Into My Bloody Hands, for dollysdoodles
Title: Into My Bloody Hands
Author: yohkobennington
Recipient: dollysdoodles
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: S8 spoilers.
Author's Notes: Slight canon differentiation of the “Goodbye Stranger” episode (Sam and Dean never have the episode ending conversation in the Impala).
Word-Count: ~3,000
Summary: When Cas beats up Dean, he also stabs him in the shoulder with the angel blade, before he is finally able to stop himself. Later he heals Dean, but is unable to heal the stab wound. He doesn't even realize that before he disappears on Dean...again. Dean doesn't tell Sam anything, and Sam ends up with an unconscious brother and time running out of his hands.
~*~
Sam relaxes into the Impala's leather seat as soon the bunker comes to view. He's not sure how much time they got before Crowley comes after them, and they are in no condition to fight him at the moment. Cas is gone, again, and according to Dean with the Angel Tablet. So they are back to depending on finishing the trials.
Dean eases the Impala into a stop right by the front door, and gets out without saying a word. He hadn't said anything the whole way back, outside of what happened to Cas. Sam follows him, taking a minute for his head to stop spinning when he stands up. When his sure he won't end up in the floor, he steps down the stairs and enters the bunker.
He locks the door. Then he stops walking. There is something tainting the floor, and he's sure it's blood. Sam follows the dripping trail and-
“Dean?” Sam calls urgently for his brother's attention.
Dean turns to face him with a question on his own face, before he's suddenly falling down. Sam has barely minutes to react, and the only reason he manages to catch him is because he was walking towards Dean quickly after calling his name.
They both stumble into the floor, Sam's weakening body betraying him on his attempt to hold his brother.
“Shit.” Sam grunts, pushing Dean off him by his shoulders so he's lying in the floor instead. His right hand comes out bloody. “Shit,” he scrambles to his knees, opening Dean's jacket.
Dean's left side of his henley shirt is drenched in blood. Sam roams Dean's torso, searching frantically. His eyes fall on a tearing in Dean's shoulder. Sam moves closer, eyes focusing on just that point. His heart is beating so fast, he can feel it on his throat and ears. Upon some careful examination, he concludes the wound is the reason of all the blood. Dean got stabbed? When? How did he miss this? How did Dean drive like this? And why the hell didn't he say something to Sam? Even if their priority had been to get back safely, the idiot could had at least let Sam know he was bleeding out.
“Dammit, Dean.” Sam mutters.
He has to stop the bleeding. Dean's pasty white complexion is a clear sign that he has lost enough blood as it is. Sam races down the stairs, and into the bathroom. He retrieves the first aid kit they stashed under the sink cabinet. He takes some towels on his way back, and quickly climbs back up to where Dean still lies unconscious, bleeding in to the floor.
Sam pants, as he opens the first aid kit with trembling hands. He leaves it open next to Dean, and lies the towels over the opened lid to stop them from touching the floor. He takes the scissors out and begins cutting the henley, grimacing at the dried blood gluing the shirt to Dean's torso.
With the henley now out of the way, Sam has a clear view of the still bleeding wound. It's a few inches bigger than a quarter, and way too deep. Sam gets his hands under Dean and pushes him to the side. No exit wound, but there is a reddish mark, almost like a fresh scar where the object Dean has to been stabbed with seemed had to come out.
“What the hell?” Sam whispers worried. He moves Dean back to being flat on the floor, and turns his attention to stopping the bleeding. Taking one of the towels, he presses down on the wound. He expects Dean to wake up screaming or complaining. Sam prefers that, rather than the soft frown on Dean's face that he gets.
He has to hurry up.
One hand still pressing on the wound, he reaches for the antiseptic and uses his teeth to uncap the bottle. Sam takes his hand off and splashes the wound with the brown liquid, making sure it's clean. His only option is to stitch it and hope it will be enough.
Now without the pressure of Sam's hand, the wound starts bleeding again sluggishly. Sam uses the other towel to clean Dean's blood from his hand, before taking the hook needle and threading it. His vision clouds a few times, either from adrenaline or the stress and fatigue, and it takes him five tries to get the thread in. He makes a quick work of closing the wound, eyes roaming Dean's face once in a while for any changes on his skin color. After taping in a gauze over the wound, Sam exhales a calming breath, trying to get this racing heart back in control. He stopped the bleeding, but Dean is not out of the woods yet.
