[Another. Another self indulgent soft and vulnerable Dean. I'm procrastinating a giant essay that I need to turn in tomorrow.]
Sam and Dean are 16-20 here?
The hunt ended in a blur of broken branches and blood, mostly Dean’s. The creature is dead, and Sam is fine, except for a couple of scratches on his palms and knees from when he fell while running. Dean barely notices his own breathing, shallow and sharp, as he drags Sam out of the woods with fingers wrapped a bit too tight around his brother’s jacket.
By the time they get back to whatever dingy motel their father checked them in this time, Dean’s adrenaline is still spiking so high that his hands won’t stop trembling. He tries to hide it. He fumbles with the keys twice, tries to laugh it off but it comes out choked and pathetic.
He looks around and asks, for the tenth time since they left the woods, “Are you okay, Sammy?”.
“I’m fine, Dean”, Sam replies, surprisingly patient.
Dean swallows, relieved, like that’s the only thing that matters. Like he’s not bleeding through his shirt and getting paler by the second. The motel door closes behind them and Dean immediately starts pacing, muttering under his breath a quick check-list of all possible hidden injuries he might have forgotten. “Are you sure? You took a nasty fall, maybe-” He reaches over to Sam, a bit too frantically, but Sam grabs his wrist first, gently.
Dean goes rigid, and if Sam can feel the tremor in his hand, he doesn't say anything about it.
“Sit down, Dean” He tries.
“No, Sam, Sammy. Just let me patch you up, ok? That’s- That’s the job” His voice cracks, and his knees falter for a moment.
Sam tries again, quieter but his voice firm. “Dean, you’re hurt.”
“M’ not.” It's too fast, too defensive. He turns his wrist, trying to set himself free.
Sam takes a moment to truly look at his brother, to trace all of the cuts across his arms. The dark bruise already taking shape under his torn shirt. The way one of his knees seems to buckle when he shifts his weight. It’s too much.
“If… If you’re okay, Sammy, then I’m okay. No need to- M’ fine.” He knows how pitiful he must sound, with his voice trembling and breath haggard. “Just let me make sure you’re okay”
Sam stops, and Dean finally allows him to look him in the eyes. There’s so much care , and worry, and devotion in those eyes. It’s too much for Sam, it’s too heavy, too lonely. Dad will come soon, and Sam doesn’t want to imagine how much more difficult it’ll be to deal with his brother’s injuries with his Boss being around.
“Let me take care of you.” This time he’s not gentle when he pulls Dean by his wrist, guiding him towards the bed. Feeling how easily his brother is being manhandled makes his worry double in size, he really is hurt.
“I need you to sit, Dean” He asks, softly, but Dean still flinches a bit. Boy soldier, expecting orders. “Please”, it’s all he gets.
Dean doesn’t reply, but his lips wobble as he obliges, and his eyes avoid Sam’s as much as possible. Sam takes this chance and kneels in front of him, scissors already in hand to rip what’s left of the ripped shirt. His touch is light, and filled with care. He gazes into his brother’s face, trying to map out what he’s feeling, how to react.
As Sam takes out the bandages and medicine out of the first-aid box, he says in an almost whisper, “No need to be strong now, I got you”. Between the ‘clink’ of the bottles of medicine and rustle of the gauze packs, Dean’s shaky sigh is not pointed out. When Sam reaches for his jacket, Dean doesn’t pull away. As he cuts away the ragged shirt, Dean only sniffles again and stays still. But the touches are too soft, too caring. It’s too much and too little, and Dean feels like he might die in a matter of seconds.
Feeling the too-soft touch on his wounds, Dean can't help himself. "Don't fuss over me, Sammy"
"I'm not fussing. I'm taking care of my older brother." Dean swallows so hard it is almost painful. "You're safe now" Sam continues, his voice quiet but steady.
Sam keeps moving, swiftly wrapping Dean's wounds and tending to every cut and scrape he finds on his skin. He hums while working, and Dean's eyes go glossy for a moment - not crying, Dean Winchester doesn't cry in motel rooms with peeling wallpaper. But he keeps still, watching the boy he almost single-handedly raised patch him like he knows what he's doing.
He stays still. Because Sam asked him to, because Sam needs him to. Because the only thing that matters is to keep his baby boy safe, even if it means staining his hands with Dean's blood.
not letting jack be a baby first before rapid aging so we could have yet another gif of dean holding a baby.......crimes were committed. he's literally meant to hold babies
