All That Matters
Title: All That Matters
Summary: When Dean is badly injured on his first hunt, Sam steps up to take care of him and realizes that being a big brother is a lot harder than it seems.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 10,318
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Author’s Note: Pre-series - the boys are 9 and 13. Written for pod_together and read by the fabulous l_niania. The podfic, along with the story text, is available for listening here at AO3. Thank you so much yasminke for her wonderful beta work!
~~~
The hospital was two hours from their cabin. It felt like two hundred years as Dean lay silent on the back seat of the Impala, staring at the stars that sped past the car window.
Dean willed his dad to say something. Anything. Even yelling and screaming would be better than the unbearable silence that swallowed him like the darkness of the night. Dad wouldn’t even look at him anymore. Dean could only catch glimpses of Dad’s eyes in the rearview mirror and only when Dad didn’t know he was looking.
He curled tighter into himself. At least maybe he could make himself disappear. He was pretty sure that was what Dad wanted.
The fog of the pills Dad had given him was the only reprieve from the tension that knotted Dean’s stomach. His breath still caught every time Dad sighed. He expected angry words to follow, but none came. The dread of having his failure laid out continued to hang in the air.
Dean bit down hard on his trembling lip. He cradled the cast that encased his broken arm to keep it from lying on his bandaged side. When they pulled off the highway, he wiped his cheek dry against the leather seat beneath him and tried to suppress his hitched breaths, rubbing the snot from his nose onto the shoulder of his grungy t-shirt instead of sniffling.
He was thankful for the rumble of the engine. Even the clatter of the dirt road they’d veered off onto was a relief despite the pain it jostled through his aching body.
For his whole life since Mom, Dad had been training him. Dean had finally convinced Dad that he was ready for the hunt and the first thing he’d done was screw it all up. The monster had gotten away. No wonder Dad hated him.
He still didn’t know what he was supposed to tell Sam. A worried voice in the back of his head kept saying that Dad would tell Sam the truth. Or worse. Now that Dad knew Dean couldn’t fight the monsters, he probably wouldn’t trust him to watch Sam anymore.
Dean was nearly sick with dread by the time the car stopped outside the cabin. For a long moment, neither he nor Dad moved. The only sounds came from the swooshing of the wind that rustled the grasses and tangled the tree branches. Dean felt the early autumn cold settle over him.
Part of him still wondered if he could hide his injuries well enough that they wouldn’t have to tell Sam anything. He could have if the stupid doctors hadn’t given him a monster freaking cast. The leg brace he could slip out of, but there was no hiding his arm.
Dean glared at the thing then jumped at the squeak of the driver’s door being pushed open. He bolted upright in his seat, too fast for his hazy head. Dean took in a deep breath and leaned back, waiting for the world to stop spinning.
By the time it did, Dad had already opened the door beside him, letting the wind whistle through. Dean couldn’t make himself look up at Dad. His shoulders slumped before he scooted to the edge of the seat. He went to get out, but Dad was still in his way.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Dad asked.
Dean shrunk into himself, his good hand fidgeting with a loose thread on the sling that supported his cast. He shrugged. Maybe Dad didn’t even want him in the cabin with Sam. It wasn’t like Dean could blame him.
He was too tired to walk inside anyway. Dean started to lie down on the seat when he felt Dad’s hand scoop beneath him. His eyes went wide as Dad lifted him, pulling him up into his arms.
Dean squirmed at the indignity even when he wanted nothing more than to cuddle further against the leather jacket. But it didn’t matter what he wanted. He couldn't let Sam see him being carried. Then there’d be no way to convince his brother nothing was wrong.
“I can walk,” Dean said.
“No, you can’t.” Dad’s words were firm enough that Dean swallowed further protest. “I have to clean up this mess, but while I’m gone you’re staying in bed.”
“I can’t just lay around. I gotta take care of Sammy.”
Dad grimaced and Dean knew he’d said something wrong again. He hid his face in Dad’s shoulder, returning to biting his lip.
Dad let out an unsteady sigh before speaking again. “You have to stay off that leg. It won’t kill Sam to take care of you for once.”
Dean leaned back far enough that he could see his father’s face, half sure that Dad had been replaced by a skinwalker. He would have been less surprised if Dad had told him to saw off his leg with a pocketknife.
Before Dean could even begin to wrap his mind around the words, Dad had carried him up the steps and was juggling him to get the key into the lock.
“Dad, seriously, at least let me walk in.”
Dad stopped before opening the door, gripping Dean tighter, tight enough it hurt his throbbing side. A shiver ran down Dean’s spine. He felt even colder as Dad lowered his voice.
“You’re lucky you broke as few bones as you did. That fall could have killed you. If that thing had...” Dad’s words abruptly cut off. He was silent for a long moment before continuing. “I’m putting you in bed and you’re staying there until I get back. If you need anything Sam will get it for you.”
“But Dad, Sam-”
“That’s an order.”
Dean swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
Dad hadn’t punished him by sending him to bed since before Sammy had been born. He really was mad and apparently thought Dean didn’t deserve to be treated like anything but a toddler.
Dad nudged the door open with his boot and shoved in. There was enough pre-dawn light spilling through the window to outline the shape of the couch in the otherwise empty living room, but there were no lights on in the cabin.
Dean hoped Sam stayed asleep.
~~~
The rumble of the Impala’s engine hadn’t woken Sam only because he’d already been awake.
He sat up in bed, straining his ears. From the clunking of boots on the porch, he knew they were right outside the front door, but he couldn’t hear anything else over the whistling of the wind and clatter of the shutters.
Sam had finally stopped jumping at the noises, but he was still anxious for Dean to come back and bring the silent reassurance that everything was all right. He tucked his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself. His eyes remained fixed on the sliver of light that escaped from the partially closed bathroom door.
He didn’t mind the dark as long as Dean was there with him, but Dean and Dad had left him alone. There had been no one to check on the scary sounds. Sam wasn’t used to sleeping without his big brother and he didn’t like it.
