Summary: Tag to 3x03, "Bad Day at Black Rock" – Slightly Hurt Sam / Big Brother Dean – Dean had announced in big brother fashion that they were heading back to the motel to clean Sam up. Sam had argued that wasn't necessary. But here they were. Back at the motel.

Disclaimer: Not mine

Warnings: Minor spoilers for 3x03 and usual language

A/N: Inspired by the E/O Challenge word-of-the-week (clean).


Just, look out for your brother, ya idjit. ~ Bobby to Dean in 3x03, "Bad Day at Black Rock"


"You know, we really don't have time for this..." Sam complained as Dean pushed him through the motel room door.

"Shut up and take your pants off."

Sam blinked at the order. "What?"

"You heard me," Dean returned, pocketing the Impala's keys and already crossing to the bathroom to retrieve their first aid kit. "Pants off. And then sit on the bed so I can take a look at those knees."

Sam winced at the mention of his injury and glanced down. His pants and his skin both torn and blood-stained from his graceful faceplant in the diner's parking lot only a few minutes before.

Dean had predictably teased him afterwards – Wow...you suck – but had looked worried as he had lifted Sam to his feet.

Sam had speechlessly stared at him, too shocked at the turn of events to respond.

Dean had shaken his head in exasperation at clumsy little brothers who were apparently made even more accident prone when they lost a cursed rabbit's foot.

But once they had reached the Impala, Dean's mood had changed as he had announced in big brother fashion that they were heading back to the motel to clean Sam up.

Sam had argued that wasn't necessary.

But here they were.

Back at the motel.

Sam sighed his frustration as he stood between the two beds.

"Dude..." Dean drawled, approaching with the first aid kit in hand. "Has the bad luck now fucked up your hearing?"

Sam bitchfaced his smartass brother. "I can hear you."

"Then take. Your pants off," Dean repeated, chunking the sentence into smaller phrases as if doing so would improve Sam's comprehension of directions.

Sam maintained his glare.

Dean returned Sam's scowl.

Sam clenched his jaw, digging in deeper.

It was classic Sam.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Sam. Listen. The longer this takes..." he began, gesturing between Sam's knees and the first aid kit in his grasp. "...the farther ahead of us that rabbit's foot will be."

Dean shrugged, dropping the kit to the bed behind him.

"But...whatever. If you wanna keep having shitty luck, then..."

"Fine," Sam snapped, annoyed that he had lost that stupid rabbit's foot and now his hands and knees were throbbing from his fall caused by the resulting bad luck.

Dean quirked a smile, always finding a grumpy Sam amusing as hell.

But what he didn't find amusing was an injured Sam...

Dean frowned at the reminder and then winced in sympathy as Sam wrinkled his nose in pain and hissed when his skinned palm rubbed across his belt.

Seconds later, Sam had toed off his shoes and was attempting to balance on one leg while lifting the other.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Sam scoffed at the question. "Taking off my pants, Dean."

Duh.

Dean snorted at his moody little brother but then grabbed Sam's arms when the kid lost his balance and began to fall...again.

Sam gasped as he stumbled sideways, blinking wide eyes at Dean when his brother caught him and held him steady.

Dean said nothing, his own heart pounding in his chest at the close call as he bodily moved Sam a few steps closer to the bed and sat him down.

Sam didn't resist, obediently sitting on the edge of the mattress and continuing to blink up at Dean.

Dean shook his head.

"We gotta find that rabbit's foot," he muttered, his big brother instincts in overdrive now that it was clear Sam was in constant danger of being hurt as long as that damn thing was missing.

Sam nodded his agreement, feeling surprisingly shaky as Dean released his hold on his shoulders and crouched in front of him, easing off his pants.

Sam didn't move but just sat there in his boxers, vaguely aware that this should be weird.

But it wasn't.

It never was.

They had grown up in each other's space, and they had dressed and undressed each other so many times over the years due to sickness or injury that this was just part of their normal.

Dean arched an eyebrow as he noticed Sam's odd expression.

"What?"

"Our normal is weird."

Dean pulled a face. "Our normal is awesome," he corrected and rolled Sam's jeans into a ball before tossing them across the room. "Hope those weren't your favorite pair," he told his brother. "'Cause even though I could get the blood out, I don't think you want patches on your knees like you had when you were four."

Sam shook his head, quietly proud that his big brother could do anything.

Remove bloodstains, sew up clothes, patch up skinned knees...

No matter how old Sam was or how much he resisted Dean's help.

Whatever he needed, Dean was there.

And Dean's little brother was going to miss that when Dean's deal came due, when Dean was gone.

