Word Count: 3,500
Genre: H/C, GEN, S6, Dean's POV
Author's Note: I am super, super excited to be finally posting this because I had so much fun writing this reverse bang and I had a fabulous artist to boot! She was also super excited and very nice to work with her art is AMAZING and I encourage EVERYONE to go take a look and leave her some wonderful feedback. Congrats to everyone else who completed their reversebang as well and I hope you enjoy the story! This is supposed to be a rather simple, H/C from Dean's POV that shows Dean taking care of Sam.
Summary: With Sam's wall a constant worry for both Dean and Sam, Dean decided to settle in with an easy wendigo hunt. However, nothing is ever easy for the Winchester's and Dean finds himself winding up doing what he does best: taking care of his little brother.
“Sam, duck!” Dean yells fiercely.
Like clockwork and from years of training Sam does so without question. Dean watches with his heart in his throat as the wendigo’s sharp claws slice across the air above Sam’s head. He can’t help thinking about how close that came to actually being Sam’s head. However, his relief is short-lived.
The wendigo gives out a loud shriek, mad at its prey invading it for so long.
Dean watches with trepidation as the wendgio turns for Sam and then directs its sight on him. He puts a self-determined grin on his face and grasps the flare gun tighter. “Come get me you son of a bitch.”
The wendigo does. It charges at a fast speed, one Dean wasn’t expecting for a wendigo that seemed so slow.
Dean feels all his confidence drain. This was supposed to be an easy hunt. This wendigo was injured before by other hunters but has yet to be killed. Dean figured that this would be something simple, something he and Sam could ease into, with the wall threatening to collapse at any moment and Cas popping in and out getting more guilty each visit they neededto relax somehow.
However, as Dean watches the wendigo charge at him, he notices Sam’s horrified face in his peripheral and hopes that he won’t regret his decision.
The wendigo does nothing more than knock him off his feet. The wind gets pushed out of him leaving him gasping and coughing on the ground. His vision gets blurry and he loses sight of the wendigo and his brother.
That is his second mistake.
He hears it before he sees it.
Sam grunts loudly as his tall body impacts with something. Dean internally flinches and gropes around on the ground for his flare gun, trying to catch his breath so his vision will clear. It feels as if his lungs are bruised and his body isn’t cooperating with him anymore.
The wendigo shrieks again, almost as if in victory. This gives Dean more incentive as his hand finally touches his lost flare gun.
He grasps it firmly and swings it forward.
The wendigo turns, giving Dean a view of his brother lying on the ground. His breath seems to freeze at seeing Sam unmoving, but he can’t do anything for him at the moment except end the threat.
Dean scrunched up his mouth and fires the flare gun. The wendigo’s eyes widen before it’s getting slammed by the flare. It groans and shrieks in agony as the fire consumes it’s long since dead soul before it begins to smolder on the ground.
The stench is horrendous but seeing his brother softly stirring on the ground spurs Dean into action.
“Sammy!” Dean pushes up off the ground and darts to where his brother is weakly trying to sit up.
“Stay down.” Dean admonishes softly, however, Sam keeps moving so Dean holds Sam’s back and helps him into a sitting position. “Sammy, you okay?”
Sam doesn’t answer; sweat begins to bead on his brow as if he's about to be sick.
Dean curses at that; curses at himself and the damn wendigo. Sam doesn’t need a concussion on top of everything else.
Sam shakily begins to grasp his shoulder, lines of pain beginning to pop up around his mouth.
“Damn it.” Dean curses. “Hold still, Sammy. Let me see.”
Dean prods the area softly and Sam groans loudly. “Shhhh, hold on for me. I’m almost done.”
The area is tender and already beginning to swell. “Shit.”
“Ho…ow bad.” Sam whistles out softly, out of breath as if he ran a mile.
“Not so bad.” Dean lies.
“Liar.” Sam says under his breath which has Dean snorting. He can’t lie to Sam anymore, it simply doesn’t work.
“Okay so I lied, it’s kind of bad but nothing I can’t fix, right?” Dean jokes weakly, however, Sam has gone quiet again. Preferring to breathe and not to speak and Dean really can’t blame him.
The wind picks up again in northern Maine making Dean shiver a bit. They didn’t plan on staying out in the cold any longer than was necessary. In fact, they barely wore anything but light jackets, figuring they’d be done within no time.
Dean lets out a derisive snort, internally wishing he could go back in time and beat himself senseless for deciding to take this hunt. Bobby warned him about it possibly being a bad idea but he of course ‘knows what’s best’ and Bobby left it at that.
Thinking about it, Dean wishes Bobby would have beat him senseless, then maybe he would have listened.
