Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sam somehow woke simultaneously slowly and quickly.

The sort of waking you’re conscious of, but not quite ready to commit to, hiding under heavy eyelids.

Sighing deeply, he brought his hands to his face and softly rubbed his eye sockets to gain some alertness.

To little success, unsurprisingly.

Stretching his long body, Sam found himself barely restraining from physically purring.

He was incredibly comfortable.

A rare occurrence.

Hearing the motel bathroom’s door click open, he dropped his hands from where they had risen above his head, letting them flop onto the comforter gracelessly.

Dean strolled casually into the room, emerging from a cloud of steam. He had a towel wound tightly round his waist, and another that he was using to roughly shake out the dripping strands of his hair.

Lifting his gaze, Dean noticed his brothers sleepy stare and chuckled, padding over to the window.

“Mornin’ Sammy” Sunlight flooded into the room as Dean pushed open the garishly patterned curtains. “How’d you sleep?”

Squinting at the onslaught of light, Sam easily returned his brother’s question with a satisfied nod, “Pretty well, actually.”

Dean nodded, “Good-” he begun fiddling with the pile of clothes at the end of his bed, “it’s about time.”

Sam tilted his head in question. Dean glanced over at him,

“Don’t think you’ve had 4 solid hours of sleep in over a week.”

Sam frowned. Was that really how long it’d been?

Despite the gravity of Dean’s words, he couldn’t help the warm sensation that spread through him at another confirmation of his brother’s concern.

After the ordeal of the apocalypse and Lucifer, Sam had had a bit of trouble believing his own value. His mind spent many a graveyard shift forming and developing the belief that, nowadays, Dean merely tolerated him.

His insecurity dutifully moulded the idea to every interaction between the two of them, convincing him that some misplaced, delusional obligation was the only explanation for any love he received from his older brother.

After a moment, Sam returned to the present, letting the depressing thought slip from his mind, and burrowing his head deeper into his pillow.

Unfortunately, his brother soon disrupted his quiet attempt at dozing off with his gratingly amused voice.

“Nuh uh Sammy, we gotta get a move on man. No more nap time for you.”

Sometimes, Dean liked to talk to Sam like he was 5 years old.

Maybe it made him feel young again.

He had futilely hoped that ignoring his brother for long enough would send a suitable ‘do not disturb’ message and he could return to his incredibly comfortable snooze.

…

“Hello? Earth to snuggly puggly?”

…

“Sammyyyy.”

He had read somewhere that silence was the best discouragement.

…

A whooshing sound came from behind before a pillow landed solidly on his head.

“Sam c’mon-”

Apparently not.

“I swear to God I will leave without you.”

He gave up that plan and huffed indignantly, shoving the pillow off him.

There was some rustling around behind him, Dean dressing and packing up their duffel bags he assumed.

He heard his brother cross the room, and the motel door clicking open. Apparently, he remained silent for too long, because his brother was already ploughing on with another threat.

“I’m not against using that leaf blower we saw on the way in, Sammy.”

Sam wasn’t entirely sure whether Dean was genuinely serious, despite his playful tone, so with a reluctant groan his 14-year-old self would be proud of, he responded.

“Okay, okay” Sam grumbled into his pillow, waving a petulant hand in what he assumed to be his brother’s direction, “I’m up."

On his way out, his older – yes, older - brother called in a sing-song voice,

“You better be.”

Sam could hear the eye roll in his brother’s tone and snorted, the door clicking shut echoed quietly in the room.

The night before, the brothers had arrived at the Sunny Side motel in the early hours of the morning, with Sam quietly snoozing against the passenger window.

Dean had pulled the Impala into the empty parking lot with a squeak and left the car to book them a room.

Sam, having jolted awake with the car’s breaks, sat slumped in the front seat silently watching his brother cross the parking lot to the motel’s nauseatingly cheerful looking office.

Letting his sleepy gaze roam around his surroundings Sam had noticed a large red leaf blower leaning against the door of room 21.

It was still plugged into the power outlet to the right of the window, presumedly halfway through being used.

Weird.

When his brother swung himself back into the car, holding a key to room 21 between them, Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at the coincidence.

As he and his brother walked to the door, Dean had looked down at the machine and shaken his head before picking it up, “Let’s hope this thing’s owner has the day off tomorrow.”

As his brother rested the thing against the wall, Sam had unlocked their room and pushed open the door, grabbing the bags and shuffling inside, forgetting all about it.

Dean, apparently, had not.

In fear of his brother’s pre-coffee wrath, Sam dragged his lumbering body out of the soft warmth and sat on the side of his mattress. Setting his socked feet on the motel’s carpet, he looked over the room.

Sam’s typical ‘Yes I’m absolutely a real federal agent’ suit was on the end of Dean's made bed, with the empty hanger next to it providing the only evidence that his brother was currently wearing his own.

In that moment, the thought of the itchy, constricting fabric was incredibly unappealing to the younger hunter.

Somehow, Sam forced himself inside the wretched thing, just as his brother re-entered the room with a coffee cup in each hand.

“There he is!” Dean passed him a cup, grinning widely.

Sam huffed in reply, “Yeah yeah, let’s just get going.”

He pulled the tight collar of his shirt away from his throat.

He was sweating already; the humidity of late August in Arizona threatening to suffocate him.

Dean regarded him for a moment, an odd look in his eyes, before he placed his cup on the dresser and approached the taller man.

