For those of you who wanted a little more...
And I needed a little comfort for the hurt, too. :-)
Sam Winchester stretched, yawning before taking another sip of pumpkin spice latte from the tall takeout cup he carried. A small smile tilted one corner of his mouth. It had been a good weekend with Amelia—a chance to rest and relax, and frankly, an opportunity to get away from Dean and his mountain of issues for a couple of days. That felt good. Sam thought he should feel guilty for feeling that way, but he didn't. He'd told Dean from the moment they'd been reunited that he wanted a completely different life and he meant it.
He strolled toward the motel from the bus stop, enjoying the chill in the air and the pinkish-purple dawn peeking over the horizon, even if part of him wished he was still a couple hours west of his current location. Spying the Impala in front of their room, Sam crossed the parking lot and paused at the door to pull his key card from his pocket. He froze, however, when he went to insert it—stunned to see bloody fingerprints all over the lock and handle.
Heart suddenly pounding with concern, Sam unlocked the room and shoved the door open. "Dean?" he called. His gaze quickly scanned the room, noting with dread the blood smears on the bed nearest to him. Sam looked toward the bathroom, eyeing the half open door and, more worryingly, a bloody handprint on the door jamb. He hurried forward, crossing the threshold calling his brother's name.
Slamming his coffee cup down on the edge of the sink, Sam squatted next to Dean. One hand ghosted over Dean's clammy face while the other lifted the gore-soaked towel to examine the nasty gash hiding beneath it. He grimaced. Dammit, Dean. What the hell?
"Dean? C'mon, big brother, wake up." Sam gently tapped his brother's cheek. When there was no response, Sam tapped a little harder. "Hey, dude, c'mon—wake up." This time he was rewarded with a low moan and Dean's eyelids began to flutter. "Yeah, that's it. Time to wake up."
Dean's lids rose to half mast. "S-S-Sam?" He licked at his parched lips.
Dean blinked, squinted, then blinked again slowly. "'s s'okay, S-Sam. You c-can go back. I-I can do this."
"Yeah, it really looks like it. C'mon, let's get you fixed up." Reaching under Dean's arms, Sam pulled him to his feet, steadied him before hauling him into the other room and settling him on the bed. He left the room long enough to grab the first aid kit from the Impala.
After cleaning the wound, Sam concentrated on placing the stitches, doing his best to ignore Dean's clenched fists and closed expression, along with the sweat dotting his upper lip which emphasized the white ring of pain circling his mouth. When the stitching was done, he wrapped pristine white gauze around the injury.
Sam threw away the trash and closed up the first aid kit before washing his hands. Afterward, he returned to the chair by the bed and sank down, eyes locked on his pale sibling. "What happened?"
Dean swallowed hard, wincing against a dry throat. His tongue swiped at his bottom lip. He was thirsty but didn't want to ask his brother for water.
Reading Dean's mind, Sam stood and grabbed a glass of water from the bathroom sink, helping his sibling take a few sips, along with two painkillers, before putting the glass on the nightstand. "Wanna tell me what happened?"
Dean's brow curled. "Nothing."
"Dean…" Sam's voice held a warning.
"Research, that's all. Just went sideways somehow." Fatigue weighted Dean's body. He closed his eyes and drifted for a minute. "I'm sorry."
Now it was Sam's turn for the furrowed brow. "Sorry? Sorry for what?"
"For being stupid."
"No—I—I get it."
Sam leaned forward to grip Dean's shoulder, not liking when Dean flinched at his touch. "You shouldn't think like that."
"Hard not to." Dean's breathing deepened as his abused body gave in, and he dropped into sleep.
Sam sighed and sat back in the chair, letting his eyes fall closed, his heart heavy. He knew now that he had a lot of thinking to do.