They had no cell reception, were miles away from any hospital, a dead wendigo to toast, and he had an injured brother to tend to.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He had no choice, they had to stay overnight until morning.
However, once the wind picked up the wendigo’s smoldering body began to assault Dean’s nostrils making him almost gag.
Seeing Sam looking green around the gills himself, Dean knew they had to move.
“Alright, I’ll try to stabilize this so we can move and find some shelter to ride out the night. Try and hold on a bit for me, okay?”
Dean bends down to try to catch Sam’s eyes but he could see that Sam has already checked out. He’s likely cold, hungry, and in pain and there's nothing Dean can do for now except stop talking and get going.
“Alright, big guy let’s get you up.” Dean's basically talking to himself at this point as he gently lifts Sam into a standing position He rides out the pain with his brother softly telling him to breathe through it as they take baby steps to the Impala.
Thankfully, the woods out here aren’t too dense that the Impala couldn’t easily navigate through the trees.
Once the Impala’s gleaming doors come into sight Dean visibly sighs with relief. Helping Sam into the impala isn’t an easy task. It's hard not to unnecessarily bump or hit Sam’s shoulder as his frame tries to fit inside the passenger seat.
Dean accidentally hits Sam’s injured side when setting him down and Sam gasps, tears collecting in his eyes which make Dean feel lower than dirt. No explicative like ‘I’m sorry’ would help it either.
Dean gently shuts the door and wipes a hand across his mouth. His stubble was growing and he would soon have to shave again.
All in all Dean looks like how he feels at the moment. Weeks upon weeks of worrying about Sam’s wall and fighting with Castiel has left him utterly drained and devoid of anything.
However, he’s finding that his first real spark to becoming himself again is Sam bring injured.
How gross is that?
Shaking his head Dean makes his way to the other side of the Impala and starts her up hoping the ride will be smooth for Sam who is curled against himself in the passenger seat breathing harshly through his nose.
Dean drives for what seems like hours. Only going five miles per hour across a bumpy terrain at sundown, trying to scope out a good spot to rest.
Once he finds a relatively small clearing Dean stops for the night. He turns off the Impala and turns to his brother.
Sam appears to be asleep but his breathing gives him away. Sam’s in pain. There’s no way around it. Dean screwed up and as a result Sam got hurt.
“We’re going to rest here for the night, okay?”
After a small pause, Sam mutters an, “okay”.
Dean smiles a little, his spirits lifting. At least Sam's talking to him which is better than the constant pained grimace he had during the car ride.
Stepping out of the Impala Dean nods at seeing the ground is mostly flat here. Nothing sucked more than having to pitch a tent on bumpy ground.
Walking around to the passenger side of the Impala, Dean opened the door slowly and caught Sam’s body before it could tumble out. “Whoa there.” Sam must have leaned more heavily against the door then he thought.
“I’ve gotcha, let’s get you up.” Dean does his best to pull Sam out without hurting him but it's practically impossible. With an injury like Sam’s, you could feel it in every movement of the arm joint.
Once Sam is vertical, albeit swaying gently Dean helps him sit down on a fallen log. Sam gasps in pain at connecting with the wood making Dean wince. “Shit, sorry Sammy. Can you sit on your own real quick?”
Sam pants, the whites of his knuckles showing due to how tight he was holding his shoulder. However, Sam nods his head softly staring at Dean as if he can still fix everything.
Thinking back throughout this year, Dean knew that wasn’t true, no matter how much he wants it to be. He just has to fix what he can, and now, he can fix Sam’s pain.
Opening up the Impala’s trunk, Dean props her up with a shotgun and begins digging around for supplies. He pulls out a beer first and pops it open.
He holds it out for Sam. “Drink.” He instructs softly, Sam stares at him before letting go of the death grip he’s had on his bad shoulder and accepting the beer.
“Thanks.” Sam mutters softly before taking one long swig.
Satisfied for now, Dean pulls out their first aid kit and gets out a sling and some gauze.
“Keep drinking Sammy.” Dean instructs softly, knowing how much poking and prodding Sam’s injury will hurt. Sam does so without question; only stopping to moan when Dean rotates Sam’s shoulder cuff.
No doubt Sam dislocated his shoulder.
Biting his lip with worry. Dean closes his eyes at knowing how much pain his brother will be in when he has to pop it back into place.
Dean should know. He had one a few years back after their trip out the window. Sam popped it back in for him and Dean did nothing to stabilize it afterword’s, too busy at that moment. He’s still paying for it today with joint stiffness and pain when he sleeps wrong.
“Damn it.” Dean curses for what feels like the thousandth time.
“Keep drinking.” Dean orders, standing up and going around behind his brother. “Keep your tongue in your mouth Sam and hold your mouth closed.”
