nerd

“I’m fine, Dean”, he replies, surprising himself with how patient he’s being about it.

Dean swallows hard and nods, relieved once more, like it’s the only thing that matters. Like he’s not bleeding through his shirt and getting paler and paler by the second. The motel door closes behind them, now locked, and Dean immediately starts pacing, muttering under his breath a quick check-list of all possible hidden injuries he might have forgotten. “But are you sure, sure? You took a nasty fall, back there, maybe-” He halts, close, and reaches over to Sam, a bit too frantically, but Sam stops the movement, grabbing his wrist gently.

Dean goes rigid and silent, and if Sam can feel the tremor of his hand, he doesn’t say anything either.

“Sit down, Dean” He tries, leaning his head a bit towards the bed behind them.

Dean scoffs, “No, Sam, Sammy-” He smiles in a way that is so practiced that Sam feels angry about it, “just let me patch you up, ‘kay? That’s- that’s my job” And Sam tries not to think too much about the slur in his voice.

Sam tries once more, quieter but still firm. “Dean, you’re hurt.”

“M’not.” And it’s too fast, too defensive. He turns his wrist, trying to set himself free, but Sam doesn’t relent.

Sam takes a moment to truly look at his brother, to follow the line of his body and take note of all of the cuts across his arm, the dark bruise already blooming under his torn shirt. The way one of his knees seem to buckle when he shifts his weight. It’s too much.

“If-” Dean sighs, feeling suddenly very, very tired. “If you’re okay, Sammy, then I’m okay. No need to-”, he sighs, “m’ fine.” He can hear in his own voice how weak he sounds, how pathetic it must seem, but he still speaks, breathing haggardly. “Just let me make sure you’re okay” 

At that, Sam stops, and Dean finally allows him to look him in the eyes. And what he finds is so deep that Sam feels overwhelmed with emotion. There’s so much care and worry and devotion in those eyes. It’s too much, It’s all too much and too heavy, too lonely. Dad will come soon, and Sam doesn’t want to imagine how much harder it’ll be to deal with his brother’s injuries with his general being around. 

He thinks of all the times Dean made sure Sam was sleeping before taking care of his own injuries, even when all Sam did was wait around in the room for his dad and brother to be back. He was still put to bed gently, he was told of how heroic Dean had been, how it was all good now because dad and big brother took care of it. Now, at 14 and years of hunting with his family on his back, he was able to see properly how Sammy being a priority could hurt his brother.

So he breathes deeply, once, resolute. “Let me take care of you.” And this time he is not as gentle when he pulls Dean by his wrist, guiding him towards the bed. Seeing how easily he can manhandle his older brother only makes his worry double in size.

“I need you to sit, Dean”, he asks once more, softly, but Dean still raises his shoulders high, tense, and Sam thinks of how their father would deal with this, how he would bark an order and Dean would immediately comply. “Please” is all Dean gets.

As he sits in the unmade bed, Dean keeps quiet, biting his lower lips to stop the wobbling and avoiding Sam’s gaze as much as possible. Sam takes his chance and kneels in front of him, having taken the first-aid kit from the bathroom as Dean was pacing around, and with a careful but quick motion he cuts the front of the already ripped shirt so he could see better. His touch is light, meticulous, as he tries to read his brother’s expression, to understand even deeper what it is that he is feeling, how to react to it.

Sam turns his attention to the box by his feet, taking out the bandages and antiseptic from it, and without being able to stop himself, as if he’s mimicking what he heard time and time again, he whispers, “No need to be tough now, I got you.”. Between the ‘clink’ of the bottles of medicine and rustle of gauze packs, Dean’s shaky sigh is not pointed out. When Sam reaches for his jacket, Dean doesn’t pull away. And as he finishes taking it off and cutting the pieces of shirt still stuck on him because of the now dried blood, Dean just sniffles and stays still. But Sam’s touches are too soft, too caring. It’s too much and yet Dean believes, he knows, that he’ll never have enough of it, so he doesn’t move.

Even with the warmth bubbling in his chest, he’s still a soldier, a hunter, and he can’t help himself. “Don’t need to fuss over me, Sammy”. Sam rolls his eyes, as if this is all normal, like this situation is anything but wrong. Two kids in a motel room, and a first-aid kid between them. 

“I’m not fussing, I’m taking care of my older brother”. Dean swallows so hard it’s almost painful. “We’re safe now. You’re safe now.” After that, they don’t talk anymore. Sam keeps moving, focused on his task. He cleans and patches up all of his brother’s injuries, deep and shallow, with careful hands and softs “I’m sorry” and “I’m almost done” when Dean winces from pain.