“C’mere” he waved Sam towards him, who warily obeyed, unsure of Dean’s motives.

When he was in suitable distance, Dean tilted his chin down and undid the top button of Sam’s shirt, stating “The only people who wear their shirts done up in this weather are psychopaths or people who never wear suits.”

Dean smoothed both hands down from his collar to rest on Sam’s shoulders. His brother smelt faintly of coffee and cologne.

“You going for the first option then?” Sam grumbled, trying not to show how much he appreciated Dean’s actions.

“Jeez, somebody’s touchy this morning.” Dean feigned offence, removing his hands and holding them up as if to placate Sam.

Not rising to the bait, Sam sarcastically grimaced, “Yeah I’m just thrilled monsters don’t take a summer vacation.”

“Not everyone follows the school calendar year, Sammy.” Dean explained smirking.

Sam just huffed out a laugh and took a sip from his coffee, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Flashing his brother a wide smile, Dean clapped him on the back good-naturedly. “That’s the spirit Sammy!”

***

The drive to the crime scene was mostly uneventful: Dean not so subtly humming along to the indistinguishable Taylor Swift song on the radio, while Sam dutifully pretended not to hear him.

Truthfully, Sam didn’t need to try very hard at pretending, the raging headache pounding behind his ears was plenty distracting.

By the time they pulled into the crowded gas station, the headache had reached soaring levels, and Sam winced when he exited the car, holding a hand up to lessen the blinding sunlight flooding his senses.

At the movement, Dean’s eyes flicked over to his brother across the Impala’s roof, frowning at the pained expression marring Sam’s features.

Sam thanked small mercies when Dean remained silent, despite his obvious concern.

He didn’t think he could handle the genuine and intense care that usually accompanied that expression.

It would be too painful when he remembered it wasn’t deserved.

As the pair rounded the car, Dean reached into his suit jacket, pulling something out and offering it to Sam.

Glancing down, Sam realised it was a pair of sunglasses.

His heart constricted again, a painful lump rising like a balloon to the top of his throat. Trying to lighten the mood and mask his emotions brimming under the surface, Sam attempted to joke,

“I thought sunglasses were for douchebags.”

Dean smirked slightly as he walked, the glasses still hovering between them, and Sam easily predicted his reply.

“They are.”

Dean kept his gaze on his brother, but the smirk softened into something smaller, more genuine.

He touched Sam’s arm to halt their approach and continued in a softer voice,

“Just take ‘em Sammy.”

Sighing half-heartedly, Sam gave in and took the glasses, muttering a quiet ‘thanks’ under his breath.

Dean nodded, clapped him on the shoulder and turned back the crime scene, walking away.

Much to the younger hunter’s disgruntled dismay, when he slid them tentatively onto his nose, the glasses softened the harsh glare of daylight significantly.

He pretended the warmth that spread through him was caused by the sun.

Sam blew out a relieved breath and crossed the asphalt to where Dean was mid-conversation with the sheriff. He held up his badge silently to avoid interrupting the man.

“ -eah, the call came in about 4 hours ago. Witness says she came in to get some snacks and found the poor guy – well, like that.” The sheriff had a strong Southern accent, but a gentle voice and Sam listened carefully as the man indicated behind him.

He and Dean peered around to where the sheriff was gesturing, and Sam found himself having to audibly swallow the rising nausea that crawled up his throat.

There wasn’t much of the guy that wasn’t soaked in blood, and most of what should have been inside was well and truly outside.

Dean sighed with his whole body and looked back to the sheriff.

“And the victim?”

“23-year-old male – Andy Jefferson. No career, he mostly worked odd jobs - lawn mowing, window cleaning, stuff like that. Pretty sure he was midway through leaf-blowing the neighbourhood.”

The brother’s shared a meaningful glance, both grimly realising the connection simultaneously.

Sam turned back to the sheriff. “You got a working theory?”

Taking off his hat and running a hair through his head, the man sighed deeply.

“Animal attack probably-” the brothers exchanged another glance “but we can’t find any identifying marks, no bites or scratches anywhere.”

Scoffing, the sheriff returned his hat to its original position,

“It’s like the guy just - exploded.”

Dean nodded absently, seemingly lost in thought, so Sam thanked the sheriff and angled his body to face his brother. He couldn’t stomach the excess of blood and guts in his peripheral.

“Got any ideas?”

Dean glanced up, as if he had forgotten Sam was there, and tilted his head.

“Kind of – Dad and I saw something similar back when you were dallying around at Stanford, but we thought we killed the last one of the buggers.”

Sam ignored the jab and focused on the monster part. “What was it then?”

“Some kind of telepathic thing-” Dean gestured to his head and wiggled his fingers. “- controlling shit with its mind and all that.”

“Kinda like Magneto?”

Dean blinked at him before grinning obnoxiously,

“Nerd.”

Sam shoved his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Dean laughed heartily when Sam grumbled at his older brother’s boyish antics but continued his explanation.

“Yeah, it was over in Missouri. Dad only wanted to be there for a couple days tops, but the case dragged and by the end of it he was cranky as hell-”

Sam nodded along but frowned when a sharp pain spread between his temples. The twinge settled into a dull ache; noticeably painful but not so bad he couldn’t ignore it.

“-nd all the victims had visited the same doctor. That’s how we found the connection. God, it was so long ago I can barely remember.”

