So this is basically just a place for me to offload all of my stupid Winchester fluff family drabble floating around in my frazzled brain! I hope you guys think they're as cute as I do! Enjoy, don't forget to review my darlings and remember that you are all beautiful people!
Timed seem to slow down for Sam as he watched Dean hit the wall and crumple into an unnatural heap at the base of the red brick. His vision swam with fury and Sam spun around, snarling and raising his shot gun. The spirit grinned a sadistic grin that made Sam want to murder him even more.
"You son of a bitch." Sam spat, using Dean's trademark line as he squeezed the trigger tightly with his finger. The spirit disappeared, but Sam knew he didn't have long to deal with the remains. He would get to Dean as soon as he could, but right now he needed to worry about the spirit that was after his ass. He scrambled to the lighter that Dean had dropped when he'd been flung against the harsh wall of the abandoned factory. Of course it had to be an abandoned factory. It could never be something easy, like a restaurant with several exits in case things went south. Sam would call this the hunt going south, and the nearest exit was the window to his left. That would work, if Sam was desperate enough to get Dean out of the combat, but he wasn't sure he was willing to risk a four story fall if he could deal with this.
The bones were somewhere near. He could smell the unmistakable scent of rotted corpse, another perk that came with the job. It was just sad that he could so easily recognize the smell that assaulted his nose as he slammed open a nearby cabinet. James Robert fell out of the cabinet, his black sockets staring up at Sam. He barely flinched at the sight as he dumped the gasoline onto the body. Of course, luck was never in his favor. The lighter wouldn't catch, leaving him fumbling in the dark with no easy way to get his gun if needed.
It turned out it was needed. Sam gasped as something seemed to twist his insides, slamming him against the wall. He collapsed next to Dean, but didn't seem to be in nearly as bad shape as his older brother. He wasn't going to let himself fail this. Not when Dean's health was on the line.
As resilient as ever, Sam endured the assault given to him on all sides as he struggled clumsily with the lighter. Finally it caught, and James' bones went up in flames, along with the marred spirit standing above Sam. The man leaned his head back onto the cabinets, letting himself take a few minutes to catch his breath. That had been too close.
Sam suddenly jolted up, ignoring the jarring pain it sent through his aching ribs, and half crawled, half ran to Dean. He uncurled his brother as gently as he could, noticing the odd angle that his wrist sat at. It was definitely broken, but Sam was more worried about the blood gushing from his head. More like spurting, actually. With a slight curse, Sam stripped his jacket and pressed it to Dean's head.
Dean had always been there to help Sam, clean him up when he got hurt, pick him up when he fell over and brush him off. This time, it was Sam's turn to take care of Dean. It was Sam's turn to be the brother.
He couldn't ignore that he was in pain, but he would endure it for Dean. He wasn't worried about himself. He was coherent and wasn't coughing up blood, and that was good enough for him. But Dean was still out cold, slumped bonelessly in the passenger seat where Sam had deposited him. The Impala was speeding down the abandoned streets, going at least forty over the speed limit. It wasn't fast enough.
It felt like ages before Sam pulled into the motel parking lot. He didn't need a hospital. He could stitch Dean up himself, but he couldn't do it in the car. With Dean cradled awkwardly in his arms, Sam rushed into the motel room and closed the door, making sure all of the salt lines were still intact before softly depositing Dean on one of the creaking bed.
"Come on man, stay with me." He pressed his fingers against Dean's neck, relief flowing through him. Dean's pulse was there, and it was strong. He gently ran his hands along Dean's head, looking for the source of the blood that soaked everything around them. The bed, Dean's shirt, Sam's hands and shirt. He didn't care. He'd seen much more blood, but it was scarier that it was Dean's blood. He couldn't allow his older brother to lose much more blood, or they would have to go to the hospital.
He finally found the cut that was spurting blood. It wasn't deep, but head injuries were known to bleed more than the regular cut. Sam pressed some of the threadbare wash rags to the cut, cursing when they easily became soaked through. With a groan of frustration, Sam quickly stripped his shirt and pressed it to Dean's head. It held up much better than the wimpy wash rags, doing a good job of sopping up the blood coming out of his older brother's head. Near the cut was a good sized goose egg. Great, a concussion. Sam knew Dean could handle it; they'd dealt with much worse before. That didn't make it any less painful.
The bleeding seemed to finally come to a stop. Sam removed the shirt, wincing when he took a few hairs with him. He carefully started cleaning out the cut, glancing down as Dean groaned at every touch, fidgeting uncomfortably. Although Sam was worried about the pain he was causing Dean, he couldn't feel too bad. It was a reaction, and all he had gotten all night.
"Dean? You with me?" Sam asked, grinning as Dean's eyes twitched, squinting open against the lights of the motel room.
"Sam? Why's your shirt off?" He asked. If he hadn't been concussed, Sam would have rolled his eyes at the question, waiting for a snarky comment to follow it about the notorious Slash Fictions that followed the two brothers. But he knew that Dean wasn't fully awake right now, and in any case was not well enough to be making stupid comments about Sam's lack of a shirt.
"It's over there soaked with your blood. It was the best thing I had to mop up the mess. I'm going to have to stitch you up." He warned, staring into Dean's dazed eyes. Sam could tell he was having a hard time focusing, and he could also tell that Dean was never fully lucid. His older brother was floating in and out of consciousness, giving him garbled replies and half sentences that didn't make sense. Sam didn't care; he got to work quickly, wincing every time Dean tensed. "I'm sorry man." He mumbled, more to sooth himself than to express apologies to Dean. He could do that later, when he was sure Dean was going to be okay.
He was stupid for even thinking it. Of course Dean was going to be okay. He was Sam's older brother, his rock, the only thing keeping him sane in the crappy life that they lived. He had to be okay. He had to be all there, all him. Sam couldn't bear it if something permanent happened to Dean. He would never forgive himself if he'd done something to seriously damage Dean's brain.
Despite the situation they were in, Sam couldn't help the small smirk that lifted on his face. Dean's brain was already seriously damaged. Sam finally finished stitching Dean. Now all he could do was sit and wait. After putting a clean shirt on, he settled on the bed next to his limp older brother. There was no way he was leaving this spot until he was sure Dean was going to be okay.
Sam didn't sleep that night. Dean kept muttering and shifting, obviously in pain. Sam wished there was something he could do to help it, but instead he ran his fingers through Dean's short hair as Dean used to do when Sam needed comforting. It seemed to work, his older brother always fell limp as soon as he felt Sam's hand contact with him. Sam would never tell Dean about the way he cried in the middle of the night, the moment of vulnerability when Dean whimpered in his sleep and Sam lost it and broke down on the bed next to him, muffling his sobs by biting his hand. He wouldn't tell Dean about the way he gripped his older brother's hand all night, more for his comfort than for Dean's, and he certainly wouldn't tell Dean about the confession that had slipped Sam's mouth while he was crying.
"Dammit Dean, you can't do this to me anymore. You can't throw yourself at everything so carelessly. I need you, man. You're my big brother. I can't do it without you. I love you, Dean." He wouldn't need to tell Dean about any of that, because in that moment he felt Dean shift on the bed, felt two arms come around him and pull him into Dean's sturdy chest. Fingers combed through his hair as Dean rested his cheek on the top of Sam's head.
"I know Sammy. I love you too."