Haha! I lied! lol Well actually I just got smarter. Finally finished this part. If you want the less pg-13 version I'll post it as a post by itself soon. Needed help from a friend for that one. So this is the non wincesty ending. thanks for reading guys. Sorry for the wait on this.
It's almost a whole day before Dean stirs. Around ten o'clock the next night. Sam is laying next to him on the wide bed. Where he's been since he and Bobby carried him up here. Besides bathroom breaks, Sam hasn't left. When he was gone, Bobby was keeping watch. They don't want a repeat of the other night when Dean stopped breathing and not be there to help like Sam was last time.
Every hour, Sam has cleaned the wound and put new bandages on. By the time Dean starts to stir, it's less red and has already started healing. Thanks to the single dose of antibiotics Bobby had, it's finally healing. After three days of festering and this one more of trying to stick around, the infection is leaving. With the bullet gone, the healing process should be able to finish.
Sam is studying Dean's face when he wakes up. Starting with a groan to his eyes opening. They blink a few times before his head moves so he can look at Sam. His gaze is tired but focused. It makes Sam smile. Dean manages a small smile back. "Hey."
Sam smile gets bigger, reaching his eyes. "Hey yourself."
Dean just lays there a minute, remembering with clarity the unclear things his mind had gathered and conjured. It almost amuses him. It must show on his face.
"What are you thinking?" Sam asks curiously.
Dean looks to him. "That I think I know what an acid trip might feel like now."
Sam chuckles, relief coursing through him. This is Dean. Even when he had woken up the other day he didn't joke. "I missed you."
Dean's face softens before he rolls his eyes, going back to his normal 'no chick-flicks' persona. "I remember everything. Real and in my head. It was pretty bad, huh?"
Sam's smile leaves, making Dean curse himself for doing that. "Yeah. It was… it was bad."
Dean frowns now. "You okay?"
Sam looks down at the sheets, picking at them. "Not really."
"What's wrong? Talk to me Sam. I miss a lot in… how long has it been?"
Dean lets out a whistle. "I miss a lot in four days when I'm not coherent."
Sam doesn't look up. "It was my fault."
Dean scowls. "Sam." His voice is harsher than he intended.
"There will be no blame placing on anything or anyone but the werewolf."
"But I shot you."
"Not your fault. Close range sent it through the werewolf. You kept me from being even more shredded. And unrecoverable." When Sam doesn't look up, Dean's fist shoots out to punch his shoulder. He groans in pain as Sam lets out a "Hey!"
Sam forgets is irritation when Dean groans. "Geeze, man. Don't move your arm. You're still healing."
Dean growls. "I'm gonna hate this."
Sam grins. "Probably."
He feels suddenly tired, letting his head fall back to the pillow. "I hate being tired all the time."
Sam lets his head fall on his pillow too. "You're healing. Relax. Let me be your shield for once. You'll be back to normal soon."
"Mmmm. In the meantime, you need to actually eat something." He smiles a little though his eyes are closed.
Sam frowns at him. "How'd you…?"
"I know you, kid."
"I'm not a kid."
"You'll always be my kid brother, Sam." When he feels Sam's frown, he amends that. "In the sense that I'll always need to care for you."
Sam lets what he was going to say go in favor of something else. "Hey, Dean?"
"Hmm?" He's already mostly asleep.
Sam shakes his head, rubbing his brother's shoulder before letting his eyes close too. "Never mind." He settles into his side of the bed, glad it's big enough that he doesn't have to sleep on the couch. After the four days he's had, he has some rest to catch up on too.
Sam shares the bed with Dean as he recovers just like they did when they were kids. Dean just feels bad subjecting Sam to the tiny couch in the living room since the last time when Sam's back started hurting. Sam hogs the covers, snores on occasion, and drools when he's really out of it. But Dean allows it though he uses every chance he gets to complain about it. Sam knows he doesn't mean it.
Two days after he woke up he insists on getting out of bed. Along with cleaning his wounds himself. He sits on Bobby's couch mostly, lounging with Sam and talking to him and Bobby about the days during his sickness. He finds out Sam had to kill the werewolf's mate when it hunted them for revenge. That's what the blood on his blue shirt was from. And why he sounded tired.
"I should kill you for handling that thing by yourself."
"Uh, Dean, in case you've forgotten, you were pretty out of it. I don't think you would've been much help."
Dean rolls his eyes. "You could have called Bobby sooner."
Sam rolls his eyes back. "Anyway, it was just after I stopped because of your fever. I was glad you stayed asleep during all the moving I did to you. Whenever you were awake you wouldn't be able to keep from letting me know you were hurting. It made things a lot harder."
"So I let you know, huh?"
Sam chuckles. "Yeah. It was almost a relief to actually know you were hurting unlike when you try to hide it from me. It let me know when to give you more pills."
Dean shrugs. "I've never had pain this bad before either."
Sam's face crumbles for a second before smoothing.
Dean still notices. "Sam, I'm fine now. It's okay."
Sam nods, not very reassuring but he continues with his story. "Anyway, a while after I got you settled, I started hearing things outside the motel. I went to investigate. If it turned out to be too much trouble I would have gotten you back into the car and left. I wasn't about to risk anything causing more trouble for you."
"The werewolf really tracked you that far?" Dean asks incredulously.
Sam snorts. "Surprised me. Leapt out at me when I went around the back of the motel. Didn't have silver bullets in my gun. Didn't even think that's what it'd be. Didn't know there were two of them."
Dean sighs. "Yeah, I don't know how I didn't see anything to tell us that."
Sam rolls his eyes. "Don't even start. I didn't see anything that led me to believe the thing had a mate either. And I'm the smarter one." He smirks.
