the window, so he had just ignored Dean's speech about 'fun' and they left.
They were close now. Just one more hour. They would be there before night. And asleep in a bed for once. God, he so missed his own bed, his own room. Dean swerved the car from the next exit, turning them toward Idaho.
Sam leaned his head against the window. The volume of the music turned to barely a whisper when he closed his eyes. He huffed and glanced at Dean, who looked puzzled whether to focus on the road or on Sam.
"On the road, dude", Sam pointed out sharply.
Dean ignored him. "Sam, I'm serious, man, get some rest. You're not coming on a hunt like this", Dean gestured vaguely towards him. Concern evident in his voice.
Sam nodded. Not like he wanted his sleep to get interrupted by nightmares. Not like he could do anything about it.
And even though his brother had been really supportive, it was still suffocating sometimes. With all the questions, sympathetic looks, concerned eyes, constant checking. Handling that much along with nightmares and his own guilt had become too much.
Sam closed his eyes, determined to open them only when they were in front of a motel.
00000
They weren't lucky enough to find a motel that night.
They checked all the motels- Dean seemed to know where most of the motels were- even ones out of their budget, but getting the luxury of a bed wasn't in the cards today. And they both needed rest if they were working tomorrow.
So, Dean found a quiet spot, hidden in the shadows of trees, away from town and the crowd. And they parked in it for the night.
"Man, I hate this", Sam muttered, finishing the last of the salt circle on his side of the car.
Dean popped up from the other side of the Impala. "Hate what?", he asked.
"This, dude", he gestured towards the darkness, the empty road, and their hidden spot behind the trees, "I surely didn't miss this, man", he said, tired and exhausted from the day and this job.
He saw Dean's expression change in the headlights of a passing truck. Only a flicker, just enough to know that he had hit a wrong spot there. After getting back on the road with his brother, many things had changed about Dean.
He was unable to pay much attention to it, too busy trying to get his bearings after waking up screaming each night. He hadn't been able to focus on anything but finding what killed Jess and then killing it. Guilt and grief had a way of narrowing your world down.
But after a month or two, he started noticing subtle changes. Like Dean's habit of not actually falling into a deep slumber. Dean was harder to read than he already had been.
He was about to break the awkward silence when Dean beat him to it. "We'll find a nice bed for your high-maintenance ass tomorrow", Dean said with a put-upon sigh. And bent down to finish the salt circle around the car.
Sam sighed. Right. Because a nice bed would help him sleep. Or would ease this itching he had every time he thought about how he was destroying his life, doing the thing he hated most. Hunting.
Sam climbed into the back seat. Closed the door and folded himself into the tight space. At least they weren't sleeping at a bus stop and had a roof, sort of. Dean joined him just a minute later. And tossed a pillow onto Sam's yawning face.
"Dude!", Sam grabbed it harshly, glared at Dean. Then frowned at the pillow and at Dean. "Where did this come from?"
Dean slid down a little, his back against the car door, using the door handle as a pillow. "Had it stuffed in the bottom of my duffle for a while", Dean grunted as he shifted and closed his eyes. "Comes in handy sometimes."
He was asleep- or as close to sleep as he gets- before Sam could do more than sit a little straighter. He shook his head. Apparently, no matter how used to it you are, ten hours of driving did exhaust you.
He slid the slightly worn but surprisingly soft pillow under his head and settled down. This was another thing Dean had picked up while Sam was at college. Dean pretty much had everything in the car.
The Impala was always stocked with necessities, but they never before had extra first aid under the front seat, nachos in the glove compartment to chew on in case someone had to drive sleep-deprived, water bottle that never left the back seat, granola bar that seemed to have made a home on the dashboard, Knife under driver seat, charger, a pillow. Oh yeah, extra tire in the trunk. He was pretty sure he saw care wash in there somewhere too.
And Dean made sure it all stayed that way. For some reason, Sam found it unsettling.
Sam sighed, burying himself in the pillow. Exhaustion was winning over the fear of watching Jess burn. He finally let his eyes close. Knowing even if he woke up screaming, he was at least not alone.
00000
Next morning they entered the town and started investigating.
