Sam's Turn
Title: Sam's Turn
Rating: Gen
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Author:
geminigrl11
Thanks,
kalyw, for the help!
*******
"Wake up, Sam."
Sam has to think a minute before he realizes Dean is talking to him.
"M’wake." He can’t seem to open his mouth all the way. It takes too much energy.
"Right." A sigh. "Come on, then. Walkies."
Sam feels an arm scoop around him and pull-lift him until his feet are on the ground. At least, he thinks they’re on the ground.
His vision colors for a minute and he shakes his head to clear it. Which is probably a mistake.
"Watch it." He can feel Dean shift as he slides a little sideways.
"M’okay." Trying not to slur. Failing.
Dean’s hold tightens and they limp toward the motel room.
Dean sets him on the edge of the bed and turns to shut the door. Sam tries to brace himself up, but his arm won’t hold him. He collapses onto the bedspread.
He struggles to rise, but Dean presses, holding him down.
"Stay put, Sam. I’m going to get the first aid kit."
"I-" It’s harder to talk now than it was when he was sitting.
"What?" Exasperated.
"Don’ wanna look at the ceiling."
Silence for a beat, and then Sam feels something soft pressed over his eyes. A pillow. He throws his good arm over the top of it to hold it in place.
Idiot, Dean thinks as he stalks out. He clenches his teeth as he grabs the bag with their first aid supplies. He could have been killed. He immediately squelches that thought and replaces it with a new one. I’m going to kill him.
Sam hasn’t moved, except that his hand is now clutching the pillow, rather than just laying on it. There are no other outward signs that Sam is in pain.
Dean isn’t used to that, and it makes him clench his jaw harder. A headache blooms at his temple, and he eases the pressure a little.
"You still awake?"
"Yeah." Slightly breathless.
"This is going to hurt." No apology. In fact, Dean almost sounds - angry? That can’t be right.
"I know."
Sam feels a weight on the bed next to him, hears Dean rummaging through the bag. They know its contents by heart - and feel.
The alcohol bites his shoulder and chest and he drops his hand from the pillow to press at his mouth.
Unanesthetized stitches are about as appealing as they sound, and he needs a lot of them. Sam loses track of everything but breathing. In, out. In, out. Reminding himself it’s necessary.
"Done. Let’s get you cleaned up."
That tone again - Dean is definitely angry. Sam tries to think of a reason why, but then Dean again slips an arm around him and pulls him upright. Pain is suddenly everywhere and his shoulder and chest are on fire.
The world goes white.
***
Sam opens his eyes, sees his brother’s face instead of the ceiling. A relief in one fairly critical respect, but the expression on Dean’s face is anything but relieved. His mouth is set in that way Dean has when he’s just this side of exploding. His eyes are furious.
"You okay?"
Dean draws back and Sam hears a half-strangled laugh.
"Am I okay, he asks. Jesus, Sam!"
The bed springs back as Dean pushes himself away.
He rubs his eyes and draws a labored breath.
"No, I am not okay."
"What-"
"You pushed me out of the way, Sam!" Shouted like Dean is in pain. A long pause.
"You pushed me out of the way." Softer now, but with more layers.
Sam has no idea what Dean is talking about. Details of the hunt are hazy at best. He’s game for an apology, though; God knows he owes Dean enough of them.
"Sorry. Didn’t mean to." Weak words, weak voice, but under the circumstances, the best he can manage.
Dean’s face again hovers over him.
A gentle hand on his forehead and now Dean’s eyes are somber.
"You don’t get it, little brother. You took the hit. My hit. You got hurt for me. That’s not-"
A frustrated sigh as Dean pushes the bangs out of Sam’s eyes.
"That’s not how this is supposed to go."
Sam’s face is all confusion, and Dean swears under his breath. Bad timing, but he has to make Sam understand.
"I protect you." Spoken quietly but deliberately. The founding canon of their relationship.
Sam is not exactly lucid, but the meaning is pretty clear. An almost imperceptible shake of his head and for the first time, Dean sees pain in his eyes.
A shaky hand grabs Dean’s wrist. Holds like it’s a lifeline.
"We. Protect. Each other." The pauses aren’t for emphasis, but rather due to a lack of oxygen. The effect is the same.
Dean opens his mouth, closes it. Doesn’t know what words to use to argue.
"I don’t think I can work that way." When all else fails, honesty.
Sam licks dry lips, gathers himself. This is important.
"Only way it can work."
Dean searches his face, looks for a wall to breach. There is none.
Another sigh. Not quite accepting, but not disagreeing, either.
"Get some sleep, Sammy."
An order Sam can and does obey.
His hand goes slack and Dean catches it as it falls.
It’s a strong hand, he realizes. He feels the tendons, the calluses, sees its breadth. It is capable.
Dean doesn’t let it go, even though he knows he has to eventually. Even though he knows he should.
He intertwines their fingers. Stronger together, he thinks, a little surprised.
He will sit with his brother’s hand in his through the rest of the long night.
Fin