He can hear Sam swallow and begin to shake a little. He does as he’s told though and sets the beer down next to him; obviously bracing himself for what he knows is coming.
“On the count of five okay?”
“1, 2, 3…” Dean jerks his hand swiftly hearing both the joint pop back into place and Sam’s guttural scream.
He feels tears of sympathy leak out of his eyes as Sam folds into himself. He’s bent over and breathing harshly, little whimpers escaping his mouth in small intervals.
“Fuck.” Dean breathes, bending over himself. He hates doing that. The one thing he can’t stand when doing first aid is causing more pain, but in some it's necessary.
“You okay Sammy?” Dean walks around the spilled beer and bends down. trying to see his little brother’s face. Sam has gone deathly white and Dean’s previous experience with Sam and pain lend him the foresight to move before Sam retches.
Dean curses and tries to hold Sam’s injured shoulder in place as Sam loses his meager lunch. He turns his head away to try to avoid the smell and waits until Sam’s done before he wipes his face off with his shirt.
“Damn Sammy, you may have a concussion too. Just sit tight okay?” Sam doesn’t answer, just quivers lightly as if he’s freezing.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Sam might be in shock.
Grabbing the pen light out of the first aid kit, Dean bends down and grasps Sam’s chin in his hands. Once the light hits Sam’s eyes he blinks harshly seeming to come out of his stupor.
“Not concussed….dizzy.” Sam murmurs.
Sam’s pupils say otherwise. A mild concussion. Just friggin’ great.
“Sorry, you got a concussion too, kiddo.” Dean apologizes softly. He shuts the pen light off and dumps it in the first aid kit. Dean grabs hold of Sam’s right wrist to begin to wrap his dislocated shoulder, when Sam gasps.
Dean looks down and let’s go at seeing the mottled bruising. “Shit, Sammy. I'm sorry. I didn’t see that.” He picks up Sam’s wrist more gingerly and moves the joint slowly. He breathes a sigh of relief at noticing it’s not broken, just sprained if anything.
Bending his head down, Dean curses again. Could this day get any fucking worse?
“Do you need something stronger?” Dean asks gently.
Sam shakes his head but Dean decides to spike some water with mild Tylenol anyways. He can’t let Sam have any good stuff with a concussion, but he can at least take the edge off.
“Alright. Hold still for me while I try to stabilize this. We’re not going anywhere until morning so I’ll set up a camp for us.”
Dean grabs an ace bandage out of the kit and begins to wrap Sam’s wrist up first. He does his best not to jar Sam and sets his wrist gently on his lap.
“I need to take your shirt off real quick to wrap your shoulder, just let me do all the work.” Dean informs his brother.
Sam nods and holds his breath. Dean begins to unbutton his brother’s plaid shirt, thankful that he already disposed of his jacket in the Impala earlier. Dean knows his brother wears an undershirt underneath but he wasn’t about to try to wrestle Sam out of that yet.
Once the buttons are all undone, Dean eases the shirt down Sam’s arm, gritting his teeth. But once it’s down one arm it slides off his bad arm rather easily. Sam seems to breathe a bit easier after that.
“Hold your arm up for as long as you can and tell me if you need a break.”
Dean winds the wrap around the swollen part of Sam’s shoulder. He watches Sam’s face trying to see if Sam needs a break but he seems to be doing okay for now. Once the wrap is done Dean puts a sling over it to keep it stabilized during the night.
“Let’s get you to the Impala to lie down for a bit while I set up camp, what do you say?”
Sam nods. “Help me up.”
Dean grabs Sam’s good side and hauls him up softly. He leads him to the Impala and tries to let him lay down flat in the front seat. It’s a bit comical and Sam moans when he leans against his shoulder by accident, but finally Dean gets him settled enough to where Sam can bend his knees and only his feet hang out.
Sam looks so vulnerable all curled into himself like that. It makes Dean’s heart break at knowing the pain Sam is still suffering from due to much older wounds. Some of the pain Sam doesn’t even know about yet, and if Dean has his say, he never will.
Leaving the door open, Dean slips his jacket off and lays it across his brother for now.
He still has to head back and burn the wendigo’s body before someone stumbles upon it, but he isn't going to do that before he knows his brother's safe and resting comfortably.
Digging around in the Impala Dean first pulls out their lantern, illuminating the small space so he can build a fire.
He then finds their tent, blankets and pillows he always keeps at the bottom of their stuff.
He checks on his brother rbefore he starts setting up the tent. It takes him about five minutes total, and he haphazardly shoves the blankets and pillows inside before he grabs the lantern and looks for a small kindling and wood to build a campfire with.