It wasn’t fair that Dean got to go out and he didn’t. It wasn’t like he was some little kid. He could stay up late, too. Maybe he had fallen asleep a little after ten, but that was only because he’d been bored. He’d read his last book and there was nothing else here to do.
He’d woken up a few hours later to a still empty cabin. Dad had said they’d only be gone a couple hours and they’d left right after dinner at six o’clock. Sam hadn’t been able to go back to bed, not really. He’d tossed and turned in a half sleep until a final nightmare had jolted him awake.
Even as the sun had started to light the horizon, he’d still been in the cabin alone. He’d been working up the courage to climb out of bed and head down the dark hallway to call Pastor Jim right before the car had pulled in.
When Sam heard the front door finally creak open, he flopped back down on the bed and so that he was facing the bedroom doorway. He moved carefully so he didn’t squeak the bed springs and found himself staring at shadows cast by the light from the bathroom. He should have turned it off. Dean was going to think he was a baby for being scared of the dark. Dean wasn’t scared of anything and Sam hoped someday he wouldn’t be either.
Sam forced himself to relax beneath the covers, snuggling his head into the cool pillow. He kept his eyes open just wide enough to make out shapes as he waited for Dean and Dad to walk into the bedroom, but there was only one set of footsteps coming down the hallway and they were too heavy to be Dean’s.
He wasn’t surprised to see Dad walk in, but his game of pretending to be asleep was over the instant he realized Dad was carrying Dean in his arms. Even though he knew Dad was way bigger than his brother, Sam still would’ve said Dean was too big to be carried.
Dean used to carry Sam in when he’d been too sleepy to walk, but he’d never actually seen Dad do that for Dean. Dad always just shook him and told him to grab a bag.
When they walked past the stream of light, Sam saw that Dean’s arm was wrapped in something. The worry he’d been pushing down roared back to the surface.
“Sam, wake up,” Dad said.
“No, Dad, let him sleep.”
Sam sat bolt upright at Dean’s words. There was something funny about Dean’s voice. It was too quiet and sounded slurred like it had the last time Dean had gone to the dentist.
“That’s enough, Dean.” Dad snapped the words, startling Sam. He froze, gripping the covers beneath his hands as Dad looked at him. “Watch your brother until I get back.”
Sam rubbed his eyes. “What?”
He must be dreaming. There was no way Dad had just told him to watch his big brother. Dean didn’t need anyone looking after him and he sure wouldn’t put up with Sam doing it. Half the time, Dean was even taking care of Dad, so if he wasn’t dreaming, something was really wrong.
Sam kicked off the musty blankets that Dean had promised he’d wash tomorrow. Dad had said they were fine, but they smelled funny even after they’d shaken off the dust. He liked the first night in a new motel room better than these old places that made weird noises and smelled like mold.
He shivered once his legs were hanging over the side of the bed. His flannel pajamas used to be warm, but now the fabric was wearing thin and they were only long enough to come halfway down his shins and forearms. He had to tug down the top to try to cover his stomach.
Dean said it was because he was eating too many vegetables, but Sam was pretty sure he’d outgrow them no matter what he ate. Dean didn’t eat any vegetables and he was still taller.
Sam’s bare feet didn’t hit the floor before his eyes were shocked by a sudden flood of light. The bedside lamp had seemed too dull when he’d been trying to read in bed, but now it cut like the sun through the room’s darkness. He stayed perched on the edge of the bed while his eyes adjusted, squinting to see Dean through the brightness.
Once everything came into focus, he saw that Dean’s arm was wrapped in a cast and tucked in a sling. It hadn’t registered that Dean could really get hurt and Sam went back to thinking he was dreaming. He didn’t like this dream at all.
Dean’s hair was messy and he looked pale. His eyelids were drooping like he was falling asleep while he barely propped himself up against his pillow. He looked like Dad did when he came home late after a work trip.
Sam frowned, looking anxiously at Dad. “What happened to Dean?”
“Nothing,” Dean quickly replied.
Dean raised his head, but it was only to give Dad a look that seemed strange on Dean’s face. He looked like Sam probably did when he was begging to stay somewhere, but knew they were going to move anyway. The only difference was that Dean’s plea was silent.
“He fell,” Dad said with a tired sigh. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Sam didn’t see Dad. He only saw Dean, who looked worried and like it hurt just to breathe. For all Sam knew, his big brother was dying and Dad was already on his feet heading for the door.
“What? Dad, wait. What about Dean?” Sam asked.
“He’ll be fine,” Dad said. “Just keep him in bed.”
Dad was already walking down the hall before Sam could protest. Any other time, he would have made Dean go talk to Dad, but Dean didn’t look like he could talk and Sam wasn’t going to leave him alone to follow after Dad. It wasn’t like Dad ever listened anyway.
Sam turned away from the empty doorway to look back at his brother. Dean’s eyes were closed and it was scary to see him so still. Dean was never still, not even when he slept. Usually it was annoying. Dean would kick and steal all the covers and Sam was pretty sure that half the time Dean was only pretending to be sleeping. Now all Sam wanted was for Dean to kick or steal the covers, but he was just lying there and Sam wasn’t even sure if he could see him breathing.
Sam hopped off his bed and climbed up onto Dean’s. There was an instant of relief when Dean opened his eyes, but it vanished a moment later when Dean looked away.
It wasn’t just that Dean wouldn’t look at him. It was that his eyes were red like he’d been crying, but Sam knew Dean didn’t cry. He just had allergies that made his eyes water. They could be getting bad because it was fall and Dean’s allergies always seemed the worst in November.
Sam had heard the car door open, but hadn’t believed that Dad would really drive away until he heard the car start. As the car’s engine faded in the distance, Sam was left terrified at the thought that something could be so bad that Dad would leave Dean like this.
He swallowed down his fear and tried to sound calm like Dean would. “Where’s Dad going?”
“Away from me,” Dean muttered.
His words were so quiet Sam almost hadn’t heard them and he was still sure he’d heard them wrong. Dad had looked really worried. There was no way he was rushing just to get away from Dean.
“I think he’s getting a doctor,” Sam said.