~*~
It takes a good amount of stumbling and strength for Sam to get Dean off the floor, down the stairs and into his room. By the time he's dropping Dean on his bed, Sam ends on the floor next to it, panting and limbs shaking with the effort. Fifteen minutes later, his body has gotten enough resting time to get Dean out of his bloody clothes, and in a comfortable position under the covers.
Dean's skin is clammy, his pulse hasn't stopped racing since Sam last checked, and he's breathing comes out in short, sharp puff of air. He needs a hospital and a blood transfusion. But as much as Sam wants to throw caution to the wind, if going out of the bunker it's too much of a risk and they both will end up dead.
He has to trust Dean to be strong enough. He has to trust himself that he can save his brother.
Decision made, Sam takes a quick shower to get the blood and sweat off. He takes his laptop from the table near the bookcases and walks briskly towards Dean's room. There is no way he's leaving Dean alone more than what it's necessary. In his rush, he forgets to get a chair from the library and he doesn't have the energy to go back up. He scoots into the bed next to Dean, his back resting against the headboard as he fires up the laptop. He has a lot of research to do, there must be someway to help his brother and Sam is going to use all of them.
He surfs the Internet for hours, saving the options and solution the Internet provides for blood loss. Sam pretends to stay vigilant of his brother, but the first trial waning on him, he falls sleep with his laptop laying over his tights and one hand over Dean's rapidly beating heart.
~*~
Something startles him up. Sam scratches the sleep from his eyes, and glances at the table clock. They have been asleep all the way to the next afternoon. His laptop, sitting crocked on his lap is dead, so closes the lid and put it laptop on the table next to him. He frowns, his brains still a bit foggy from sleep. But when he looks down at Dean's back, it's clear what woke him up. Dean has managed to shrink himself into fetal position and he's mumbling in his sleep, body shaking under the covers.
Sam stands up, going around the bed and turning on the lamp to have a better look. Dean's hair is wet with sweat, and his face while still pale, has red blotches over his cheeks and nose. Sam touches Dean's forehead and feels the heat emanating from it. He mutters a curse.
Slowly to not disturb Dean, he drags the blanket off his arm. Dean shrinks more under the cold air and protests in his troubled sleep. Sam takes the bandage off, and there in all its puffy red glory is the stab wound mocking him. Great, that's great. An infection, just what Dean needed to top it all off.
It shouldn't surprise Sam, after all the time Dean spent with the wound open and without treatment. The antiseptic job was cut off for from the get go. He needs to get Dean to take antibiotics and some water. Sam rushes to the kitchen and fills up a whole pitcher with water, and takes a glass from the top cabinet. He then grabs the antibiotics and painkillers before going back to the room.
Dean has become more restless in his sleep, face marred in discomfort.
Sam deposits the pitcher of water, a glass, and pills on the table. “Dean, hey, wake up.”
Dean grunts, burring his face on the pillow.
“No, c'mon. You gotta wake up man.” Sam pleads, grabbing Dean's wrist to dislodge his self-embrace.
Dean fights him, grunting a soft 'stop' and Sam has the feeling he's not talking to him.
“I need you to open your eyes.”
“Please,” Dean croaks. He sounds so broken up, it hits Sam right in his heart. He has to wake him up right now.
“Dean, open your eyes.” Sam orders.
Dean inhales sharply, body jumping. But his eyes flutter, and then they open into slits.
“Hey, are you awake now?” Sam asks softly, keeping his face in Dean's viewing range.
“S'm?” Dean slurs, frowning. His tongue sneaks out to wet his chaped lips. “W'a?”
“You have a fever. I need you to take some medication for me, okay?” Sam explains, helping Dean up into a seating position. Dean sways, fists holding into Sam's shirt to not topple over. He pants like he just ran a marathon, and his hands shake violently by the time Sam finishes getting his pillow against the headboard, and lets Dean rest against it.