Dean had seemingly finished reminiscing, and clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms like an excited 5 year old on Christmas morning.

The sunlight falling on Dean’s head caused it to appear three shades lighter. His brother looked younger somehow.

“I’m starving.” His older brother looked over at him, “Wanna hit up that diner we saw on the way in? We can look over the files and you can do your nerdy research thing.” Dean wiggled his fingers in at Sam.

The thought of greasy food had is stomach rolling again, but he just nodded a casual “sure” and forced a smile.

He decided Dean’s reciprocating smile was worth it.

“Can I just talk to the witness real quick? I wanna make sure we’ve got the whole story.” Sam glanced over to the young woman talking to a deputy across the scene.

Dean followed his eyes and laughed,

“Sure, lover boy, go shoot your shot.” Dean gave him his signature smirk, winking at his younger brother wolfishly.

Sam spluttered in response “Dean – I swear to God-” He heaved a sigh. “Go and sit in the damn car-”

“Awh don’t be shy Sammy, socializing is an important skill to learn at your age.” Dean continued in a patronizing voice, beginning to cackle when Sam used both hands to spin his brother around.

He childishly resisted as best he could, still laughing as Sam forcedly walked him towards the Impala.

With one final shove, Sam resolutely turned away from his brother and strode back to the taped area. He loved his brother fiercely, but he was truly aggravating at times.

Glancing over his shoulder as he went, Sam could see Dean sauntering back to the car. He heard the tell-tale squeak of the car door opening before Dean plopped into the driver’s seat.

Sam focused his attention on the crime scene, the deputy seemed to be finishing up with the girl, so he decided he would swoop in before any other officers grabbed her attention.

Slowing his determined approach when he grew nearer to the girl, he removed his sunglasses and smiled his friendliest smile, despite the familiar stinging sensation returning at the increased light levels.

The girl returned the gesture, if slightly less enthusiastic, and Sam calmly asked her for her recount of the events.

She told him she was new in town, a student at the state university – Sam ignored the depressing memories of his own optimistic future at Stanford – and so she wasn’t sure what areas were considered ‘dodgy.’

She laughed humorously, evidently, the gas station was one of those places.

Pretty quickly, the girl’s explanation started sounding a lot like the self-blaming monologues he was all too familiar with. If only she had been smart enough to ask one of her friends to come on the snack run, instead of insisting to go alone. If only she had bought the first bag of chips she found, instead of changing her mind 20 times. If only-

Sam noticed her rising distress and decided to cut in and ask some easy questions.

“And did you know the victim?” No, she didn’t know anyone in town.

“Any sudden chills?” She hadn’t noticed any, although she wasn’t looking for them either.

“What about any odd smells?” Like what?

“Eggs or sulfur?” Sulfur? No, she didn’t think so.

“And did you see any small, leather packages. Sort of like little pouches?” No, no small pouches-

The girl seemed to have enough of the interrogation, “What sort of FBI agent are you again?”

Sam decided that was enough questions for today, so he thanked the girl and handed her a business card telling her she could call him if anything new came up. She remained wary and mildly confused throughout the interaction, but Sam didn’t take it to heart.

As he wandered back to the Impala, frustrated at the lack of leads, all he wanted to do was sleep for five days.

The loud rock music emigrating from the car, with Dean pretending to use the steering wheel as a makeshift drumkit, had Sam realising that that wish might be quite difficult to fulfil.

The thought of the imminent diner stirred his stomach and as Dean pulled the Impala swiftly onto the street, he had to, once again, breathe through the nausea consuming him.

This was going to be a great day.

Chapter Text

Sam's instincts had been right.

As soon as they pushed through the glass doors of the restaurant, he had to breathe shallowly in an attempt to lessen the strong greasy scent infiltrating his sinuses.

Dean walked ahead of him with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, not noticing his brother’s worsening condition, so Sam had a moment to collect himself before they reached the booth.

The cool rush of air conditioning helped only slightly but his forcefully deep breathing did absolutely nothing to quell the turmoil in his stomach.

Dean made a B-line for a booth facing the door with a large window that allowed sunshine to filtrate into the space.

Sam couldn’t bring himself to care that Dean’s true motivation had something more to do with the charity carwash occurring in the road outside.

Sliding into the leathery seat, Sam immediately slumped and rested his head in his hands, elbows propping him up on the table.

He heard Dean plop into the opposite seat.

Sam’s posture clearly activated his ‘big brother mode’ since he took half a second to check on him.

“You good, dude?” At the sound of Dean’s voice, Sam lifted his head to meet his brothers concerned gaze across the table. Dean pushed off the backrest to lean towards his him.

He didn’t even have time to defend himself before his brother had framed his face in his hands, one on his cheek to keep him steady, the other pressing gently on his forehead to check his temperature.

Dean frowned and pulled his hands away, “You don’t feel overly hot. Did you eat something wacko?”

Sam scoffed lowering his head onto his crossed arms, now fully lying on the table but not having the energy to care about social manners.

“That’s your thing Dean.” He mumbled into his jacket sleeve.

“Yeah har har Mr Comedian,” The obvious eyeroll was apparent, but Dean’s voice held just enough firmness to tell Sam he wasn’t going to give it up. “Seriously, what’s going on with you?”

Sam sighed, “I think it’s the heat.” He took a moment to breathe through the urge to retch. “M’ probably just dehydrated.”