Sam had to do research in the library since they still hadn't found any place to call theirs for a night or two. Dean was out in town doing what he did best. Charming his way through people. Claiming he worked better in the outside world. Which was, yeah, true, but the guy also claimed he knew his way around town. Sam rolled his eyes.
Right. Because every town is not similar and screwed up and full of girls.
It didn't take Sam long to figure out that any pregnant woman who died became a Pontianak. Two weeks ago a woman was raped and killed by two men. This was revenge in her twisted way.
Sam rubbed briefly between his temples. At least he was glad that this turned out to be a salt-and-burn and not one of the thousand things they didn't know. Yet. This should go a little smoothly. Then they could go back to finding Dad. And he could get some answers.
Dean showed up at the library later that afternoon. Grinning as he walked towards him.
"How many?", Sam asked without looking up from the computer.
"What?", Dean bent down a little to catch his eye.
Sam looked up as he asked nonchalantly, "How many girls did you fool this time?"
Dean huffed, sat down across from him and held out three cards. "Got personal numbers from three of them", he said, his smile widening with a smug look.
Sam wasn't interested in knowing how his brother had charmed the girls. "You find anything?", he asked instead.
Dean rolled his eyes, stuffed the cards back into his jacket. "Lady that got killed-"
"Lorene Harpal."
"-was a nurse at the hospital", Dean leaned forward so no one else would hear them in the quiet of the old library, "She was cremated. So we have to find what her spirit latched on to."
Sam nodded. The seriousness in Dean's voice was a contrast to his smartass nature just a second ago. It sometimes amused him how easily Dean does it.
"We gotta go talk to people in her circle", Dean said as he stood. Quietly raising an eyebrow at Sam and asking if he was up for it. Sam nodded. Gathered his stuff and stood up.
"We have to talk to her family first", he said as they exited the library.
"I already did. But better recheck once", Dean rounded the corner and they exited the building.
It was another thing Dean had picked up. Dean never paid much attention to double-checking before, but now he almost double-checks stuff every time.
"Alright, you go check her house. I'll take the hos-"
"I'll go to the hospital", Dean said casually, suddenly.
Sam frowned. There was something about that tone that wasn't sitting right with him. "And you're suddenly interested in the hospital, why?", he asked skeptically.
Dean shrugged. "Dude, we check hospitals on a daily basis."
Yeah. But this wasn't that. Dean was deflecting. But what could he possibly be hiding in a random hospital of a random town?
"That's it?", Sam asked. He couldn't read anything else on Dean's face other than earnestness. And too much of it.
"Yeah", Dean tilted his head back a little. Giving him a casual, normal look like this was just investigation.
Sam just nodded. There wasn't anything remotely suspicious that told him Dean was in trouble or anything like that. Maybe Dean's habit of annoying your brother if he breathed wrong had rubbed off on him.
"Here", Dean dug the motel keys out of his pocket and held them out for Sam to take.
Sam accepted them. "Where did you get a room?" He had checked online, there was some serious shortage of motels in this area.
"Not far from here. Just a few blocks down the main street, next to an antique shop", Dean replied as he opened the driver's side door of the Impala. "Get some sleep after you're done with her family."
Dean climbed into the car, started the engine and was gone before Sam could utter any syllable of protest.
Sam snorted. And Dean said he had a one-track mind. Did he ever wonder where Sam got that from?
Dean had been practically harassing him about food and sleep and meds and whatnot. And he wasn't sure whether it was annoying or reassuring.
Sam shook his head and headed for the interrogation.
00000
Room was nice. Better than most they stayed in. He could rank this one in the top ten best motels.
Bathroom was polished clean with a bathtub, a decent-sized table in one corner of the room, a fridge stuffed with beer in the other, beds were large, sheets clean and fluffy and welcoming as Sam heavily sat on the soft mattress.
He hadn't found anything that the spirit could be attached to. Dean had checked earlier and this rechecking wasn't giving him anything other than a minor headache and unpleasant memories of loss. Sam managed to get out of there before half an hour.
And he was too exhausted to do anything else, so he came here. He hadn't been able to get much sleep after the last Hookman case. And this drive and new case were exhausting.
So was his brother's behavior. Dean was acting suspicious.