It was the only explanation that made sense, but Dean laughed. Not the kind of laugh like he’d heard a funny joke and it only made him grimace more. Dean held his hand to his side and shook his head, closing his eyes again.
“Just go back to bed, Sammy.”
Sam did hop out of bed to turn off the lamp, but only because it seemed to be hurting Dean’s eyes. Instead of going back to his own bed, he plopped back down beside Dean.
He stared at the bathroom door for a long moment before looking back at his brother. The sky was brightening enough to cast a dim glow over the room, but it was cloudy and the sun was struggling to shine through.
Sam shivered and slipped beneath the blanket. He didn’t know how to turn on the heat. He wasn’t even sure if this place had any heat.
“What happened?” Sam asked.
Dean was silent for so long that Sam though he’d fallen asleep, but when he looked over, Dean’s eyes were still open. He was staring up at the ceiling and chewing on his lip.
“You heard Dad,” Dean said. “I was stupid and I fell. Don’t worry about it, okay? It was my own damn fault.”
“Uh...that’s not what Dad said.”
The only thing that was stupid was Dean thinking there was anyway Sam wasn’t going to worry about him. He’d never seen Dean really hurt and he didn’t know what was going on. All he knew was that whatever had happened wasn’t Dean’s fault.
Dean didn’t say anything else. He just sat up to untie his shoelaces with his left hand. By the faces he was making, it hurt him just to reach for them, but instead of stopping, Dean leaned further forward. His annoyed growl broke into a sharp gasp.
“I’m so stupid,” Dean whispered under his breath.
There were plenty of times when Sam had called Dean that, but he’d never meant it. Dean was the smartest person he knew and not being able to untie his shoelace with a broken arm didn’t have anything to do with how smart someone was.
“No you’re not,” Sam said. “Why do you always say mean things about yourself when something happens with Dad?”
“Dad didn’t do anything.”
Dean’s words were sharp and defensive. Sam rolled his eyes. Maybe sometimes Dean was a little stupid. Sam could never say anything other than how awesome Dad was without Dean throwing a fit. Maybe it wasn’t actually stupid, but it was annoying. It wasn’t like Dad was perfect, not like Dean.
Sam crawled to the foot of the bed to help Dean get his shoes off. The instant he reached out, Dean slapped his hand away. The movement made Dean wince again.
“No, I got it,” Dean insisted even as he had to lay back to catch his breath.
Sam ignored him, but when he reached for Dean’s shoelace he didn’t find one. Dean was wearing one normal shoe, but the other was really big with Velcro straps like Sam had worn before Dean had taught him how to tie laces.
It was hard to see in the dim light, but Sam could tell by feeling Dean’s legs beneath his jeans that it was a leg splint, not just a big shoe. He could also see that Dean’s pants were caked with dried mud and splattered with dark spots like Dean had spilled grape juice on them, which was weird because Dean didn’t like grape juice.
“What happened to your foot?” Sam asked.
“Nothing,” Dean said as he brushed Sam’s hand off his leg. “It’s fine.”
“Then why did Dad say you had to stay in bed?”
Dean’s shoulders slumped and he focused on picking at the ragged threads at the knee of his jeans. “’Cause I messed everything up.”
That didn’t make sense. Dad had looked upset, but he wouldn’t tell Dean to stay in bed because he was mad. Sam wasn’t stupid. He knew what a leg brace looked like and Dean wouldn’t be wearing one if he wasn’t hurt really bad.
“Did you break it?”
Dean shrugged. In Dean-speak, not saying no usually meant yes.
“Why would Dad be mad because you broke your foot?”
“My foot’s fine,” Dean said. “It’s just my leg.”
Sam shouldn’t be mad at Dean, he was the one who was hurt, but Dean’s tone mad it sound like it didn’t even matter. Sam didn’t know how Dean couldn’t care that he had broken bones. Maybe he’d fallen on his head, too.
“What’d you fall off of?”
“A unicorn,” Dean snapped. “Geez, Sammy. Will you just back off?”
Dean gave him a shove, not too hard, but hard enough for Sam to get the message and crawl back to the edge of the bed. He still couldn’t make himself leave Dean’s side.
Tears pricked at the corner of Sam’s eyes. It wasn’t anything Dean had said. Dean pretended he didn’t, but he always got upset when Dad was mad or when Sam asked too many stupid questions. Sam was used to that. It was everything else that made his throat feel tight. It was Dean being hurt and Dad just leaving him and Sam not knowing what he was supposed to do. Dean would know, but Sam didn’t understand what had happened.
Dean had danced on top of a pile of cars last time they were at Bobby’s and had climbed up to run on top the highest monkey bars Sam had ever seen at the park. Dean climbed on all kinds of things he shouldn’t, but he was always okay. Sam had even seen him get thrown from a tire swing last month and hit a wood post. A couple minutes later, Dean had been up and running like nothing had happened even though he ended up with a giant purple bruise on his leg, which he’d sworn hadn’t even hurt.
If Dad really wasn’t going for help then Sam should call Pastor Jim. Maybe he’d know what to do. At least he wouldn’t yell at Dean for having broken bones.
“Sorry, Sammy.”
Sam’s head jerked up when he realized Dean was watching him. He quickly wiped his eyes. “I just wanna help.”
Dean went back to staring at the wall. “I’m sure you got better things to do.” He bit down on his lip again and carded his hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to worry about it, okay? I can still take care of things.”
“I don’t want you to take care of anything,” Sam said as he relaxed back down beside Dean. “Let me take care of you.”
“I don’t need anyone taking care of me. Just go-”
Dean’s words were cut off by a banging outside. Sam jumped and instinctively looked to Dean.
Usually Sam would be comforted by Dean leaping into action to check out whatever it was, but Dean could barely sit up. Instead of seeing Dean hustle for the door while telling Sam it was nothing, he found himself staring at his big brother.
Dean’s entire body had tensed. He was scanning the room while his hand reached beneath his pillow. Something under there was shiny enough to catch the early morning light. Sam didn’t get a clear look because Dean barely lifted the pillow. Mostly, Sam was too distracted watching the expression on Dean’s face.
