#mooseintheocean

There were no stitches this time because they were in the middle of the woods without so much as a first-aid kit on them. Dean’s hands were unsteady but Sam barely noticed this time because he himself was shaking like a leaf. Rationally, he knew the bullet wound to his stomach wasn’t fatal, a clean through-and-through, and if they could find a way to stop the bleeding and get back to civilisation before infection set in, he was going to be fine.

It was the pain that did a number on him. He could virtually feel himself going into shock.

It always seems a little like a dream after. He’s got professional stitches that are covered in sterile bandages now, several grades up from the usual dental floss and whiskey, and he’s a little floaty on the painkillers. He’d rather not have taken them because they always make him feel out of it, not ready for when sudden danger strikes, but he’s got his brother next to him, Dean’s shoulder gently bumping his as they leave the hospital, and Sam feels safe enough for the moment.

“So, what did you do then you thought I was dead?” he asks Dean in the car and regrets it immediately when Dean’s face freezes, smile turning forced instead of relieved. It’s a minuscule change and anyone who hasn’t known Dean for upside of thirty years most likely wouldn’t notice.

Sam notices but doesn’t say anything when Dean reflects. He isn’t sure he wants to know after all. He distantly remembers Dean being hauled into one of the examination rooms as well but maybe he dreamed that for real.

If Sam had to choose something about getting injured on a job that he isn’t too upset about, it would be the aftermath. When the pain slowly fades, when they finally get to rest — for once forced to make time to rest, which they too rarely do. Having left the shock and the panic behind them, Sam has all the time in the world to enjoy Dean’s little ‘Sammy got hurt’ antics. It would be funny how not subtle his big brother is in his coddling but Sam can’t exactly say that he hates it.

“You need anything?” Dean asks for the second time already and he blushes pink when Sam grins at him, and adds, “Shut up.”

“No,” Sam says quietly, turning onto his side with some effort, “I don’t need anything.”

Dean gently slaps his thigh. “Lie back and stop moving so much.”

“I’ll lie back if you stop hovering and come here.”

If Dean thought Sam is above a little blackmail, then he’s thought wrong. He slides his palm across the mattress, inviting his brother into the empty space in the curve of his body, and Dean sighs.

“Sam, I don’t—”

“You’re not gonna hurt me. Please, just—come here.”

Maybe it’s not fair to go the pleading routine, make it so that Dean can’t say ‘no’ but Sam’s too tired not to be selfish. He isn’t hurting as much anymore but he’s still sore and he doesn’t know how much actual sleep he can get tonight. He at least wants Dean next to him.

Dean sighs again before his hands go to his belt and his shimmies out of his jeans. He dips the mattress with his weight and Sam briefly has to grit his teeth through the stab of pain in his abdomen from being jostled. Dean settles then, stretched out next to Sam but not touching him, melting into the mattress with a sound of contentment.

He closes his eyes and Sam takes in the lines around them, around his mouth, takes in his ashen skin, and his dry lips. He looks just as tired as Sam feels and Sam hooks his arm around the back of Dean’s neck on impulse, pulling him closer until he can nuzzle the side of his face.

“Are you ever gonna tell me what happened at the hospital?”

Dean tenses, then relaxes. His fingers trace the length of Sam’s naked arm up to the sleeve of his T-shirt and under, splaying over the round of Sam’s shoulder.

“Maybe,” he says and it’s enough for now.

Sam’s lips finds the corner of Dean’s mouth and for a moment, it turns into a real kiss. It’s slow and soft, both of them too exhausted for more, but necessary and Dean tastes like chemicals and the coffee he stopped for on the way back to the motel.

Sam hums, brushing his mouth along Dean’s jaw. “It’s over now. We’re both still here. As always.”

He can feel Dean swallow and draw in a shuddery breath before he allows, “Yeah. As always.” He chuckles but it’s devoid of humor. “Makes you wonder when our luck’s finally gonna run out.”

“It didn’t today,” Sam says, “That’s all I know.”

Dean nods against him and Sam notices the shiver, notices how cold Dean’s hands are, but he doesn’t say anything, just draws his leg up between both of Dean’s and turns his body more into his brother’s to wrap one arm around him.

Dean gives another shudder, length of his spine trembling under Sam’s fingertips but he lets himself be maneuvred, careful of Sam’s bandages and sinks into the embrace. His palm strokes under Sam’s T-shirt to rest on his belly, next to the wound.