Sam had called him twice. Dean not answering his calls was not a big deal. But instead of calling back, he messaged that he was busy. Sam rolled his eyes. Given the fact that Dean had just shown interest in messaging and stuff, that also after Sam's constant nagging, that was something.
Because Dean Winchester doesn't do messages and texts in un-lethal situations.
At least not till now.
And even though it was hard to read Dean, Sam could still read him just fine, with a little bit of effort.
There was something about the hospital. Dean did sound like he wanted to not let Sam visit that hospital. Which really didn't make sense at all.
He leaned against the headboard. Lost in his thoughts about how much distance these three years had managed to create between them. It wasn't a topic he thought about a lot, but he was sure Dean did.
He never felt it between thoughts of Dean and the case when his eyes closed and stayed that way.
Next thing Sam heard was Jessica's pain-filled voice that overlapped with someone else's voice. Her tear-streaked face as she called him. Sam couldn't reach her, couldn't bear to watch her burn, couldn't do anything but lay there. Flames were rising, heat burning him. Burning Jess as he struggled.
Another voice, that voice was.. was not painful to hear. Even comforting. Sam focused on that. Tried to hang on to it.
"Sam"
Sam jerked awake. Sat up abruptly, breathing heavily as he looked wildly around the room, ceiling. Bed. Motel. Dean.
A strong large palm settled on his shoulder. "Take it easy Sammy",
Sam turned towards the soothing voice. Found his brother standing between the two beds. Concerned green gaze scanning Sam's face, hand still on his shoulder.
Sam locked eyes with Dean until the hammering of his heartbeat slowed down. Until he wasn't shivering. Then nodded, washed both hands over his face, kneading his eyes with the heels of his hands.
"I'm okay", he said after a minute. Then only, after a few seconds, Dean stepped aside, squeezing his shoulder once.
Sam cleared his dry throat, looked around again. Motel, not apartment. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. But Dean was seated at the small table with a his journal -another new thing about Dean- and cup of coffee, trying and failing to hide his concern. That was enough.
Light entering the room from the small window was now dim. He glanced at his watch. 4:02 pm. He slept for five hours straight?
Sam swung his legs off the bed as he asked, "When did you come back?"
Dean glanced up like he wasn't paying all of his attention to Sam already. "Two hours ago when you were busy taking your nap", he teased.
Sam ignored him, stood up and headed for the bathroom. Intending to take a long, hot shower, he snatched his clothes and shaving kit from the duffle and closed the door behind him.
When he came out half an hour later, he wasn't surprised to find a cup of caffeine waiting for him, with a couple of sandwiches. Sam grinned at his brother who wasn't looking at him.
He tossed the wet towel on Dean's bed, ignored Dean's indignant "Dude", and sat across from him as he reached for his coffee.
"You found anything?"
Dean's scowl was replaced by exaggeration when he said, "Yeah, while you were busy playing sleeping beauty, I found out that our ghost lady is probably attached to a kidney."
He was also busy savoring the taste of coffee— his brother made awesome coffee— when he frowned over the rim of the cup. "A kidney?"
Dean grabbed a file and tossed it to him. "She donated one to her uncle, who was also her only family."
Sam set the cup aside and opened the file. It was a copy of the donation report. "That explains how she was able to move around town", he said.
Dean nodded. "Problem is, how are we supposed to stop her?" he asked and pushed the sandwich plate towards Sam. The look Dean sent his way when Sam shook his head clearly said that he would shove food down Sam's throat if needed.
Sam relented, took the plate, picked a piece and said, "We can try to talk to her spirit, convince her?"
Dean finished the last of his coffee. "Yeah, but it doesn't always work", he thought out loud. "Worth a shot." He sat back, satisfied, seeing Sam munch on a sandwich.
Sam nodded. Cases like this were always complicated. Salt and burn were one thing but convincing was the hard part. They can pull this off, it was the only option. He could see the same determination in Dean's eyes as well.
But for now, he picked up his coffee again. He missed Dean's coffee so damn much in college. When Dean realized that he seemed to enjoy it, it practically became tradition after nightmares.
00000
It was a bad idea.
Dean had told him so not two minutes into the hunt.