“Here, drink this.” Sam serves a glass of water, and gives him the antibiotics and painkillers. He keeps his hands around Dean's to him from spilling the water. Dean drinks it, too out of it to protest. Sam then gives him more water after Dean has finished the glass.
“Okay, good.” Sam smiles leaving the glass back on the table. “Are you going to stay awake long enough to some food?” Sam asks him, but Dean's eyes are closed when he glances back at him. “I guess not.”
He will try next time Dean wakes up.
~*~
Dean doesn't wake up for twelve hours. It has Sam biting his nails with worry, and checking that his brother is still alive every minute. He manages to barely rise Dean up to get him to take more medicine and Gatorade. But for the better part of those hours Dean is mostly out. Sam barely leaves his side, dragging a chair from the library to sit next to the bed and stocking Dean's room with everything he needs to take care of his brother.
When he finally wakes up, the fever is still lingering but has dropped down.
“F'ck.” Dean groans.
Sam moves the laptop to the floor, straightening up and taking his legs off the bed. “Hey,”
Dean's eyes roam the room, and then land on Sam. “You look like crap.”
Sam smiles tentatively. “Thanks.”
Dean starts to sit up, grunting when the movement jostles his wounded shoulder. Sam helps him the rest of the way, and then sits back on the chair. Dean looks at the bandage on his shoulder with a confused frown. “What happened?”
“You don't remember?”
Dean's frown deepens. Then Sam can see in his eyes when the memories come back. Dean swallows, and looks to his lap avoiding Sam's gaze.
“Cas did this to you?” Sam asks. He had his suspicions as soon he saw the wound. There was only two people inside the building, and Dean had told Sam about the confrontation they had before Cas disappeared.
Dean's shoulders tense, and he nods. It's obvious he doesn't want to talk about it, so Sam lets it go for now.
“You lost a lot of blood.”
“I'm fine.”
“No, you aren't yet.”
Dean sighs, in that way he does when Sam is getting on his nerves. “I'm not the one coughing up blood.”
Sam lips purse. “I'm getting you some food.” He says, getting up and walking away from an argument he's not keen on starting.
~*~
Sam read on the Internet that getting Dean to eat a lot of protein would help him to recover from the blood he lost. So, he makes Dean eat as much meat, eggs, and even peanut butter until Dean insist he's going to puke if he eats any more.
It's a slow process. Dean won't probably feel like himself for a couple of months, unless they manage to get him into a hospital and speed up the process with a blood transfusion.
The infection clears out after a few more days, and the wound starts healing without anymore set backs. For the first week, Dean stays in bed. Too weak to do anything more than to sleep and get up, with Sam's help, to go to the bathroom. Then he starts spending more time sitting outside in the library, until he falls sleep and Sam has to drag him back to bed.
They barely talk to each other. Dean angry at Sam for hiding how much the First Trial affected him, and Sam annoyed at him for being such an hypocrite. The tension charges the bunker, and only terse words are exchanged whenever they do talk. It doesn't help they are basically in lock down until Dean feels better, Kevin deciphers the next trial, or Cas decides to show up with the Angel Tablet.
Sam closes the book he's been reading, not finding anything in any of these books they can use to stop Crowley.
Dean shuffles out of the kitchen, glass of Gatorade in hand. Sam stares as he goes by. His skin has gained some color, but he still looks too pale for Sam's liking. He can spend more hours awake, and walk on his own but anything outside of walking from his room to the library or to the kitchen wears him out. Dean gives him a quick look, and that's all the acknowledgment Sam gets before Dean keeps shuffling back to his room.
Sam sighs. This is getting ridiculous. He stands up, determined to end this new stupid battle between them.
He finds Dean gingerly sitting on his bed, glass of gatorade safely over the table. He grimaces in pain as he slides up against the headboard, keeping his left arm unmoving over his chest. Sam moves toward the open first aid kit, and takes some painkillers out. He hands them to Dean silently. Dean glances at him, and for a minute there it seems like he's going to fight Sam on it, but he just takes them. Sam sits down at the corner of the bed, waiting for Dean to swallow down the pills with some of the Gatorade.
“Listen, Dean. I'm sorry.” Sam scratches his head absently. “I should have told you what was happening to me.”