Dean looked like Sam felt. Sam knew Dean didn’t usually get scared, but it had to be frightening, even for Dean, not to be able to move.
“It’s okay, Dean. It’s just the wind.”
The words came automatically, words that Dean had said him so many times before. It did sound like something was trying to claw through the wall, but it was probably the trees next to the house creaking and something on the chimney that clanged. He’d been hearing the sounds all night.
He didn’t know what some of the noises were, but they weren’t scary anymore and not just because the sun was rising. Even if Dean couldn’t check on it, Sam realized he didn’t need him to. He just needed Dean here.
Sam could pretend to lie down, but he hadn’t been able to sleep before and he sure couldn’t sleep now with the sun coming up and Dean hurt beside him. Usually Dean got annoyed when Sam stared at him, but right now he didn’t seem to notice.
Dean was still trying to sit when his eyelids fluttered and his head began to fall to the side. He jerked up again the minute his cheek brushed his shoulder. The bedsprings screeched in protest and Dean jumped again.
His hand slid back beneath his pillow again as his gaze darted around the room. When his eyes found Sam, he let out a breath and rested back against the headboard.
Dean shivered, which made Sam feel cold again, too. Sam got cold a lot, but Dean never seemed to be. Usually Dean sweated more than he shivered, but Dean also usually wore at least a couple of shirts and right now was wearing only a t-shirt because of his cast.
Sam kicked down the covers then gave them a tug. Dean’s unfocused gaze hardened into a glare as Sam worked to jerk the blankets from beneath him. When his eyes focused Dean’s expression softened and he lifted up his butt as well as he could so Sam could pull the covers from beneath him.
Dean rolled out of the way as if he thought Sam wanted the blankets for himself. His brow furrowed as Sam pulled them back up over Dean.
“What’re you doing?” Dean asked.
“Tucking you in.”
Dean opened his mouth to argue as Sam made sure the blankets stayed over Dean’s shoulders, but he didn’t say anything when Sam also pulled the covers over himself and nestled in beside him.
It wasn’t long before Dean’s eyes were closed again and his breath evened out. Sam listened to the familiar, gentle inhales and exhales. Even though Sam liked to tease Dean and tell him he snored like Dad, Dean didn’t actually snore at all. Sometimes, though, Dean would talk in his sleep and Sam listened closely in case Dean unknowingly told him something now.
Sam rolled carefully onto his side so he didn’t shake the bed, but could watch Dean sleeping. As he stood guard over his brother, he tried think of everything Dean did for him when he was sick.
Whenever Sam was sick, Dean made soup. Dean didn’t actually like soup, but Sam didn’t like it when he wasn’t sick either and he was going to go crazy if he didn’t do something for his brother. Sam hadn’t cooked much himself, but he’d watched Dean do it plenty and he did know how to turn on a stove.
He glanced once more at Dean before he slipped off the bed and headed for the kitchen. Even though he tried to tiptoe, his footsteps sounded loud as he sneaked down the hall. There wasn’t really any furniture or things on the walls. The windows didn’t even have curtains except for the bathroom, which was gross with cobwebs stuck full of dead bugs.
The cabin felt as empty and hollow as the reverberating echoes of his bare feet padding across the wood floor. Sam scurried to the unraveling, braided throw rug by the front door.
He warmed his feet before making the dash to the kitchenette, where there was another rug in front of the sink. It looked as dirty as the bathroom curtains, but at least it was warmer than the bare wood floor. He should’ve put on his socks, but he wasn’t going to risk waking up Dean before breakfast was ready just to go back and get them.
The only pan they had lay beside the sink. He’d seen Dean shaking dead bugs out of it before he’d cooked dinner the other night. Sam made a face at the pan that he was pretty sure still hadn’t really been washed. A few stray macaroni noodles dried to the inside confirmed it.
Sam always let Dean do everything just because he always had. It wasn’t actually fair and Sam was beginning to think he should start helping Dean out by taking over washing the dishes. Dean hated the chore, but Sam didn’t mind and he was the only one who really cared if they were clean.
Sam’s gaze wandered out the window as he scrubbed the pan with the faucet’s cold water. Mostly there was just a lot of overgrown grass, but the few trees stood out with their bright orange and red leaves that still clung to the branches despite the winds buffeting them.
One of the trees had a big fork in the trunk that Dean had been talking about climbing since they got here. Now Dean couldn’t even get out of bed.
Sam kept an ear out for the Impala. He was starting to worry that Dean was right and Dad hadn’t gone for a doctor. If Dad had just left for another trip, Sam was going to make sure that he and Dean were long gone by the time he got back. He’d find a way to get to Uncle Bobby’s because Uncle Bobby wasn’t afraid to yell at Dad.
Sam dragged a chair over from the table so he could reach the top cupboard where the cans were. None of the soups were the right flavor, but it wasn’t like he could go to the store and get what he wanted. There wasn’t anything for a hundred miles.
Sam grabbed a can of tomato soup and hopped off the chair. While the soup heated, he looked for anything Dean might actually want to eat. Dean would eat almost anything, but this cabin only had a bunch of dried foods Dean had already said he didn’t like.
There was the Snickers bar Dean had given him on the way here. Dean had found it under the car seat and Sam had whined until Dean had handed it over, but he hadn’t been able to eat it. Getting his way had only been awesome for about thirty seconds until he’d looked back at Dean and realized how much his brother had wanted the candy bar. Sam had tried to give it back, but Dean hadn’t let him.
Sam left the soup long enough to scamper to the couch and dig the Snickers from his jacket pocket. When he returned, he dusted off a bowl and poured the warm soup into it. He set it on a plate with the unwrapped Snickers bar. Dean wouldn’t be able to open it with one hand and trying would only upset him again.
He headed back down the hall and peeked into the bedroom. He’d expected to see Dean still asleep, but his brother was propped up against the headboard, looking anxious again.
“Did you hear another noise?” Sam asked.
Dean startled before locking his eyes with Sam’s. “Where’d you go?” Dean’s gaze moved down to the plate Sam carried and his brow furrowed. “What’s that?”