Dean hummed in agreement but gave up the interrogation when the waitress approached their table. Sam didn’t even bother lifting his head, the headache from earlier having returned at full force.

“-wo cheeseburgers and a kale salad.” Dean’s voice sounded far away. “Can we also get a bottle of water too.”

The waitress’ voice was inaudible to Sam, but she must have agreed since Dean thanked her and shifted in his seat.

After a moments silence, Deans voice filled his head, quieter now.

“M’ thinking you should sit this case out, man.” Dean’s voice was cautious, he knew Sam wouldn’t appreciate being benched.

Ordinarily anyway.

This time around, Sam couldn’t bring himself to put up a fight, and nodded his head, offering a muffled and downright pitiful ‘mkay.’

Dean mercifully remained silent until the food arrived, letting Sam indulgently wallow in his misery.

As soon as the plates clinked onto the table, he heard the crinkling sound of the water being opened, before Dean lightly swatted his arm.

Lifting his head, Sam became immediately aware of the water bottle that was thrust in his vision and his brother’s quiet command to “drink up Sammy.”

Slumping back against his seat, Sam dutifully began sipping the cool liquid, appreciating the refreshing effect it had on his queasy stomach. He quietly watched Dean slide his burgers to the side, reaching into the bag to pull out the case files and their dad’s journal.

Content in his stillness, Sam happily sat and watched as Dean raked through the papers, propping himself up with a fist at his temple, a small frown forming while he scanned over the files.

Sam nibbled on a kale leaf in moments where his nausea quietened, pleased that the headache seemed to be fading.

The longer they sat, the more fatigue seemed to seep into his bones, and he barely managed to smother his yawning. Letting his head tilt back onto the seat behind him, he dozed comfortably.

Unknowing to Sam, after one of his yawns proved particularly difficult to stifle, Dean lifted his gaze and raised an eyebrow.

Sam had closed his eyes during the yawn, so he didn’t notice Dean's silent question, in the middle of sighing contently and smacking his lips.

“Hey Dopey,” Sam peeked an eye open to take in the smirking face across from him, “You wanna head back to the motel?”

It was only early afternoon, but Sam felt like it may as well have been the middle of the night.

Lifting his head from where it had tilted backwards was a difficult feat on his stiff neck, so he couldn’t help but groan as he did so.

“Yeah, if you’re done with your food, sure.”

Dean fixed him with a knowing look, which Sam quickly realised was due to the empty plates surrounding them.

Sam laughed, only slightly abashed, “Right.”

Dean shook his head with a fond smile, before shuffling out of his side of the booth. Sam mimicked the action as Dean planted a twenty-dollar bill on the table.

Straightening to full height, Sam flexed his neck, making Dean grimace at the cricks he released.

“Jeez you sound like a glowstick-” Dean muttered under his breath as he began weaving through tables, Sam trailing behind, “-ever heard of yoga?”

“Says the guy who just ate 2 cheeseburgers in one sitting.” Sam snarked back.

“I’ll have you know-” his brother lifted his finger and glanced back at Sam, “there was lettuce in both of those babies.”

Sam scoffed at Dean’s self-satisfied expression, but let the subject drop as they stepped into the humid afternoon.

Or tried to step, he should say, since in the span of three milliseconds a rampant teenager on a skateboard skidded into their path and unsuccessfully avoided smashing straight into Sam.

Being the large guy that he is, Sam had managed to secure the kid and himself before either of them could go tumbling to the sidewalk, but the impact still knocked him backwards into his brother.

Sam’s head lost all sense of balance as his world tilted on its axis. The dizziness disorientated him, and pain burst behind his eyes.

In a matter of seconds Dean had supported Sam with two solid hands on his back, letting out a grunt of both exertion and shock, “Jesus christ-”

Pushing Sam back up, Dean secured his own footing. Keeping a warm hand on Sam’s back, he asked, “Everyone good?”  

Nodding minutely, the kid sheepishly turned and began apologizing profusely to the two giant men.

Sam remained silent. The dizziness lingered.

The kid looked two minutes from an asthma attack.

The taller of the two men was now pressing a hand to his temple, and the short haired one seemed to be barely restraining from glaring at him when he realised his brother was not in fact, good.

Keeping a protective grip around the crook of his arm, Dean helplessly waited for Sam to answer his quiet questioning of what was wrong.

“Sam? What-”

“My head-”

When the ringing and spinning became too much, Sam wildly swung an arm out behind him to find the wall of the diner and begun leaning against it, causing Dean’s hand to fall from his elbow.

Starting towards his brother, Dean seemingly realised the kid was still standing there, now worriedly staring at Sam. He turned to him, and it appeared like he was trying very hard to soften his tone instead of lashing out, “It’s alright, he’s ok, you can go kid.”

When the teenager scampered off, Sam felt Dean quickly approach him, before two bracing hands landed on his shoulders. Dean’s head dipped as though he was trying to catch his eye, but Sam had to clench his shut as waves of pain continued resonating through his skull.

“Frickin kids’ man.” Dean grumbled half-heartedly as he shook his head like an old man. “You ok?” he moved a hand up to cup his brother’s neck.

Sam squinted his eyes open at the warm sensation and did his best to smile. “’’M fine – it’ll go away in a minute.”

Dean nodded understandingly and remained where he was, allowing Sam to breathe through the waves.