Dean exhales tiredly. He doesn't answer right away, and dread fills Sam's chest.
“I just don't want anymore lies, Sam.” Dean whispers, staring right into Sam's eyes.
Sam can understand that. “I know. I won't hide anything happening to me.”
Dean nods accepting Sam's promise easily.
“But you can't keep things from me either.”
Dean's mouth twist into a frown. “I didn't do it on purpose.”
Sam stares, not believing him.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Dean mutters. “Cas healed me, or most of it. I didn't think it was that bad. I couldn't even feel the pain, and we needed to get away from Crowley as soon as possible.”
“You were bleeding out, and you should had told me. What if you fainted while driving the car, did that crossed your mind?”
“I don't faint.” Dean retorts, offended.
Sam glares. “I'm being serious here, Dean.”
“Alright. I won't keep stuff from you either. Sorry.”
“Good.” Sam coincides. “Now go to sleep. I will wake you up for dinner.” He gets up to leave, smiling at Dean's protest while getting comfortable to sleep.
~*~
“Ugh, I won't eat a burger ever again after this.” Dean complains, a disgusted expression all over his face as he plays around with his food.
“Shut up, and eat your steak and eggs.” Sam warns.
“How long until I can eat anything else?”
“Until you stop looking like a Kiss reject.”
Dean throws a glare at him. “You're fucking hilarious.”
“Thank you. Now eat your dinner.”
Dean glances down at his plate and makes another face.
Sam takes pity on him. “At least eat the eggs.”
“Eat the eggs, he says.” Dean scorns.
“What are you, five?”
“Shut up. You are not the one eating it 24/7 here.”
Now it's Sam who makes a grossed out face.
Dean points the fork at him accusingly. “You are so paying for this.”
Sam snorts. “It's for your own good!”
Dean takes a hateful bite of his eggs, still looking at Sam with an evil eye.
Sam can't help but smile, happy they are back to being them.
That is of course, until the next trial or until Crowley comes banging on their door. But as long as they can have this peace, Sam is going to take it.
He knows things are about to get harder, but he also knows that not matter the outcome, they are going to be fine.
He has to just believe in that light at the end of the tunnel for the both of them.
Author: yohkobennington
Recipient: dollysdoodles
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: S8 spoilers.
Author's Notes: Slight canon differentiation of the “Goodbye Stranger” episode (Sam and Dean never have the episode ending conversation in the Impala).
Word-Count: ~3,000
Summary: When Cas beats up Dean, he also stabs him in the shoulder with the angel blade, before he is finally able to stop himself. Later he heals Dean, but is unable to heal the stab wound. He doesn't even realize that before he disappears on Dean...again. Dean doesn't tell Sam anything, and Sam ends up with an unconscious brother and time running out of his hands.
~*~
Sam relaxes into the Impala's leather seat as soon the bunker comes to view. He's not sure how much time they got before Crowley comes after them, and they are in no condition to fight him at the moment. Cas is gone, again, and according to Dean with the Angel Tablet. So they are back to depending on finishing the trials.
Dean eases the Impala into a stop right by the front door, and gets out without saying a word. He hadn't said anything the whole way back, outside of what happened to Cas. Sam follows him, taking a minute for his head to stop spinning when he stands up. When his sure he won't end up in the floor, he steps down the stairs and enters the bunker.
He locks the door. Then he stops walking. There is something tainting the floor, and he's sure it's blood. Sam follows the dripping trail and-
“Dean?” Sam calls urgently for his brother's attention.
Dean turns to face him with a question on his own face, before he's suddenly falling down. Sam has barely minutes to react, and the only reason he manages to catch him is because he was walking towards Dean quickly after calling his name.
They both stumble into the floor, Sam's weakening body betraying him on his attempt to hold his brother.
“Shit.” Sam grunts, pushing Dean off him by his shoulders so he's lying in the floor instead. His right hand comes out bloody. “Shit,” he scrambles to his knees, opening Dean's jacket.