Sam hated to admit it but Dean saying that he had a little more experience was a pretty good argument to listen to when his brother said they couldn't talk Lorene Harpal out of this.
Sam just thought that Dean got bored of counseling a ghost and that's why he was ready with a shotgun. So, he tried to reason with her. And Dean tried to reason with him, said she wouldn't listen because she's not what she used to be. More than that? She didn't want to listen.
The chances of that argument working were fifty-fifty in this case. They had talked many spirits into letting go before. He thought they could do this one. So, Sam did what he did best. He ignored Dean's comments and asked him to help instead.
But now, lying on the cold floor, bleeding from his left side, vision blurred and unable to move while the pissed-off spirit of a woman was choking Dean on the other side of the room. Maybe Dean wasn't wrong.
Lorene's uncle sat in the far corner of the room where Lorene had thrown him. Shocked and unable to do anything else but stare.
Sam struggled to get to his feet's. To reach the shotgun sitting a few feet away. Grunting, he stood up with the support of the wall. Dean was struggling and pissing off the already angry ghost with his remarks. He had to reach the gun before more damage was done.
Sam yelped at the sudden pain that shot from his leg. It sent him crashing to the floor before he knew it. Biting back any sound as his fractured ankle hit the floor, he laid there panting. The laceration aggravated by his fall throbbed mercilessly.
He thought he heard his name in the chaos and agony. Gun. He needed his gun. Dean was getting hurt. He had to do something. He couldn't afford to lose Dean. Not Dean.
Sam jerked to his feet again. Realizing with a strangled sound of pain, blood soaking into his waistband. Before his legs threatened to give up again, he lurched for the gun blindly.
He hit the floor face first. A loud cry slipped past his lips, he thought he heard someone else cry his name. Clenching his jaw, Sam pushed up against the floor, blood rushing in his ears, his fingers finally enclosing around the barrel of the gun. Tightening his grip with shaking hands, he aimed.
Only to drop the gun when he saw Dean running towards him. Ghost burning and screaming behind him. But how?
"Sam, hey Sammy", Dean was crouching in front of him, strong hands on his shoulders steadying him.
"How?", Sam asked through clenched teeth. The room was spinning. Burning flames in the middle of the house looked too familiar. Too painful.
"She killed her uncle", Dean said in a curt voice.
Sam closed his eyes and let his head hang, chin touching his chest. Hearing the screams dying in the background. This is not how it was supposed to be. They should have done it better, he should have reached the gun, they should did something, should have...
"Sam, keep your eyes open, you hear me", Dean's voice was urgent. He felt something press against his side. Sam tried to roll away from the pain but Dean's hand kept him in place.
Head hurts.
"I know, man. It'll be better", Dean palmed his aching forehead. Like Sam was five again.
Pain was too much but he should have saved her uncle, should have gotten the salt, no-no gun, should have saved her, saved Jess, should have saved Jess. Jess..
"Look at me Sammy", Dean's voice was gentle, soothing.
Sam shook his head. His head was jumbled of thoughts, memory's. He wasn't able to think straight.
A warm hand settled on the base of his head and Sam let out a breath. It was hard to breathe, he couldn't breathe right. Can't breathe.. His hand came up to clutch at his chest. Groaning when his fingers brushed his tender ribs.
"Woah, hey easy there", a calloused hand gently pried his fingers from his shirt. "I know everything is a little lousy right now, you lost too much blood Sammy. But help is on the way, just hang in there okay?"
Yeah, it felt like blood loss. But that was no excuse to let people die. Let Dean get hurt. Let Jess die.
"Sam, open your eyes, come on", it was a command and Sam obeyed.
He squinted at his brother through foggy vision. Dean smiled at him. Continued doing.. something. There were smudges of blood on his face, on his head. Where did they come from?
"Dean..", Sam breathed out. Swallowing at the pain it caused.
"Yeah dude", Dean slid closer beside him, gently propping him up against the wall as he slipped. But it made Sam groan in pain.
"Sorry man", Dean was always sorry. But it was never his fault.
"Dean?", he wanted to ask.. something but couldn't figure out what. He couldn't even figure out which way was up anymore.