Once Sam returned to the land of the conscious, he noted at some point Dean’s thumbs had started gently rubbing the skin of his neck. He wasn’t entirely sure his brother knew he was doing it, but Sam felt the raw concern in his tense stance and decided he didn’t care.

When he met Dean’s gaze, he wasn’t even able to speak, so he attempted to communicate as much as he could using his eyes.

Dean miraculously seemed to get the message and held his arm out in an offering of balancing support. Sam gratefully took it and shoved down the embarrassment threatening to rise.

The pair moved slowly, taking a slow journey back to the Impala. If he moved too fast, Sam was sure the ground would inevitably rise up to meet him.

“Bet you feel like a girl at the prom Sammy, hanging off my arm like that?” Dean’s dig had Sam huffing out a strained laugh, appreciating the distraction.

“Nah Dean, you’d be lucky to get a date as hot as me.” Sam smirked momentarily while staring down at his feet, willing himself to remain upright.

Dean barked out a laugh at that, “Not sick enough to stop you snarking then?”

“Not quite.” Sam smiled up at his brother, the two exchanging a fond glance.

Eventually, they made it back to Baby. Dean held onto Sam as he leaned into the passenger door, trying his best to gently deposit his brother onto the seat.

Once Sam was situated, Dean gently pushed the door closed and rounded the front, smoothly entering his own side.

When Dean didn’t immediately start the car, Sam used the opportunity to thank his brother.

“Nothing selfless about it, Sammy, just don’t want you yacking up your lunch all over Baby. She don’t deserve that.” Dean patted the dashboard in front of him fondly.

A defence.

Sam insisted.

“Seriously Dean – thank you.”

…

Dean stared out at the sunlit car park for a moment, squinting at the glare through the windscreen, before glancing sideways at his brother’s puppy eyes next to him.

“Course, Sam.”

After a moment of eye contact, Dean’s attention shifted onto the controls, marking the end of the exchange. He flicked on the radio to a soft rock station and pulled the gear stick with a squeak.

As his brother placed an arm over the Impala’s backrest to reverse, Sam let his frame slouch as the quiet rhythm of the music soothed his head.

It wasn’t until a good way into the journey, that Sam noticed Dean hadn’t moved his hand back from where it ran along the seat and was calmly playing with the hair on the nape of Sam’s neck.

Too tired to care, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be lulled by the repetitive motions, eventually dropping off into a drowsy repose.

Chapter Text

3 days with no sign of improvement had Sam’s optimism wearing thin.

Sam had been bed-ridden, his previous headache a loyal companion throughout the entirety of his ailment.

His brother had attempted to hover and mother hen Sam as best he could, whether it be medicine or soup, Dean had provided it with only minor taunting, but eventually neither he nor Sam could ignore the body count racking up in the town outside their motel room.

Sam was the first one to mention it.

“Dean?” His brother hummed and glanced down at him, leaning against the headboard next to Sam.

They had sat like this for the majority of his illness, with Sam snoozing on his pillow, head next to Dean’s hip, as his brother alternated between watching the TV or merely resting, happy to just be near his little brother.

There were times when Sam assumed Dean believed he was asleep, because he felt his brother’s warm fingers running through his hair, probably just as unconscious as his thumb had been in the days earlier.

Regardless, Sam wasn’t complaining.

In fact, Dean had been mid head-massage when Sam addressed him, and so his brother had paused his ministrations as an indication that he was paying attention.

“I think you should carry on." Sam’s voice was quiet in the night’s stillness. "With the case, I mean.” 

“Sam-” his brother’s voice told him he intended to argue.

“Just wait Dean, let me finish.”

Dean grumbled under his breath but remained mostly silent.

“Whatever this thing is, it’s not gonna stop just because I’ve got some silly cold. You need to deal with it, or more people, innocent people, are gonna die.”

A calm breeze infiltrated their room through the open window. The curtain flowed gracefully with the motion.

Sam sighed, “I’m not getting any better,” Dean made a displeased sound, “but, I’m also not getting any worse. I think we just need to wait this out. Meaning, you should get out there and kill the damn thing so we can go home.”

…

Dean’s silence was unexpected, so Sam glanced up at his brother to gauge his reaction.

A small frown was occupying the space between his eyebrow’s, but Dean’s eyes seemed to show his disgruntled acceptance.

“Fine, but the second – the second -you feel worse, you call me.” Dean's hand gripped his shoulder insistently. “You call me, and I’ll come straight back. Doesn’t matter how small or insignificant it might seem, you call me. Ok?”

Sam nodded, pleased that he had convinced his stubborn brother with minimal begging. Dean tightened his grip,

“Sammy – I need you to promise. Out loud.”

Sam rolled his eyes but obeyed, “I promise, Dean.”

The tension in his brother’s body relaxed, before he returned his hand to Sam’s hair, resting it there.

Sam soon drifted into a comfortable sleep, safe next to his brother’s solid presence.

***

The slamming of a door startled Sam awake.

His brother swept into the room in an aggravated manner that reminded the younger hunter of their angsty teenage years. He himself usually looked like that after a scolding lecture from their father.

Now, Dean’s infamous tantrums - while not extinct - were rare at his ripe old age of 33. Sam quickly pushed himself up onto an elbow, the duvet falling to his stomach at the motion.

“You alright, man?” Sam tried not to treat Dean like a smoking fuse, but he didn’t want to set him off either. He didn’t think his head could handle the increased amplitude of his brother’s voice during one of his explosive rants.