“Breakfast. There wasn’t any tomato and rice, but maybe just tomato soup will make you feel better.” Sam brought the plate over to Dean, but frowned when sadness crept into Dean’s eyes. “I can go make something else...”
“No, it’s great. Thanks, Sammy. You didn’t have to make anything.”
Sam set the plate on Dean’s lap, making sure it was balanced before he got back up on the bed.
“You don’t have to do everything,” Sam said.
“I gotta take care of you.” Dean awkwardly gripped the spoon with his left hand. “It’s my job.”
“Someone needs to take care of you, too.”
Dean focused on swirling the steaming soup and shrugged. He mumbled something that Sam couldn’t hear, but by the look on Dean’s face he knew it was more mean things that Dean shouldn’t be saying about himself.
As he watched Dean struggle to hold the spoon, Sam realized he should have made something easier to eat. But Dean didn’t try to eat with the spoon. He just kept swirling it around until the soup had cooled a bit and then lifted the whole bowl so he could drink from it like a cup.
Most of the soup made it into Dean’s mouth with just a bit dribbling down his chin. Dean wiped it away with the back of his hand before he ate half of the Snickers. He passed the rest over to Sam.
Sam shook his head. “No, you eat it.”
“I’m full,” Dean said. “Besides, I gave it to you.”
Sam took it only because Dean looked like he was getting tired of holding his hand out. Looking at the candy bar brought a rumble to Sam’s stomach and he’d already gobbled down most of it before Dean set the dishes aside. Sam swallowed the last bite as he watched his brother.
Just the short movement of scooting to the edge of the bed seemed to hurt him, but Dean was moving his legs over the side like he was going to stand up.
“You have to stay in bed,” Sam said. “Dad said...”
“I gotta pee,” Dean said. “And I’m not gonna wet the freaking bed.”
Right now, Sam didn’t care what Dad had said. He could tell by looking at Dean that he shouldn’t be walking. He also knew he couldn’t stop him, but Sam still rushed to the other side of the bed to meet him.
“What’re you doing?” Dean asked.
“Helping you to the bathroom.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, I can pee by myself.”
“You’re not supposed to get up.”
“I know.” Dean glanced down at the floor. “Please don’t tell Dad.”
Sam scrunched his face as he looked at his brother. Dean seemed to think this had to be a secret like Dad was seriously going to be angry about Dean having to go to the bathroom. Sam would take on Dad himself if that was true. Either way, it was Dean, not Dad, that Sam was worried about now.
“Your leg’s broke,” Sam said. “You shouldn’t walk on it.”
“This is a shoe, see?” Dean used his arms to lift his broken leg, not managing to hide the grimace the movement brought to his face. “It means I can walk.”
It did look like a shoe and Dean would know better than him. Sam backed off enough to give his brother room to stand, but stayed close. He still had a feeling that this was a really bad idea.
Even though Dean wasn’t steady, once he was on his feet, Sam smiled. He hadn’t realized how much it had been bothering him to see Dean stuck in a bed until he was looking up at his brother. He should have known Dean could walk even with a broken leg. Dean could do almost anything.
The smile fell away as quickly as it had come when Sam’s gaze moved up from Dean’s leg to his face. Dean was staring ahead, not really looking at anything. He winced as he shifted his weight. The look of pain only left his face when he saw Sam watching him.
“See, told you I could walk, shrimp,” Dean said with a cocky grin.
Dean ruffled his hand through Sam’s hair, but it was too late to be comforting. Sam looked down to hide his worry. Just because Dean could stand, didn’t mean he should. For once, Sam wondered if he should listen to Dad.
Dean was limping heavily and failed to muffle more than a couple of hurt sounds as he clutched his hand to his side. Sam stayed tight next to him even though he knew that he couldn’t catch his big brother. At least he could cushion his fall.
The bathroom wasn’t far from the bed, but it seemed like a million miles. When they reached it, Dean stopped, leaning just inside the doorway against the counter and guiding Sam to back up.
“What’re you doing?” Sam asked.
“Dude, pissing is not a spectator sport.”
“But, Dean...”
The door slammed shut in his face. Sam huffed. Dean never shut the stupid door unless he was being a jerk. Or something was wrong. Sam knew from experience that if he pushed open the door, Dean would just shut it again and then probably lock it.
After one more glance at the closed door, he sneaked back over to the bed. If he couldn’t get Dean to let him help, he could at least answer the question that was nagging him.
Sam stood on Dean’s side of the bed with his hand on the pillow. He knew there was something under there that Dean kept reaching for when he got scared and, when Sam thought about it, he was pretty sure he’d seen Dean do that before.
Sam had used to hide a teddy bear under his pillow for when he was afraid. He’d hid it because he thought Dean would tease him or Dad would throw it out, but they hadn’t cared and Sam didn’t want Dean to think he’d tease him for whatever he had either.
He shot one more glance towards the still-closed bathroom door then lifted up the edge of Dean’s pillow to peek beneath it. He didn’t see anything at first, but froze when he lifted up the pillow all the way. It wasn’t a stuffed animal. It was a really big knife.
Sam had seen Dad with a knife like that before. He’d said it was for hunting, but Sam still wasn’t sure why they had so many guns and knives when all they did was buy food from the store.
Dad and Dean had to be really bad at hunting to never have caught anything, but Sam couldn’t imagine either of them being bad at anything. Even if it was for hunting, Sam didn’t know why Dean would want to sleep on a knife.
There was a weird, cold feeling in the pit of his stomach as he poked his finger against the flat of the knife’s blade to see if it was real and not one of those plastic pirate swords they’d once gotten from the fair. The blade was cold and solid. He grasped the hilt and lifted it. It was really heavy.
He dropped it suddenly, throwing the pillow back over it as he heard Dean curse. He left the bed and hurried back to the bathroom door. He expected Dean to call for help, but Dean still didn’t say anything.
Sam listened to the water running and Dean banging around until he’d decided that Dean had been in there long enough. He pushed open the door to see Dean standing in front of the mirror without his shirt on and with the sling discarded on the counter. He was trying to grab something behind his back that he couldn’t reach with his broken arm.