His side hurts too much. Flames were roaring behind his closed eyelids. He jerked open his eyes. Not seeing much but blurred shapes.
He couldn't, can't.. Sam shifted, trying to ease the pain, the movement made him flinch, trembling in pain. And shivering made it all worse, it sent spikes of agony through his side. Gasping, Sam lurched forward, trying to curl in.
Strong arms caught him. They always do. Eased his aching body gently and supported him against a solid chest.
"Easy, easy Sammy", the voice felt soothing.
Sam dropped his heavy head on the waiting shoulder. Buried his face in the familiar curve of a neck and closed his eyes. Feeling worn leather under his skin, he let out a breath as the pain decreased just a little.
He felt the vibration of Dean's neck as he snorted. "You were always for dramatics, you know that Sammy?", Dean's voice held concern and a touch of exaggerated annoyance only his brother could muster. But his hands wrapped around Sam securely.
Dean was saying something. Telling him to breathe maybe. He couldn't figure it out. Sounds were blurred static, everything was blurred except pain. Pain was clear. Like it was when Jess died, jess felt like this? she-she had called for him? Jess..
The arm supporting his back tightened a little, easing the weight off his ribs gently and the other rubbed between his shoulder blades before the palm settled comfortingly on the nape of his neck. Sam felt steady rise and fall of Dean's chest agaisnt his, he sighed shakily.
It was one thing that didn't change. Dean willing to give into chick-flick's whenever Sam wanted.
The last thing he felt-knew was not pain but the unmistakable feeling of comfort and safety as he faded into darkness.
00000
"Sam"
Dean's voice was breaking him from the fog of sleep and exhaustion.
"Wake up Sammy, come on"
No. He felt like he could sleep for years. There was no point in waking up.
Maybe he heard a snort. "Dude, what are you, five?"
No Dean, but that's what you see when you look at me. He wanted to say it but his throat felt too dry. Sam swallowed, wincing. Something wet and cool nudged his lips. Sam welcomed it, savoring the coolness as it soothed his achy throat. Dean was saying something. But sleep was just lurking in the corner and he was too tired to fight its pull. Sam drifted off.
For the next two days, the few times he woke up were from Dean's voice. Saying something about hunts he did years ago. A big cat he hunted. A hybrid parasite and its cure. A curse he encountered. A demi-god he exorcised. A French creature that looked like a wendigo but had speed. A large dog he killed. Witches he hated. A cursed doll that was an awesome case. A little girl's spirit he set free.
With each hunt Sam thought there was a big part of his brother he didn't know. But each time he struggled to ask something, Dean would settle a gentle hand on his and would tell him to go back to sleep. Sam obeyed.
The first time he fully wake up it was to Dean. Obviously. Because who else would it be? And he didn't want it to be anyone else. The thought made him smile.
"Still high on the good stuff?", Dean's exhaustion-laced voice teased.
Sam blinked, clearing his vision and looked at Dean. His brother looked wracked. There were bandages on one side of his head, on his arm and chin. Hair messed up and he looked like he could use some sleep.
"You look like crap", Sam said. His voice hoarse.
Dean snorted, stood up and reached for something on the nearby table. "Right, because you're the picture of health yourself, I'll take crap." He came back into Sam's line of vision with a glass. Sam accepted the water when Dean brought the glass to his lips. Too tired to be independent at the moment.
"What happened?"
Dean sat on the edge of the bed. "Short story? She attacked you, strangled me. I broke free, threw salt on her." He dragged a tired hand over his face. "She attacked her uncle and ripped his heart out before I could stop her."
Sam swallowed and nodded. Dean must have managed to burn her uncle's body somehow. Causing her to erupt in flames. But he didn't remember any of this. The case got messier than he thought. In their line of work it didn't surprise him anymore.
"What did I tell you about telling the doctors when he wakes up, boy?"
An unknown voice broke through his thoughts. Sam looked behind Dean. A old-aged nurse walked in with a tray. Smiling cheerfully at them.
"I did ring a bell", Dean countered. Rubbing his sore chin.
To Sam's utter surprise she swatted his hand and said, "Leave that alone, boy."
"Ow!" Dean acted hurt. He willingly ignored Sam's questioning gaze. "That how you treat your patients, Marla?", Dean quipped.