Dean had shucked off his suit jacket upon entering and was now bracing himself on the dresser, shirt straining across his back. His head hung low between his hunched shoulders, he seemed to be forcing himself to breathe deeply.

He didn’t raise his head when he responded, “Yeah Sammy,” he spoke his brother’s name over an exhale, “this case is just frickin annoying.”

Sam sat up fully, leaning against the headboard. “What do you mean? What’s happening?”

Dean looked at him over his shoulder and Sam found he hated the defeated glaze in his brother’s usually defiant eyes.

Dean turned away and stared at the mirror in front of him for a moment,

“I just-” He looked down again, “It’s like I can’t save anyone these days.”

Sam wasn’t entirely sure how to respond without the proper facts, so he just frowned at his brother, hoping he’d elaborate. But his brother just looked up at him in the mirror’s reflection.

They held a moment of eye contact before Dean chuckled wetly.

“Dean?”

“They’re right you know,” turned around and crossing his arms, Dean leant against the drawers. “You do have a solid set of puppy eyes on you, dude.”

Sam relaxed his face in realisation that he had indeed been frowning at Dean the entire time, smiling at Dean’s observation.

When Sam saw his brother approaching the bed, he scooted over to allow him to sit down. Dean mimicked his propped-up position, both brother’s staring out at the cheap room, each inside their own mind.

Dean broke the silence.

“It’s so slippery, Sam.” At his name, Sam turned his head. Dean continued staring straight ahead with glazed eyes. “Everytime – every time – I get close, it turns a new frickin corner and disappears.”

Sam knew Dean was speaking both literally and metaphorically.

A few days prior, Dean had stumbled into the room, panting and sweaty, rambling to his brother that he had been on the creatures tail but lost it in the converging alleys of the built-up area of town.

At the time, he had thrown his keys and gun on his bed and gripped his hair with both hands, “I was so close!”

Dean shook his head and scoffed humourlessly, “One golden bullet between the eyes and the son of a bitch is 600 ft under.” Sam could do nothing but watch from his position on the bed.

Now, Dean sighed heavily, rubbing his palms into his eye sockets. “I’m tired Sammy.”

Sam hated this.

He hated that he couldn’t be out there helping his brother, he hated that his body could do nothing but wither in his stupid motel bed, but most of all, he hated the effect this was having on Dean.

He knew his brother had a self-esteem problem.

The smallest thing, out of his control, and Dean would shoulder the responsibility, adding it to the extensive list of reasons of why he seemed to hate himself.

So, Sam understood more than anyone that every new death was another kilo on his brother’s already crowded shoulders.

He'd received 3 new kilos in the last week alone.

Sam rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, hoping to comfort his brother through his presence, a physical reminder that he wasn’t alone.

After a moment, Dean sighed again, letting his own head rest on top of Sam’s, swinging an arm around his brother to frame his back.

Sam burrowed impossibly closer to his brother, “We’ll get it Dean. We always do.”

With his chin in Sam’s hair, Dean mumbled,

“I know, Sammy.”

Chapter Text

“I still don’t like this.”

Sam sighed. That had to be the fifth time his brother reminded Sam of his disapproval of their plan.

They’d only been driving for half an hour.

And so, for the fifth time, Sam responded, barely refraining from growling,

“Dean, we’ve established this. I’m feeling a lot better. Two heads are better than one. The sooner we kill this thing, the sooner we get out of here.”

His brother merely glared ahead of him, staring at the line where Baby was eating up the asphalt as they sped towards what they believed to be the creature’s lair.

The dim streetlights did nothing to brighten the dark roads, so Dean flicked on the full beam. Sam watched as his brother returned his hands to the wheel, clenching his fingers once. Twice.

…

“Are you absolutely sure you’re ready?”

Sam flung his hands up.

“Dean, for the last time I’m-”

“No Sam don’t give me that I’m fine crap because we both know I sure as hell ain’t buying it.” Dean glared at his brother. “Not even two hours ago you could barely open your eyes.”

Sam turned to stare out the passenger window, the streetlights rhythmically lighting his face in momentary a yellow beam.

“I need you at 100% or all I’m gonna be thinking about is whether you’re gonna drop like a stone at a small breeze.”

Sam knew it was coming from a place of love, but he couldn’t help the sting of Dean’s words. His insecurity was translating his brother’s words into it’s own version of events.

He’s saying you’re a burden, Sam.

An inconvenience.

You just get in the way.

All you do is screw up.

“Sam?” His brother’s deep voice cut him back to the present, “You hearing me?”

“Yeah Dean, I got it.” Quieter now, Sam didn’t have the energy to yell.

They both knew that it was too late to turn back, if they turned around to drop Sam back at the motel, the creature would gain an entire day of progress on them, and the chase would start from scratch.

No, they had to do this now.

Unfortunately, despite his instance, Sam was not in fact fine.

The closer they got to the crime scene, the worse his migraine became.

Like a tracker approaching the other half of its mechanism, the ringing got louder and louder until Sam could barely hear himself think.

It took him a minute to realise Dean had been speaking the entire time,

“e’ve not got a lot to go on. We know that the victims all seem to have experienced some fucked up trauma in their past, and that that acts as a sort of fuel for the creature’s abilities.”