Sam hurried in to help, but froze when he saw what Dean was reaching for. There was a huge bandage hanging from Dean’s side. The tape had come half off to reveal blood soaked gauze. Sam’s mouth fell open as his eyes searched for the source of the blood even though he was afraid to look closer, afraid that he’d see Dean’s insides falling out.
“Sammy, get out of here!”
But it was too late. Sam’s gaze had moved from the bloody bandage to Dean’s reflection in the mirror. On the side Dean was trying to hide from him, there were gashes that looked like claw marks torn from part way up Dean’s chest down to his hip.
The biggest cuts were stitched up, but some of the smaller ones looked like they’d just started bleeding again. Even the smallest cuts were bigger than any wound Sam had ever seen on Dean. It was more like the cuts Sam had seen Dean stitch up on Dad.
Sam knew Dad got hurt on hunting trips. If he’d known that was where Dad was taking Dean, he never would have let them go.
“You didn’t fall,” Sam said.
“Did too.”
“No you didn’t! Why are you and Dad always lying to me?”
Instead of answering, Dean went back to trying to cover the wounds. Sam moved in to help him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the cuts. It was like some big animal had clawed Dean up. No wonder Dean was scared of the growly noises the wind made. Sam got that Dean didn’t want to scare him, but it was too late and Dean shouldn’t have to be afraid alone.
“Were you guys hunting lions?” Sam asked. “Is that what Dad does? Hunt animals that escape from the zoo?”
“No, dumb ass.” Dean met Sam’s anxious eyes and sighed. “Sam...”
Dean didn’t look mad. He looked upset and tired and like everything hurt. Sam clamped his mouth shut. Needing to know wasn’t worth making things harder for Dean.
“It’s okay,” Sam said. “You don’t have to tell me.”
Dean looked suspicious at Sam’s sudden surrender. “You’re really gonna stop asking?”
“If you just let me help.”
Dean looked between the cuts on his side and the bandage he couldn’t reach. He gave a reluctant nod. “Yeah, okay…I guess. There are some clean bandages in my bag.”
“I’ll get them,” Sam said.
He hurried from the bathroom before Dean could change his mind. It wasn’t until he walked around the bed that he realized his hands were shaking. Dean was supposed to be unbreakable, but he was all torn open and Sam hadn’t even known.
Sam’s unsteady hands dug through Dean’s bag. Mostly it was dirty clothes and stuff that looked like garbage, but Sam stopped when he saw a picture peeking out from a pocket sewn inside the duffel. It was weird because they didn’t have a camera. Sam tugged it out, expecting to see a post card of a naked girl, but it was an actual photo. The corners were bent and it was smudged with fingerprints.
It was a picture of a lady with wavy, blond hair. She crouched down on a sunny beach next to a little, blond kid holding a baby. Sam had to stare at the smiling faces for a minute before he realized it was a picture of his own family.
When he went to slide the photo back, he found other papers in the pouch. He glanced back towards the bathroom before taking a peek. They were little kid drawings scribbled with big, bright crayons on faded paper.
Sam pulled one further out to see his own name signed at the bottom. He didn’t even remember drawing it, but sloppy words at the top labeled it as being for Dean.
Even if he had drawn them, he didn’t get why Dean would’ve kept them or the junky, little dime store match car that Sam had given him for Christmas a few years ago. It was black and now Sam could see it didn’t look anything like an Impala, but at the time he’d thought it had and Dean had gone along with it.
“Sammy?”
Sam dropped the car back into the bottom of the bag and threw the clothes on top of it. He tried to make sure everything was back where he’d found it.
“I’m coming,” Sam said. “I just can’t find the bandages.”
Part of him was waiting for Dean to come out and show him where they were. Usually when he couldn’t find something Dean would move things around and it would suddenly appear. But Dean stayed in the bathroom.
“They’re right on top,” Dean called back.
It wasn’t until Sam looked down again that he saw the bandages lying on the floor beside the bag. He snatched them up and hurried back to the bathroom.
Dean was sitting on the toilet seat, leaning against the wall for support. The bathroom’s harsh light made his skin look porcelain white beneath the blood that trickled down his side. He raised his cast to rest on the counter so Sam had a clear view of the gashes.
“Does it hurt?” Sam asked, barely able to whisper the words.
Dean quirked his brow. “Nah, it feels awesome. Sammy, you don’t have to...”
“No.” Sam jerked the fresh bandages out of Dean’s reach when his brother tried to take them. “I can do it.”
Sam didn’t actually know what he was doing, but he’d seen Dean patch up Dad enough to have a decent idea. He wet the cleanest looking towel in the bathroom and carefully wiped away the fresh blood.
Sam had thought he’d been imagining that the cuts were worse than they really were, but he hadn’t. Nausea licked at the back of his throat when morbid curiosity drew his eyes to the three stitched gashes.
Dean sucked in a sharp breath and Sam mumbled an apology. He’d become so distracted that he’d accidentally dragged the towel over one of the deeper cuts. Dean didn’t complain. He just clenched his jaw and gripped the towel rack as Sam started to tape on fresh gauze.
“Do you miss Mom?” Sam asked.
Dean went still beneath his hands. Sam knew he shouldn’t be bothering Dean with more questions, but it was too quiet with nothing to look at but his brother’s blood dying the white towel pink.
Usually, even when things were bad, Dean would talk about pointless stuff or make stupid jokes. He’d do it to distract Sam and now Dean had to need a distraction. But Dean didn’t talk. He just looked down at the dirty tiles and nodded to himself.
Sam hadn’t thought about the fact that Dean might remember her. To him, they’d just never had a Mom, but Sam had never been able to figure out how Dean was so good at taking care of them when he obviously hadn’t learned it from Dad.
There were so many other things he wanted to ask Dean. It seemed like a good time since Dean couldn’t get away, but it wasn’t really fair and Dean’s skin was already covered with goose bumps.
Sam checked his work on the bandage. It wasn’t as neat as it had been before, but tape seemed to be sticking. Satisfied, he grabbed Dean’s t-shirt off the counter. He wrinkled his nose as he caught a whiff of it then tossed it into the tub.