"Only stubborn ones." She swatted Dean's head lightly.
Sam blinked. Okay..? He was missing something. There was ease in the way they talked. Ease that didn't come with strangers. Dean certainly didn't talk this casually in hospitals, especially. Let alone with staff.
"Sam, this is Marla." Dean stood up with a wince and gestured lethargically between him and Marla.
Sam gave her a smile and raised an eyebrow at his brother. Who effortlessly ignored him.
"Hey Sam", Marla said as she checked the machines he was hooked up to. "Nice to finally meet you", she smiled at him.
She wasn't expecting an answer. So Sam didn't bother giving one. Instead he focused on Dean, who was suddenly looking uncomfortable and a little locked up. Avoiding Sam's gaze and focusing on the machines instead. What was he missing here?
After a few minutes she went to go fetch the doctors. Sam sat up a little with Dean's help. Taking in his surroundings, the whitewashed hospital and faint notices outside.
He looked at Dean. "You know her?", he asked.
Dean sat on what looked like his patented chair since Sam was admitted here. "I worked a job a couple of years back in this town", Dean said casually. "knew her since then", he shrugged. Sam knew there was more to it.
He nodded. His gaze flickered to the side table that held his file, had the hospital name on it. "City Central Hospital." Same hospital Lorene worked in, same hospital Dean volunteered more than willingly to check.
"She was a victim?", Sam asked slowly. He could tell Dean didn't want to have this conversation.
"No-uh, she somehow got involved", Dean shrugged. "I'll go see how we can get out of here." He stood up, patted Sam's shoulder. "Get some rest before we leave", then he walked out.
Sam frowned at the unconvincing reply and unusual behavior. What was Dean hiding here?
Later that day Sam tried to dig up information about whatever Dean wasn't telling him. But Dean consistently said he just met Marla a few times during a case and that she was just extra talkative. It wasn't exactly about Marla or that case. Sam realized it was about Dean.
And if his brother got involved in something then he had a right to know.
He understood shortly after that Dean wouldn't tell him about it. And curiosity was getting the better of him. He knew something was up when Dean came to check this hospital. And he wasn't really happy about being right. It would be a lot more reassuring if Dean would just trust him and tell him.
In the evening, just a few hours before they had to get out of there, Dean reluctantly agreed to make a trip to the motel to get some stuff for Sam. Just a change of clothes. It would take more than an hour even with Dean behind the wheel. Sam grabbed the opportunity.
It wasn't his finest move to dig up information behind Dean's back but Dean wasn't giving him anything. And it was just a constant nagging feeling that he knew something wrong had happened.
Sam sat up when Marla walked in ten minutes after Dean left, for his last checkup.
She looked at Sam and smiled. "You look better, boy."
He said with a smile, "Thanks." Sam was dodging options for where or how to start when she gave him an opening.
"Does your brother have some fetish about leaving hospitals early?", she fussed with the IVs and blood bag attached to it. "Every time that stubborn moron leaves early. Docs are complaining, you know that", she exaggerated.
Sam ignored the other comments and focused on thing that bothered him, "Every time? This happened before?", he asked casually and cautiously.
"Yeah", she said and turned towards him. "You don't know about when Dean was admitted here?", she asked, genuinely sounding puzzled.
No. No he didn't because Dean didn't bother to tell him! Even if he got hurt on a hunt what was there to hide? Or Dean doesn't trust him, is that it?
Sam closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and forced calmness into his voice. "No, I think he forgot", he said lamely, only half joking.
Marla's eyebrows climbed up. "That boy forgot to tell you about the Tumor?"
Sam felt his heart skip a beat.
"The what?!"
00000
He shifted restlessly on the backseat of the cab. Pain was dull thanks to the drugs from the hospital. But his fractured leg throbbed viciously from all the walking, climbing and hopping he had done.
Not like he regretted it or something. Dean was going to answer him and if he didn't then God help his stubborn hypocrite ass.
"He was bad off, Sam. On the last stage when Dean walked in here coughing blood."
Sam clenched his jaw. Glaring at the passing scenery. Marla's words echoed in his mind again and again, doubling his headache.