Sam nodded, trying his best to pay attention. He decided to cut in with something he read in their dad’s journal while Dean had been out that day.

“Apparently, the symptoms are usually focused on the area in which the trauma was delivered. So grief or emotional trauma tends to be to do with heartburn or difficulty breathing-”

Dean nodded along, it seemed like the memories were slowly returning to him with Sam’s every word,

“-physical trauma, in extreme cases can cause paralysis, but mostly it’s just extreme muscle pain or cramps.”

Dean spoke up, talking as he turned to look out his window, pulling the car into a junction, “Exactly, and the creature’s effects usually take a few days to elevate, but eventually the pressure builds and well – kaboom.”

Sam huffed out a laugh, “Very eloquent Dean.”

“Alright college boy, give it a rest.” His brother shot back, smiling.

Sam had intended to return the gesture, but the extreme pain burst through his skull meant he couldn’t stop himself from suddenly crying out.

“Aghh-” Sam clutched at his hair, clenching his eyes shut nd smacking his head back against his headrest. “Holy shit-”

Dean’s head whipped to his brother at the noise, “Sam? What is it?”

When he got nothing back, just more laboured breathing and pained gasps, he swerved the car into a layby.

“What’s wrong- Hey!” He gripped Sam’s shoulders. “Talk to me Sammy!”

“I can’t- it hurts-” Sam was struggling to breathe through the pain “Dean make it stop- please it hurts-”

Seconds away from hyperventilating, Sam flung a hand out to grasp Dean’s jacket.

Unknowing to Sam, Dean’s panicked eyes fluttered over his trembling form, hands hovering helplessly between them as he watched his little brother barely restrain from screaming.

“For the love of God- Sammy!” Dean was yelling now “Tell me where it hurts!” His frantic questions mostly went unanswered until Sam ground out in between wails,

“My head – it feels like- fuck– it feels like its gonna explode-”

Like a switch, the brother’s previous conversation echoed in Dean’s mind,

… victims experienced fucked up trauma in their past…

…symptoms are focused on the area the trauma was delivered…

Dean felt a cold dread wash over him as the pieces started fitting together,

… fuel for the creature’s abilities…

…the effects usually take a few days to elevate…

No, this couldn’t be happening,

…the pressure builds and...

Dean smacked his hands on the steering wheel.

 “Fuck!”

The situation finally became clear to him.

Sam’s psychological trauma from his various demonic possessions and literal mental stalking by Satan himself had made him the textbook victim.

The creature was infecting his little brother.

And he hadn’t seen it.

“Dean- I can’t-”

Had been too focused on catching the thing, he hadn’t noticed Sam had been targeted.

“De – help me-“

He had unknowingly signed his name on the permission slip for Sam’s death.

“Dean!”

The hunter had become the hunted.

Chapter Text

The Impala roared beneath his foot as Dean sped towards the abandoned junkyard, his heart pumping in his chest like an angry prisoner.

Sam had quietened some, letting out the occasional whimper when Dean took a corner too fast.

He didn’t enjoy his little brother’s screaming, but the older hunter couldn’t appreciate its absence when he knew Sam’s quietness was likely a sign of his weakening state.

The rage inside him hadn’t lessened an inch.

He knew he needed to get a grasp of himself before he reached his destination, but his chest burned with the need to punch something.

Dean had always been this way; every emotion was translated into anger.

Panicked, he would lash out verbally. Depressed, he would use cruelty as a defence, taking the attention off him.

And angered - well, angered he tended to destroy every inanimate object around him.

Glancing at his brother, he sucked in a breath when he saw his brother’s head had lolled onto his shoulder: unconscious.

Or worse.

He couldn’t even bring himself to care about Baby’s brakes as he skidded the Impala into the gravelled driveway.

Gripping the cold shotgun in his right hand, he practically swung himself out of the car while it was still stopping.

Like a madman on a mission, Dean strode towards the hanger’s entrance with murder in his eyes.

***

Sam once again woke violently.

The booming echo of a shotgun vibrated through his eardrums as if it was 3 feet away from its shooter.

Flicking his eyes across his surroundings, Sam noted he was still in the Impala, outside a rusting metal barn-like structure, barely visible in the obscuring darkness.

And he was alone.

The seat next to him loudly empty.

Dean.

 Another shot rang out as he pulled his large body out of the car, significantly louder this time with the car’s structure no longer muffling the volume.

Almost instantly, his breath got stuck in his throat as indescribable pain burst inside his skull .

Falling to his knees, Sam pressed a hand to his forehead, his other catching him before he fell into the gravel.

He forced a breath into his lungs.

The sharp sting of the stones helped ground him to reality, and so instead of spiralling into the deafening pounding, Sam slowly dragged one leg up to get a foot beneath him.

Just as slowly, if not slower, the next one came up. Panting rapidly, he braced himself on Baby and dragged himself upright with a pained groan.

He only allowed himself a second to orientate his dizzy senses before he pulled the 45’ from his jeans and stumbled towards the dark structure.

***

This had been his worst idea in a long time.

And he’d had some pretty fricking bad ideas.

But now, pressed up against the cold, corrugated-metal wall, hovering a metre off the ground by a strong hand around his neck, Dean wanted to shoot himself in the foot.

Sammy needed him, right now, and Dean was unable to focus on anything but desperately trying to squeeze an atom of oxygen past the constricting grip around his windpipe.