“Hey!” Dean protested. “Why’re you throwing my clothes around?”
“Because they’re gross,” Sam said. “I’m going to grab a different shirt.”
Before he left the bathroom again, he looked at Dean’s dirty jeans. His stomach churned as he realized that they were splattered with Dean’s blood, not grape juice. He wished Dean would just tell him what had happened even while the knife beneath Dean’s pillow told him he probably didn’t want to know.
Sam dug through Dean’s clothes for a shirt that looked at least kind of clean. He pulled out one from the bottom and a paperback book came along with it. Sam picked it up off the floor and turned it over to look at the cover. It was a beat up old copy of The Swiss Family Robinson and even had a napkin bookmarking it like Dean had actually been reading it.
Sam threw the book down when he heard uneven footsteps leaving the bathroom. His expression must have looked guilty because Dean’s eyes narrowed.
“Dude, stay out of my stuff.”
“I just didn’t know you had a book,” Sam said. “I read all mine.”
Dean walked forward and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. He used his good foot to kick the bag beneath the bed frame and out of Sam’s reach.
“Well, you can’t read that one,” Dean said.
“Why not?”
“Because I said so.” Dean held his hand out to Sam and snapped his fingers. “Just give me the shirt.”
“You can’t put it on by yourself,” Sam said.
Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but finally relaxed and let Sam help him work the t-shirt over his cast. Once it was on, Dean laid down uncomfortably on the bed. He stared up at the ceiling for a couple of seconds before closing his eyes.
Sam knew he wasn’t asleep, but that was the universal sign that Dean was done talking and wanted to be left alone. Even Dad usually just walked away when Dean did that and there wasn’t anything else Sam could do.
He pulled the blankets up over Dean. Sam expected grumbling, but got a mumbled “thank you”.
Dean opened his eyes a moment later. “You should go get some fresh air. I’m fine.”
Sam wished Dean would stop saying that. None of this was fine, but fresh air sounded like a good idea. The bedroom was cool, but the sun had finally come out and Sam was pretty sure it wasn’t actually any colder outside. Dean had to be tired of the musty, stale air.
Sam stood up on his tippy toes and braved the spiders in the window. He gave it a couple hard jerks before it finally slid open. The breeze wafted in through the small window. Dean shifted on the bed and took in a deep breath, letting his eyes again fall closed.
Even though he didn’t want to leave Dean, Sam was pretty sure he wanted to be alone. He changed into some actual clothes before heading out to the front steps. With the window open, he’d be able to hear if Dean called for him.
Sam plopped down on the creaky wood. His sneakers toed at the splinters as he stared out on the open field. The brightly colored trees still swayed, stray leaves fluttering free and dancing in the wind. It would be really cool if Dean was sitting beside him. Dean would be whining about being bored and then they’d run out and go play in the tree.
Sam wanted anything but Dean lying hurt in bed, worrying about Dad hating him and missing Mom. All Sam could see when he closed his eyes was the bloody cut on his brother’s side and Dean’s hand reaching beneath his pillow for a knife in case the thing that had cut him tried to come back.
Exhaustion hit Sam hard. He didn’t know how Dean managed to do everything all the time. Sam yawned and stretched his arms, leaning to the side to rest against the porch railing. Maybe he should be scared that something would come, but he was too busy worrying about Dean and willing the Impala to appear in the driveway.
At some point, his heavy eyelids won out. By the time the growing chill in the air pulled him back, the sun had lowered enough to hide behind the trees. It took him a moment to remember where he was and then he hurried to his feet. His brother was lying in the cabin alone and if Sam was getting cold then Dean probably was, too.
Sam slipped back inside and walked quietly into the bedroom. He closed the window before he realized Dean was awake. Instead of looking like he was resting, he just looked bored and worried.
“You still want to be alone?” Sam asked.
Dean looked surprised by the question. “Just ‘cause I’m tired doesn’t mean I don’t want you here.”
He nodded for Sam to come join him on the bed. Sam settled down next to him. He tucked up his knees and stared at Dean, who looked ready to say something.
“You taking care of me...it’s just weird,” Dean said. “Dad shouldn’t have asked you to do that.”
Sam shrugged. “You take care of me.”
“That’s different.”
“No it’s not,” Sam said. “You do stuff for me all the time and I wanna do stuff for you, too. You’re the coolest big brother ever.”
Dean rubbed the back of his neck. His expression was awkward, but the corner of his lips turned up even as he tried to hide his tired smile. Maybe he couldn’t get Dean to say nice things about himself, but he could say them for him.
“Grab that book out of my bag,” Dean said.
Sam leaned over the side of the bed and dragged Dean’s duffel out, digging around until he felt the rumpled pages. He straightened back up on the bed and glanced to Dean for silent permission before opening the old book.
The cover was loose and Sam held it carefully as he tried to read the handwriting on the inside. It was written in swirly letters and he couldn’t make out most of it, but it said something about the Campbell family adventure.
Sam didn’t know who Dean had gotten the book from. He only knew it meant something to his brother, just like the other trinkets that looked like random junk, but that Dean thought was important enough to take up room in the one bag he had.
“Well?” Dean asked. “You gonna read it or not?”
Sam smiled as Dean settled down on his good side with his head resting in the crook of his elbow, waiting for Sam to begin. He opened to the page Dean had left off on.
“We were awakened in the morning...” Sam began to read aloud.
He still didn’t know what had happened to Dean, but he knew it didn’t really matter. Dean was here and Sam was going to make sure he was okay no matter how many secrets there were or how many bandages had to be cleaned.
Whether or not Dean liked it, Sam was going to start taking care of his brother, starting with dealing with Dad.
~~~
John had done his best to wash off the blood. There were still smears here and there, but he was too tired to see them anymore.
It had been a grueling day of hunting down the thing that had attacked his son. John had been running on fumes and his mind had been back at the cabin with Dean, but there hadn’t been a choice but to continue the hunt. He’d had to locate the den before nightfall. Dean had been marked and unless stopped, it would have come back for his son with reinforcements.