"Less than three weeks, that's all he had left."
And it still didn't occur to Dean to tell him. Never thought that maybe Sam would want to know, that maybe Sam give a damn about whether he had a living brother or not?
"He collapsed and didn't wake up for three days. That boy fought harder than I have ever seen when he was here for twelve days. I have it in the records."
Twelve days. Twelve days of treatment for a freaking lungs Tumor and Dean just what? Thought it's just another day at work, let's wait till I die and then send the dead body as a gift for the remaining of the family? If he consider Sam as family in first place.
"He walked out of here without the doctor's permission and I ain't seen him until a few days back."
What did Dean do? Sam was sure Dean didn't care about himself enough to find a healer. Also, Dean didn't have time to do that. Then what had happened? But whatever it was, as much as he was pissed, he was grateful too.
"Sir, we are here."
He nodded, looking at the rearview mirror. He opened the passenger side door, awkwardly pushed his borrowed cane out. Using the door as leverage, he pushed himself up.
Stitches on his side stretched setting him on fire and his ankle.. swallowing at the bone-crushing pain, he leaned on the cane heavily. Gathering his strength, Sam began to walk-hop. That's when he remembered he needed to pay his bill.
He looked at the closed motel room door. Better sooner than later. Sam clenched his jaw and dialed his brother. Dean picked up on the first ring.
"Come out with your wallet."
He hung up before Dean could reply. Not even a minute later the motel room door swung open and Dean emerged from the inside. His gaze landed on Sam.
"Dude, what the hell?", Dean grumbled, jogging towards him. Dean look at him, eyeing cane and Sam. He took a step forward and Sam halt him. there.
"Give me your wallet", Sam said tersely, extending his hand out. Dean stopped in his tracks, tilting his head.
Confusion was evident on Dean's face as he handed Sam his wallet. Clearing his bill. Again, stopped his brother in his tracks when Dean once again came to help him.
"Sam, what's the matter with you?", Dean asked, irritated, worried.
"Me?". Sam shook his head in disbelief. He held up a file- borrowed from hospital- with his free hand. "Care to explain this?"
He saw Dean's face turn from puzzled to shocked then change to plain hardness as he eyed his own hospital records. Face expressionless.
Sam tightened his grip on the cane, half from lack of answers, half from dizziness. "Freaking tumor, Dean? And it never occurred to you to tell me?", his voice shook with exhaustion.
Dean noticed but didn't move to help. "We can do this inside", he offered.
Sam could do this right here. Because damned Dean owed him answers, but he wouldn't be able to stay on his feet much longer, he knew it. So, he reluctantly moved towards the door. Dean followed just behind him, caught his arm when he wobbled, let go when Sam glared at him and opened the door when they reached it.
Once inside Sam sat on the nearby bed and glared at his brother. "What the hell, Dean?"
Dean stood facing him, hands folded, his posture humming with tension. "The Job I worked here. It was witch that fed off people's energy by killing them slowly."
Jaw locked, Sam listened intently. Dean continued, "To do that she used a spell, gave them incurable diseases. She managed to catch me off guard before I killed her."
Sam stared at him. He had thought about supernatural causes of the tumor but that still didn't explain why Dean hid this. Why hide it when Dean already managed to handle it?
"What did you do?", he asked. The adrenaline born out of anger was wearing thin. He couldn't help the groan that escaped when he shifted.
"Found a counter-spell", Dean answered, clearly restraining himself from coming to help. "Took me time to find it with all.. stuff", he nodded towards the file Sam still held.
By stuff he meant being able to walk out of the hospital in order to research. "Where was Dad?", Sam knew the answer but couldn't help asking.
"On another hunt", came the terse reply. In a moment they glared at each other, and Dean answered his unasked question. "I told him after getting out of the hospital." Before he found the counter spell.
And dad still didn't come. Dad knew but thought it was just fine to let Dean handle what could have been the last few days of his life if he hadn't found that spell. And Sam knew from experience those types of spells weren't guaranteed. They were shot in dark.
Sam winced. "Why didn't you tell me?", all fight was slowly draining out of him, only the question left.