He glared at the smirking creature below him through squinting, tear-blurred eyes, mentally smacking the obnoxious grin off the bastard’s face.

He wanted his brother.

He wanted to apologize. He knew forgiveness would be granted every time, but he wanted Sam to hear it.

One more chance to feign offence at his little brother’s snarky insults, when secretly pride blossomed in his chest.

He wanted to tussle the mop of brown hair with affection, while Sam grumbled about bedheads and knots.

To watch as his brother’s breaths comfortably faded into the slow, distanced inhales of deep sleep.

But mostly he wanted to hug him. To pull his lumbering frame into him and not let go.

As his vision faded into a vignette, blackening at the corners, Dean mentally called out to Sam into the encroaching darkness.

Chapter Text

Dean woke simultaneously slowly and quickly.

The physical lethargy of his limbs and muscles meant the process was slow, but his mind was awake and moving minutes before.

His first thought had been Sam.

He was back in their motel room, tucked into his own bed, with the tell tale sign of daytime streaming golden rays across the carpet.

The room looked the same as it had been when they left it – how long ago was that?

Hours?

Days?

And where was Sam?

The building anxiety had his breathing rate picking up, his voice hoarse as he called out in a breathy whisper “Sammy?"

When he was met with silence, his panic rose and he called out again, louder this time “Sammy!”

The door swung open, and Dean whipped his head in its direction.

A large familiar silhouette.

He blew out a relieved breath.

“Jesus christ Sam-”

“-ey you’re finally up.”

Their voices overlapped again when they respectively responded to each other’s words,

“Where have you been-”

“-ean what’s wrong?”

Sam chuckled at the comical timing of their questions, choosing to enter the room instead of answering, much to Dean’s frustration.

Kicking the door behind him shut, Sam deposited two white grocery bags on the table.

Oh.

So that’s where he’d been.

He approached the bed as Dean lifted himself up to lean against the Mt. Vesuvius of pillows behind him.

The closer Sam got, the clearer his face became and Dean barely restrained from growling when he saw the blooming bruises on brother’s face. Sam situated himself near Dean’s knees.

“What the hel-”

Sam held a hand up to halt the rising anger in his brother.

“- I can explain.”

When Dean quietened, still visibly tempestuous, Sam sighed and looked at his hands in his lap.

“You were unconscious Dean.” A pause. “I thought-” He took a shaky breath. “When I walked in and saw you on the floor, you looked so small with that bastard standing over you and– I lost it. I just charged.”

Sam watched surprise fill his brother’s eyes. Understandable, since Dean was supposed to be the loose cannon of the two.

“Somehow – I still don’t know how – I got him down. Three bullets in his skull.” Sam’s eyes were far away as he relived the memory.

“And then I got you back here and situated before I passed out. Woke up hungry as hell though, so I went to get groceries and that’s when you conveniently decided to wake up.” Sam still managed to get a jab into his explanation.

Dean thought over the events, absently bringing a hand to his throat when he remembered the affliction it suffered the night before.

Sam noticed the action,

“Yeah, you’ve got quite the decorative feature now. Might be there for a few days.”

Dean wasn’t too bothered about any bruising; he’d dealt with worse.

“And you’re good? Asides from the obvious,” Dean gestured to the colouring on Sam’s cheekbone.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” Sam didn’t meet his eyes.

…

“Sam?”

Sam hummed.

“Wanna try that again?”

…

His little brother seemed to be having an internal battle. After a moment he quietly admitted with a sigh,

“It’s my fault.”

Dean stared at him, bewildered.

“I’m sorry I must have hit my head on my fall, I swore I just heard you say this was somehow your fault.”

Sam huffed, “Dean- if I hadn’t let myself get infected, you wouldn’t have been distracted – you wouldn’t have been emotional-”

“We both know I would have been emotional either way, Sam.” Dean’s voice was firm. “It’s kinda what I do.”

“Dean – you nearly died.”

“So did you.”

“It’s not the sa-”

“No Sam, stop it. I’m not listening to this any longer. What happened was not your fault. None of it.”

Sam continued staring at his lap, taking a few shuddering breaths.

Dean let his words wash over his brother, before he continued in a quieter voice,

“And neither was Lucifer.”

Sam’s head snapped up at this, mouth open to argue, before he met Dean’s eyes, and seeing the genuine conviction with which his brother delivered his words he choked up.

As tears filled his brother’s eyes, Dean gave in and tugged Sam into him, keeping a firm grip on the nape of his neck, his other palm sweeping up and down his brothers back.

When Sam made a wounded noise, pressing his face into Dean’s warm neck, his older brother shushed him, whispering reassurances, “I’ve got you, let it out. I’m here, Sammy.”

“Dean-” Sam spoke his name, a reassurance more than anything else.

“I know, I’ve got you.”

Sam felt his tears create a wet patch on Dean’s cotton t-shirt, but his brother said nothing, still rubbing an arm across his back, occasionally kissing his hair absently.

“We’re gonna be ok Sam-” Dean’s deep voice was filled with conviction. “-But you’ve got to talk to me. No more living in that big head of yours, ok?”

Sam nodded where his face was pressed into his brother’s shirt.

...

“Sam.”

He hummed.

...

“Out loud.”

…

“I promise, Dean.”

Sam knew the issues weren’t magically solved, he knew it would take time and reinforcement for him to believe his brother’s words, but it was a step.

It was a start.

And that was enough.