Dean's left side of his henley shirt is drenched in blood. Sam roams Dean's torso, searching frantically. His eyes fall on a tearing in Dean's shoulder. Sam moves closer, eyes focusing on just that point. His heart is beating so fast, he can feel it on his throat and ears. Upon some careful examination, he concludes the wound is the reason of all the blood. Dean got stabbed? When? How did he miss this? How did Dean drive like this? And why the hell didn't he say something to Sam? Even if their priority had been to get back safely, the idiot could had at least let Sam know he was bleeding out.
“Dammit, Dean.” Sam mutters.
He has to stop the bleeding. Dean's pasty white complexion is a clear sign that he has lost enough blood as it is. Sam races down the stairs, and into the bathroom. He retrieves the first aid kit they stashed under the sink cabinet. He takes some towels on his way back, and quickly climbs back up to where Dean still lies unconscious, bleeding in to the floor.
Sam pants, as he opens the first aid kit with trembling hands. He leaves it open next to Dean, and lies the towels over the opened lid to stop them from touching the floor. He takes the scissors out and begins cutting the henley, grimacing at the dried blood gluing the shirt to Dean's torso.
With the henley now out of the way, Sam has a clear view of the still bleeding wound. It's a few inches bigger than a quarter, and way too deep. Sam gets his hands under Dean and pushes him to the side. No exit wound, but there is a reddish mark, almost like a fresh scar where the object Dean has to been stabbed with seemed had to come out.
“What the hell?” Sam whispers worried. He moves Dean back to being flat on the floor, and turns his attention to stopping the bleeding. Taking one of the towels, he presses down on the wound. He expects Dean to wake up screaming or complaining. Sam prefers that, rather than the soft frown on Dean's face that he gets.
He has to hurry up.
One hand still pressing on the wound, he reaches for the antiseptic and uses his teeth to uncap the bottle. Sam takes his hand off and splashes the wound with the brown liquid, making sure it's clean. His only option is to stitch it and hope it will be enough.
Now without the pressure of Sam's hand, the wound starts bleeding again sluggishly. Sam uses the other towel to clean Dean's blood from his hand, before taking the hook needle and threading it. His vision clouds a few times, either from adrenaline or the stress and fatigue, and it takes him five tries to get the thread in. He makes a quick work of closing the wound, eyes roaming Dean's face once in a while for any changes on his skin color. After taping in a gauze over the wound, Sam exhales a calming breath, trying to get this racing heart back in control. He stopped the bleeding, but Dean is not out of the woods yet.
~*~
It takes a good amount of stumbling and strength for Sam to get Dean off the floor, down the stairs and into his room. By the time he's dropping Dean on his bed, Sam ends on the floor next to it, panting and limbs shaking with the effort. Fifteen minutes later, his body has gotten enough resting time to get Dean out of his bloody clothes, and in a comfortable position under the covers.
Dean's skin is clammy, his pulse hasn't stopped racing since Sam last checked, and he's breathing comes out in short, sharp puff of air. He needs a hospital and a blood transfusion. But as much as Sam wants to throw caution to the wind, if going out of the bunker it's too much of a risk and they both will end up dead.
He has to trust Dean to be strong enough. He has to trust himself that he can save his brother.
Decision made, Sam takes a quick shower to get the blood and sweat off. He takes his laptop from the table near the bookcases and walks briskly towards Dean's room. There is no way he's leaving Dean alone more than what it's necessary. In his rush, he forgets to get a chair from the library and he doesn't have the energy to go back up. He scoots into the bed next to Dean, his back resting against the headboard as he fires up the laptop. He has a lot of research to do, there must be someway to help his brother and Sam is going to use all of them.
He surfs the Internet for hours, saving the options and solution the Internet provides for blood loss. Sam pretends to stay vigilant of his brother, but the first trial waning on him, he falls sleep with his laptop laying over his tights and one hand over Dean's rapidly beating heart.
~*~
Something startles him up. Sam scratches the sleep from his eyes, and glances at the table clock. They have been asleep all the way to the next afternoon. His laptop, sitting crocked on his lap is dead, so closes the lid and put it laptop on the table next to him. He frowns, his brains still a bit foggy from sleep. But when he looks down at Dean's back, it's clear what woke him up. Dean has managed to shrink himself into fetal position and he's mumbling in his sleep, body shaking under the covers.