Sam briefly closed his eyes, refusing to allow himself to think that way.

Because Dean wasn't going anywhere.

Whatever it took, Sam was going to save his brother.

Whatever it took.

Sam released a shaky breath and opened his eyes, not surprised that Dean was staring at him.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy," Dean promised...and he wasn't just referring to Sam's minor injuries.

Sam nodded. "Damn right," he replied, using the same quip and the same bravery he had learned from his big brother.

Dean quirked a smile, sitting on the motel room's floor and leaning forward for a closer look at Sam's knees.

"Wow...you really do suck," Dean commented about Sam's coordination as he examined how badly the kid's flesh had been torn by the unforgiving asphalt.

Sam rolled his eyes. "So you've already mentioned," he pointed out, watching as Dean reached for the first aid kit on the bed behind him.

Dean snorted softly and tore open an alcohol wipe, his fingers hovering over Sam's left knee.

"This is gonna sting like a sonuvabitch," he warned, knowing Sam could handle it but still reluctant to hurt his kid.

"S'okay," Sam assured, wrinkling his nose in anticipation of pain and hissing when the antiseptic made contact with his torn skin.

"I know, man. I told ya..." Dean sympathized, lightly blowing on the wounds to soothe the burning sting while continuing to clean away the blood and dirt.

Several seconds passed, a wad of used alcohol wipes piled on the floor as Dean finished part one of his task.

Sam glanced down to see the damage.

"You've had worse."

Sam smiled at Dean's comment, his big brother knowing that better than anyone since Dean had always been the one to administer first aid to Sam.

"But it's still gonna be sore for a couple of days," Dean remarked about Sam's injury, reaching for the antibiotic ointment he had swiped from their last clinic visit and smearing some of the cream across Sam's knees.

Sam said nothing, allowing himself to enjoy his brother's attention.

Because Sam knew when Dean's deal came due, he would be alone.

And Dean would be in Hell.

And it would be all Sam's fault.

Sam closed his eyes again, overwhelmed by the possibility.

Dean frowned, pausing as he prepared to bandage Sam's knees.

"Hey. What's wrong?"

Sam inhaled a shaky breath and swallowed. "Nothing," he replied, opening his eyes. "We've just...we've really gotta save you, Dean."

Dean shook his head. "We've already been over that, Sam."

It was almost a daily argument between them these days.

But if Dean got out of his deal, Sam would drop dead.

And that wasn't happening.

Sam wasn't dying again on Dean's watch.

"And anyway..." Dean dismissed. "Right now, we've gotta save you."

Because Sam was the one in immediate danger as long as that rabbit's foot was missing.

"Fine," Sam agreed, knowing Dean wouldn't be able to think about anything until his big brother considered him safe. "But we're not done with this."

Dean held Sam's gaze. "I know," he returned, well aware that his little brother would harp on the topic of him and his deal because Sam was convinced he could change Dean's mind.

But no...not this time.

Sam's life was at stake in this deal as well, and Dean was going to protect his kid even if that meant he would spend eternity in Hell.

Dean sighed, refocusing on his task and keeping his touch gentle as he smoothed bandages over Sam's skinned knees.

"Alright. Let's see those hands..."

Sam nodded and held out his palms.

Dean carefully grasped one, then the other.

"Not as bad as your knees," he observed but still reached for fresh alcohol wipes, cleaning away more dirt than blood.

Seconds later, the first aid was complete.

"All done," Dean announced, closing the kit and collecting the blood-stained wipes as he stood. "How do you feel? You want a Tylenol or something?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm sore, but I'm okay," he replied, preparing to stand.

"Whoa. Sit your ass down."

Sam blinked. "What?"

"Sit your ass down," Dean repeated. "I don't want you standing up or moving around or doing anything without adult supervision, Humpty Dumpty," the big brother informed, crossing to Sam's duffel and rummaging around until he found a fresh pair of jeans.

Sam narrowed his eyes as his brother approached. "You're not gonna dress me, are you?"

Dean snorted, amused by Sam's concerned expression. "No. But I am gonna stand here while you put these on."

Because it had already been proven twice within an hour that Sam was at high risk for falls.

Sam sighed, accepting the jeans from his brother and pulling them on while he sat on the bed before he stood to finish the job...and promptly lost his balance.

As promised, Dean was right there with a steadying hand.

Sam growled his frustration. "We gotta find that rabbit's foot."

Dean nodded. "We will," he assured, keeping his hand on Sam's arm as he waited for the kid to finish getting dressed.

"Okay," Sam said, signaling he was ready.

"Okay," Dean echoed, still holding on to his little brother as they left the motel room.


END