"Sam, you were out-"
"I was out of hunting not from life, Dean", Sam sneered, ignoring the pain as he straightened up. "Don't use that, you know I would have come if I knew." Because Dean had to know it. He just have to.
Dean didn't look away but he didn't answer. Or maybe didn't have one. And it made Sam to looked away. Dean thought he wouldn't care? That what he thinks of Sam? When did things changed this much?
But hurt was always disguised as anger by Winchester. Their pride wouldn't allow anything else.
Sam glared at Dean, his voiced cold when he spoke, "Or were you planning to send me a funeral invitation? Dying coughing blood seemed like a better option to you, Dean?"
Dean actually winced at that. His hands curled into fists and he averted his gaze. Sam saw pain flashed across Deans face for fraction of second.
He sobered. Realizing that he had just voiced what Dean must have thought was his future at that time. It must have been hard for him. Handling it all alone. Also, it wasn't like his brother to stay this silent when Sam crossed lines.
Dean was only silent when it's his pain or if the truth was harsh enough to hurt others. Sam frowned. "Dean?"
Dean looked at him. Concern lining his face as he eyed Sam. Taking in details Sam was sure he himself hadn't notice.
When Dean spoke it was in quiet, tired tone, "What's done is done Sam", he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, you're fresh out of the hospital, get some rest. I'll be here to lash out at when you wake up."
Sam suspected that same tone. The same tone that said there was more to it. "There's something else to it?"
"Nope. I got tumor, found a spell and boom, good as new", Dean's smirk was just a little less vibrant. "That's all."
All of this still didn't answer his question though. Why? Dean never thought that if something had happened, if that spell- which Sam knew was not guaranteed- hadn't worked, then they would have never gotten a chance to solve things between them. What if Dean.. Sam swallowed hard.
But pain was winning. His side throbbed, head and ankle hurt. The room was doing an odd tilt every few seconds. Sam squeezed his eyes shut.
"Hey", Dean's gruff, soft voice drew his attention. "You look like crap, come on lay down." Dean reached for him but stopped mid-motion, stretched out hands retreating back ot his side.
Sam swallowed, he never meant to hurt Dean.
He silently reached out and grabbed hold of Dean's wrists, pulled him down to his eye level. "You know I would have come, right?" Sam asked. The desperation that crept into his voice didn't bother him at all.
It didn't bother Dean either, his brother found a small smile for him. "I know, Sammy."
Sam didn't let go of his brother's wrist as Dean adjusted the pillows and lowered him gently. Dean slid a pillow against his injured side, poppled his ankle on another one and pulled covers over him. Sam let go when he moved around then came back with pills and a glass of water.
He lifted his head, thankful for the support of a hand behind it, swallowed the pills and sagged back into the bedding.
He blinked up at Dean. Wishing he was ten again, wishing things were simple, wishing he was there when all that happened. Wishing that he could ask Dean to stay like he used to.
Dean was about to move but he stopped. Eyed him for a moment then he shook his head, sat down on the edge of Sam's bed with a put-upon sigh. "Things I do for you, dude". Sam remembered he never had to ask in first place.
He gingerly rolled onto his side, unconsciously curling just a little around Dean and willed his heavy eyes to stay open. Looking at Dean as he lined pills and ice packs on nightstand, fussed with comforter again. Sam moaned, curling in around Dean. He felt hand rub gentle strokes on his back. He could have given the same care if Dean give him chance.
"Why didn' you te'l me?", he slurred, tongue loose from exhaustion and pain.
His eyes closed when Dean placed a hand on his forehead. He heard Dean muttering something about a slight fever, but he didn't care.
"Y'u jus' had t'o call..", Sam dropped his head sideways into Dean's palm. Breathing little unsteady but easier than before.
He heard Dean sigh wearily, felt the way his hand lingered on his face before it slid from under it. Sam found himself missing the contact.
They were silent for several minutes. Just the calming rhythm of Dean's breathing filling the room. It lulled Sam deeper into sleep. He almost gone into sleep when a warm hand dropped on his arm.
When Dean's distant, pained voice drifted through the haze of exhaustion.
"I did call, Sammy. When I thought I wasn't gonna make it. It rang whole way through. Then your voicemail answered."
End..