Sam stands up, going around the bed and turning on the lamp to have a better look. Dean's hair is wet with sweat, and his face while still pale, has red blotches over his cheeks and nose. Sam touches Dean's forehead and feels the heat emanating from it. He mutters a curse.
Slowly to not disturb Dean, he drags the blanket off his arm. Dean shrinks more under the cold air and protests in his troubled sleep. Sam takes the bandage off, and there in all its puffy red glory is the stab wound mocking him. Great, that's great. An infection, just what Dean needed to top it all off.
It shouldn't surprise Sam, after all the time Dean spent with the wound open and without treatment. The antiseptic job was cut off for from the get go. He needs to get Dean to take antibiotics and some water. Sam rushes to the kitchen and fills up a whole pitcher with water, and takes a glass from the top cabinet. He then grabs the antibiotics and painkillers before going back to the room.
Dean has become more restless in his sleep, face marred in discomfort.
Sam deposits the pitcher of water, a glass, and pills on the table. “Dean, hey, wake up.”
Dean grunts, burring his face on the pillow.
“No, c'mon. You gotta wake up man.” Sam pleads, grabbing Dean's wrist to dislodge his self-embrace.
Dean fights him, grunting a soft 'stop' and Sam has the feeling he's not talking to him.
“I need you to open your eyes.”
“Please,” Dean croaks. He sounds so broken up, it hits Sam right in his heart. He has to wake him up right now.
“Dean, open your eyes.” Sam orders.
Dean inhales sharply, body jumping. But his eyes flutter, and then they open into slits.
“Hey, are you awake now?” Sam asks softly, keeping his face in Dean's viewing range.
“S'm?” Dean slurs, frowning. His tongue sneaks out to wet his chaped lips. “W'a?”
“You have a fever. I need you to take some medication for me, okay?” Sam explains, helping Dean up into a seating position. Dean sways, fists holding into Sam's shirt to not topple over. He pants like he just ran a marathon, and his hands shake violently by the time Sam finishes getting his pillow against the headboard, and lets Dean rest against it.
“Here, drink this.” Sam serves a glass of water, and gives him the antibiotics and painkillers. He keeps his hands around Dean's to him from spilling the water. Dean drinks it, too out of it to protest. Sam then gives him more water after Dean has finished the glass.
“Okay, good.” Sam smiles leaving the glass back on the table. “Are you going to stay awake long enough to some food?” Sam asks him, but Dean's eyes are closed when he glances back at him. “I guess not.”
He will try next time Dean wakes up.
~*~
Dean doesn't wake up for twelve hours. It has Sam biting his nails with worry, and checking that his brother is still alive every minute. He manages to barely rise Dean up to get him to take more medicine and Gatorade. But for the better part of those hours Dean is mostly out. Sam barely leaves his side, dragging a chair from the library to sit next to the bed and stocking Dean's room with everything he needs to take care of his brother.
When he finally wakes up, the fever is still lingering but has dropped down.
“F'ck.” Dean groans.
Sam moves the laptop to the floor, straightening up and taking his legs off the bed. “Hey,”
Dean's eyes roam the room, and then land on Sam. “You look like crap.”
Sam smiles tentatively. “Thanks.”
Dean starts to sit up, grunting when the movement jostles his wounded shoulder. Sam helps him the rest of the way, and then sits back on the chair. Dean looks at the bandage on his shoulder with a confused frown. “What happened?”
“You don't remember?”
Dean's frown deepens. Then Sam can see in his eyes when the memories come back. Dean swallows, and looks to his lap avoiding Sam's gaze.
“Cas did this to you?” Sam asks. He had his suspicions as soon he saw the wound. There was only two people inside the building, and Dean had told Sam about the confrontation they had before Cas disappeared.
Dean's shoulders tense, and he nods. It's obvious he doesn't want to talk about it, so Sam lets it go for now.
“You lost a lot of blood.”
“I'm fine.”
“No, you aren't yet.”
Dean sighs, in that way he does when Sam is getting on his nerves. “I'm not the one coughing up blood.”
Sam lips purse. “I'm getting you some food.” He says, getting up and walking away from an argument he's not keen on starting.