Dean glares. "Continue with the story, bitch."
Sam grins. "Jerk. Anyway, it got me good on the shoulder as I was getting back to the room. That's the blood you saw on my shirt," he says, nodding to Dean.
Dean frowns. "You're hurt?"
His younger brother looks almost guilty. "S'why I had to call Bobby. My stitches would rip if I carried your heavy ass."
Dean chuckles, even as he reaches over to touch where Sam's hand is absently running over his shoulder. "It healed?"
He nods. "Good. If it was anything bad I'd hurt you for keeping it from me."
Sam snorts. "Yeah. Sure you would. So anyway, I had to search for the silver bullets while the thing was attacking the door. Found them, and climbed out the window in the bathroom to go around and shoot it. But it must have heard me. Jumped me as I was coming around the corner. Tackled me, making me lose the gun. I kicked it off, grabbed the gun, turned, and shot it."
"So just bruises from that, huh?"
"It's really killing you that you weren't there, isn't it?" Sam asks, amused.
Dean glares. "Just making sure you're okay when I couldn't do my job."
Bobby chuckles. "Bull."
Dean pretends to not hear him. "So then you called Bobby."
"So then I called Bobby," Sam confirms.
It's four days after Dean woke up, eight days after the attack, when the more shallow of the gashes on his chest are healing nicely. He starts to worry about scaring. There's a lot of marks for potential scars. It'll be ugly, he's sure. Two days later, the first stitches start coming out on their own. Eight days after he woke up he's up and walking around more. Testing his limits. The infection is long gone.
About a week and a half, ten days after, he looks at himself in the mirror after removing his bandages for the last time. The gashes are healed enough to be held by the stitches. The deep gashes are still healing. Still red and more puffy. The more shallow ones are just pink lines. He sighs. He looks like a little kid's attempt at sewing. Like he has the chest of Frankenstein.
"Not so attractive now, are you Dean?" he grumbles to his reflection.
He keeps a shirt on at all times. Redirects Sam's questions on how he's healing. Until Sam finally has enough.
"Sam…" Dean mocks.
Sam glares. "Don't make me go get Bobby."
Dean raises an eyebrow. "You're threatening me instead of going for it yourself?"
"I don't want to hurt you," he grumbles, glaring. "Now show me on your own, or Bobby and I will make you do it anyway."
Dean puts his hands in his pockets, huffing out a sigh as he looks away. "Why can't I be the judge of whether I'm healing or not?"
"I want to see this through."
Dean looks back in surprise to see Sam's bottom teeth biting down into his lower lip. "What?"
"I want to see this through," he repeats. "I want to make sure what I did turned out okay. And that you're really okay." He resorts to the puppy eyes. "Please? I want to have some… closure I guess on this whole thing. You almost died on my watch Dean. A million times."
Dean pouts. Literally pouts. "How do you do that, Sam?"
Sam tilts his head. "What?"
"Make me feel bad and want to show you to make you feel better."
Sam smiles a little. "Little brother charm?"
Dean rolls his eyes, turning away. "Damn you."
Sam grins. "What's the big deal anyway?"
Dean huffs again, pulling his shirt over his head before turning back around. "This is the big deal."
Sam feels a punch to the gut when he sees the lines crisscrossing his brother's chest. His jaw clenches as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then he walks forward. He runs his fingers over a few of the worse looking lines to see if they're healing well, half grinning up at Dean when he sees the goose bumps. Then frowns when he sees Dean looking away. "Hey."
Dean looks at him, slightly glaring. His eyes widen and the frustration melts away when he sees the look in Sam's eyes.
His younger brother's eyes are filled with genuine love and adoration. "Thank you." He moves his hand up to rest right over the tattoo that matches his own right over his brother's heart. "For everything."
Dean looks away, but looks back a second later, eyes soft. "Never need to thank me for saving you Sam. It's always going to happen."
"Don't kill yourself in the process though. Okay?"
Dean smirks a little. "I try."
Sam smiles gently back, taking his hand away from his brother's chest. "I know." He takes a step back, jerking his head towards the door as he gives his brother a small grin. "Come on. Your baby is dirty. She needs a wash."
Dean grins, following Sam without a second thought towards a shirt. Sam always seems to make everything okay. Besides. If Sam doesn't care, who else matters? Not like there's anyone else here besides him and Bobby anyway. "What'd you do to her?"
Sam rolls his eyes. "Nothing Dean. She just looks like she needs a little TLC. She is your most precious possession after all."
Dean touches Sam's arm to stop him in the hallway and prepares himself to allow a chick flick moment. A moment of weakness. Because honestly, Sam deserves it after the past weeks he's had and it can easily count as the 'I almost died' confession. "Sam."
Sam looks to him curiously.
Sam smiles softly. "Never need to thank me Dean."
He looks down the hall, avoiding eye contact. "And you're wrong you know."
Sam tilts his head, frowning. "About what?"
Dean forces himself to at least look in the vicinity of Sam's face. "You are my most precious possession. My only real blood relative left. And from the moment dad gave you to me the night of the fire, you were my little brother. So… I just wanted you to know that. So there's no confusion or anything."
Sam clenches his jaw, blinking through the slight sting in his eyes. "Thanks. Really. Thanks, Dean."
He nods, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "You saved my life. Again. It's the least I can do."
"No," Sam corrects, a small smile back in place, "talking about your feelings is the most you can do."
"Shut up. Bitch." He starts down the hallway again, a smirk on his face, glad the moment is over.
Sam smiles, keeping step behind him. "Jerk," he murmurs fondly.