Not long after John had cornered the monster, there had been nothing recognizable left. He’d expected some sense of satisfaction, but the victory had rung hollow. As with everything else he’d done, it was too little, too late.
Despite how physically and mentally trying the hunt had been, it had seemed easy in comparison to what he had to do now. He’d been parked out front of the cabin for several minutes. Sooner or later he’d have to face his son.
He knocked back a shot from the bottle in his hand in a useless attempt to dull the ache in his heart. It wasn’t only what had happened to Dean, but the knowledge that it was likely to happen again.
This was the only life he had to offer his boys. A brutal nightmare, so far from the dream he and Mary had planned for them.
The wind had settled down to a steady breeze. When he walked into the cabin, it was quiet. He listened for his boys, but was met with only silence. His senses went on alert and his pace picked up as he rushed down the hall to the bedroom.
He stopped in the doorway, breathing a sigh relief as he found them safely curled together on the bed. Dean was still pale, but his features were relaxed and peaceful. Sam was tucked beside him with his bangs flopped over his eyes.
A book lay fallen between them. John’s chest tightened when he recognized the battered cover. It had belonged to Mary and had only survived the fire because Dean had left it in the car. Dean had been too young to read it on his own, but had liked to pretend that he could.
John could still see Dean with his shaggy blond hair, settled on the back seat beside Sam’s baby carrier, holding the book upside down and telling his baby brother the story. John had read the book to Dean more than once so it wasn’t as if Dean had needed to see the words.
John had thought he’d thrown the thing out. He hadn’t been able to deal with the thought of Dean asking him to read it after the fire, or of Dean trying to read it aloud himself, but Dean must have found it in the trash.
Sam stirred before John could decide whether or not to let the boys sleep. He stretched lazily, rolling onto his back and seeking out Dean before noticing John in the doorway. His features nearly instantly went from soft and innocent to angry.
Before John could interpret the expression, his youngest slipped off the bed. He barely looked at John, pushing past him and stomping down the hall towards the kitchen.
John followed and gritted his teeth, preparing for a rant about Sam having been stuck taking care of his brother for the sixteen hours John had been gone. He didn’t have the patience for this, but Sam started in before John could squelch the coming tirade.
“Dean is really hurt and it’s not his fault,” Sam said. “You can’t be mad at him. It’s not fair. Whatever happened, you should have stopped it.”
John stared down at his son. At nine years old, Sam was still just a little boy, but right now he was fired up enough to seem like a formidable foe. Sam glared up at him with his arms crossed defiantly over his chest as if he expected John to argue.
He didn’t know what had gotten into Sam and he didn’t have a chance to consider it before the words sunk in. The last sentence hit like a sucker punch to the gut.
Sam was right. He should have been able to stop it. John should be able to keep his boys safe, even in the line of fire. For years, he had drilled in that Dean just needed to follow his orders to a T and everything would be all right.
Dean had done everything right. He’d followed every direction John had given perfectly, but every one of those orders had been the wrong call and Dean had been the one to pay the price. John had realized he’d been wrong only seconds before the thing had buried its claws into his son’s side and heaved Dean off a second floor balcony.
John blinked away the visual of his broken son lying still on the grass. His eyes instead focused on the infuriated boy standing before him. Sam was talking faster than John’s weary mind could follow and only half of what he was saying made sense.
“Slow down,” John ordered. “What’re you talking about?”
Sam gave an annoyed huff as if he was as low on patience as John himself was. “You can’t be mad at Dean.”
“Why should I be mad at Dean?” John asked.
He was furious, but not at Dean. He didn’t want to know what had happened while he was gone that Sam thought he’d be mad about.
“Uh…I don’t know.” Sam’s expression edged towards confusion. “Dean said you left him here because you were mad.”
Sam was prone to exaggeration and misinterpretation. John wanted to think that was all this was, but he’d never seen Sam so irate about something he wasn’t sure about.
John turned back to the bedroom, needing to prove Sam wrong. When he looked in, Dean was awake, cradling his arm as he sat propped up by a pillow. He glanced up at John before averting his gaze.
John’s stomach knotted. There was no mistaking the shame and anxiety in Dean’s eyes. Dean was usually hard to read, but he was so exhausted that the tangle of emotions lay on the surface.
“Sam, I need to talk to your brother,” John said quietly.
After grumbling something beneath his breath, Sam reluctantly shuffled off.
John stood over Dean before settling onto the edge of the bed. His chest tightened as Dean’s shoulders slumped further and his fist nervously gripped the blankets.
He could only stare at his eldest, who was trying to make himself look as small as possible. John was forced to admit his failure in more ways than one. He couldn’t find the words to beg for forgiveness. Instead he wordlessly wrapped his arms around Dean, mindful of his son’s injuries as he pulled him to his chest.
“It’s all taken care of,” John said. “You did good, son.”
Dean was so still in his arms that John wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Then he began to tremble, the movements so slight that John wouldn’t have noticed if his arms weren’t encompassing Dean.
Dean leaned back far enough to see John’s face. His expression was nothing short of shock, his eyes glistening with tentative hope. “You’re not mad?”
John sucked in a breath and pulled Dean closer. “Dean, you did everything right. I was only worried about you.”
He felt Dean’s good hand clutch his jacket as he nestled his cheek against John’s shoulder. John rested his chin on Dean’s head and just held him until his breath steadied again.
It was clearly something that they were going to have to address in detail. Later, when he didn’t know that Sam was standing just around the corner listening.
John loosened his grip on Dean and helped him to rest back against the pillow. He gave them both a moment to dry their eyes before looking back towards the doorway.
“Sam, you can come back in.”
In an instant, Sam was there, jumping up onto the far side of the bed. He leaned into Dean as he closely examined his brother.
“You really okay?” Sam asked.
Dean looked between his brother and father, nodding as John squeezed his shoulder. The tension eased from his face and his rigid muscles relaxed against the pillow. Dean smiled and elbowed Sam endearingly. When Sam nudged Dean back, a sense of relief settled over John.
He knew they’d be okay because with or without him, they’d still have each other.