~*~
Sam read on the Internet that getting Dean to eat a lot of protein would help him to recover from the blood he lost. So, he makes Dean eat as much meat, eggs, and even peanut butter until Dean insist he's going to puke if he eats any more.
It's a slow process. Dean won't probably feel like himself for a couple of months, unless they manage to get him into a hospital and speed up the process with a blood transfusion.
The infection clears out after a few more days, and the wound starts healing without anymore set backs. For the first week, Dean stays in bed. Too weak to do anything more than to sleep and get up, with Sam's help, to go to the bathroom. Then he starts spending more time sitting outside in the library, until he falls sleep and Sam has to drag him back to bed.
They barely talk to each other. Dean angry at Sam for hiding how much the First Trial affected him, and Sam annoyed at him for being such an hypocrite. The tension charges the bunker, and only terse words are exchanged whenever they do talk. It doesn't help they are basically in lock down until Dean feels better, Kevin deciphers the next trial, or Cas decides to show up with the Angel Tablet.
Sam closes the book he's been reading, not finding anything in any of these books they can use to stop Crowley.
Dean shuffles out of the kitchen, glass of Gatorade in hand. Sam stares as he goes by. His skin has gained some color, but he still looks too pale for Sam's liking. He can spend more hours awake, and walk on his own but anything outside of walking from his room to the library or to the kitchen wears him out. Dean gives him a quick look, and that's all the acknowledgment Sam gets before Dean keeps shuffling back to his room.
Sam sighs. This is getting ridiculous. He stands up, determined to end this new stupid battle between them.
He finds Dean gingerly sitting on his bed, glass of gatorade safely over the table. He grimaces in pain as he slides up against the headboard, keeping his left arm unmoving over his chest. Sam moves toward the open first aid kit, and takes some painkillers out. He hands them to Dean silently. Dean glances at him, and for a minute there it seems like he's going to fight Sam on it, but he just takes them. Sam sits down at the corner of the bed, waiting for Dean to swallow down the pills with some of the Gatorade.
“Listen, Dean. I'm sorry.” Sam scratches his head absently. “I should have told you what was happening to me.”
Dean exhales tiredly. He doesn't answer right away, and dread fills Sam's chest.
“I just don't want anymore lies, Sam.” Dean whispers, staring right into Sam's eyes.
Sam can understand that. “I know. I won't hide anything happening to me.”
Dean nods accepting Sam's promise easily.
“But you can't keep things from me either.”
Dean's mouth twist into a frown. “I didn't do it on purpose.”
Sam stares, not believing him.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Dean mutters. “Cas healed me, or most of it. I didn't think it was that bad. I couldn't even feel the pain, and we needed to get away from Crowley as soon as possible.”
“You were bleeding out, and you should had told me. What if you fainted while driving the car, did that crossed your mind?”
“I don't faint.” Dean retorts, offended.
Sam glares. “I'm being serious here, Dean.”
“Alright. I won't keep stuff from you either. Sorry.”
“Good.” Sam coincides. “Now go to sleep. I will wake you up for dinner.” He gets up to leave, smiling at Dean's protest while getting comfortable to sleep.
~*~
“Ugh, I won't eat a burger ever again after this.” Dean complains, a disgusted expression all over his face as he plays around with his food.
“Shut up, and eat your steak and eggs.” Sam warns.
“How long until I can eat anything else?”
“Until you stop looking like a Kiss reject.”
Dean throws a glare at him. “You're fucking hilarious.”
“Thank you. Now eat your dinner.”
Dean glances down at his plate and makes another face.
Sam takes pity on him. “At least eat the eggs.”
“Eat the eggs, he says.” Dean scorns.
“What are you, five?”
“Shut up. You are not the one eating it 24/7 here.”
Now it's Sam who makes a grossed out face.
Dean points the fork at him accusingly. “You are so paying for this.”
Sam snorts. “It's for your own good!”
Dean takes a hateful bite of his eggs, still looking at Sam with an evil eye.
Sam can't help but smile, happy they are back to being them.
That is of course, until the next trial or until Crowley comes banging on their door. But as long as they can have this peace, Sam is going to take it.
He knows things are about to get harder, but he also knows that not matter the outcome, they are going to be fine.
He has to just believe in that light at the end of the tunnel for the both of them.