Dean gathers up his materials and sits on the ground before he builds up his campfire. He pulls out a small rag and lights it with his lighter before dropping it in the middle of the wood. The fire soon takes hold and begins to warm the chilly air around him.
Dean didn’t realize how cool it had gotten until he had taken off his jacket. Sam's only wearing a soft cotton shirt to protect him against the cold and Dean does’t need him sick on top of everything else.
Making his way back to the Impala, Dean bends down and softly nudges his brother on the leg.
“Wah…” Sam murmurs softly, grimacing when he begins to turn.
“Don’t move.” Dean admonishes lightly. “I’m going to move you to the tent and get you settled.”
Judging by Sam’s look, his shoulder has settled into a relatively numb pain and moving it again has aggravated it.
“I’ll be quick.” Dean promises, hoping to reassure his brother.
The trust in Sam’s eyes shines brightly as Dean gently helps Sam sit up and scoot across the seat. Dean makes sure to hold Sam’s shoulder gently so Sam doesn’t move it unnecessarily. Once Sam is standing, Dean has to hold him still until a dizzy spell passes. Unfortunately with concussions and other injuries, dizzy spells normally always assault you when you stand up after lying down for a little while.
Sam starts to look green again before his color begins to return. Dean breaths a sigh of relief, thankful that Sam isn’t going to puke again.
“It’s just this way kiddo.” He leads Sam gently to the tent and helps him bend down so he can sit down on the blankets.
“Can I have some water?” Sam asks softly.
Dean nods and pulls out the one that he has already prepared with Tylenol.
“Answer some questions first.”
Sam groans but waits for Dean’s questions.
“Name, age, birthday.”
“Sam, 27, May 2nd 1983.” Sam answers stoically.
“What color underwear am I wearing?”
Sam flips him off for that one and Dean grins. “Can I have my water now, jerk?”
“Sure, bitch.” Dean hands Sam his water and watches as his brother fumbles with the cap before he takes it from him, much to Sam’s chagrin, and opens it. Dean tries to hold it up for Sam to take a drink, but he makes a face so Dean relents and hands the water bottle back to him
Sam hands the water back gain and is about to lay down before Dean stops him.
“Whoa you can’t go to bed in your jeans and boots.”
“Deaaaan.” Sam whines, as if he's two years old again and is trying to get an extra cookie. A burst of nostalgia hits Dean so hard he almost falls backwards. Damn, he loves this kid.
“Believe me you’ll feel a hell of a lot better for it. ” Sam gives him a look clearly indicating his wrapped up shoulder and Dean rolls his eyes. “Okay you’ll feel a little better. Come on Sammy, you’re tired and I’m tired so let’s just get this over with.”
Sam’s face eases up at that and he nods softly.
There is no embarrassment on Dean’s end as he undresses his little brother. Night time rituals of the past begin to surface reminding Dean just how much his brother has grown since then. What was once spider man pajamas turns into size thirteen boots and old, worn denim that clearly needs to be thrown in the trash.
Dean tosses the items aside and helps Sam lay down. Once Sam’s head hits the pillow he’s out like a light. Dean covers him up with one of the blankets and slowly backs out of the tent. He leaves the flap open so the heat can reach inside and begins protecting the area by carving sigils in the trees to keep out both the demon and angel spectrum and pours a ring of salt around their small camp site.
He leaves Sam a gun and knife in the tent just in case and shuts the Impala’s trunk before heading off to burn what was left of their wendigo.
Dean shuts off the engine with a soft click and yawns. The sun has long since gone down leaving the woods in darkness except for the small fire still burning. He gets out if the Impala and makes sure he steps over the salt line without disturbing it. He checks on the fire and throws in a bit more wood before he heads into the tent.
Sam is still sleeping sound, his chest rising and falling softly. It kills Dean to wake him up again but concussion checks are always mandatory.
“Sammy,” Dean shakes him softly to which Sam groans and scrunches his face.
“Wake up Sam.” Dean says knowing Sam can never disobey an order.
“What…” Sam whines, his eyes opening. Dean stares at Sam’s pupils watching for their reaction and how clear they are. Once this check out Dean pats Sam’s bare knee gently. “Nothing go back to bed.”
Sam mumbles something about jerk big brothers and settles back into sleep with relative ease. Dean stares at Sam’s face for a few minutes before he disrobes himself. He positions himself in front of the tent and lays his head down.
He watches as the campfire burn; it strangely reminds him of hell. He thinks about the possibilities of Sam’s memories in hell which causes him to turn over and stare at his brother.
He’s determined to keep it as that…possibilities. In their line of work, ignorance truly is bliss and Dean intends to keep Sam as bliss free as possible.
No matter what happens.
Dean’s eyes slowly begin to shut as he listens to his brother’s steady, deep breathing.