Setting: Post Season 4. Shortly after the s4 finale if you want specifics, but it doesn't really matter that much.

Dean was worried.

Then again, when wasn't he worried these days?

Ever since he had returned from hell, it had been one shit-storm after another.

Dean shook his head to rid himself of the negative thoughts, and returned his mind to a more pressing matter, his main focus, Sammy.

The kid was curled up against the passenger side door, his face resting against the window; if it hadn't been for his tense posture or the death-grip he had on his side, one would have thought him to be sleeping.

His face was pale, but seemed nearly relaxed as his eyes were closed and his breathing was steady.

Dean would give it up to the man, he had an extremely high pain-tolerance. Then again, Sam had been injured more than enough times in his life to build up that tolerance.

Dean clenched his jaw, aggravated that he was unsure how many times his brother had been hurt while he had been in hell. He was nervous that it might have been quite a few, because Sam had always been one tough kid, but before Dean had made his trip downstairs, he was pretty sure his brother hadn't been this stoic.

However, being alone changed things about a person, Dean knew that much from experience.

It forced you be completely independent. And though Sam had always been frustratingly self-sufficient, he had never been truly alone, not until hell-hounds tore his big brother to pieces...right in front of him.

Being alone had changed Sam. It had made him different in ways that Dean never imagined he could be.

That was another thing Dean worried about.

On top of Sam bleeding out.

"We're almost there. We'll get you patched up real soon." Dean declared.

Sam merely nodded slowly, his hair brushing against the window pane.

Dean sent a worried glance down to his brother's torso, frowning at the blood he could see soaking through the jacket.

He placed more pressure on the gas pedal and pushed the Impala faster, towards the motel of the week.

He had never been okay with seeing his little brother injured.

Dean was even less okay with Sam not letting his big brother help when he was injured. It was rare, and didn't often occur, but it had tonight. After quite an extensive fight, Dean had killed the wendigo that had sliced Sam's side open and went immediately back to help the sasquatch off the ground, when Sam had aggressively swatted him away. The wounded man had insisted he was fine and began to limp his way back to the car.

Dean hadn't thought much of it. Sam had been more of a one-man show since Dean returned from hell, he imagined that his little brother had been that way while he was in hell as well.

The older hunter really didn't have any right to complain about this recently frustrating behaviour, he was the reason for it after all; Sam wouldn't have had to change if Dean hadn't left him alone on earth to fend for himself, but that didn't mean it didn't still irk him.

Dean slammed the Impala into park in front of their motel room, he quickly leapt from the vehicle, intending to go help Sam do the same, but the kid already had it taken care of. By the time Dean made it over to his brother's side, the lanky frame was already unfolded and pushing the passenger door shut.

The younger hunter wobbled just a little, but enough for Dean to reach out and place a steadying hand on his back. Sam promptly stepped away from it.

"I'm fine." He grumbled as he began to make his way to the room.

Dean frowned, but made no comment as he grabbed the first-aid kit and followed his brother.

Sam made it over the threshold and past the small kitchen before his knees buckled.

Dean leapt forward, his hand quickly gripping his brother's bicep and hoisting him up, supporting the long body as Sam fought to force his legs to cooperate.

The older man tossed the first-aid kit onto his bed, using his now-free hand to get a better grip on Sam, who swiftly swatted him away.

"Don't, don't touch me. I'm fine." He ground out, long limbs shaking as he contorted his way out of Dean's hold and reached out blindly for something else to grab onto.

"What the hell, dude?" Dean snapped, avoiding Sam's defensive movements as he reached back towards him, grabbing the younger man's elbow and pulling him back just in time to keep him from colliding with the table.

Sam had little strength of his own and fell back against his brother the moment he was pulled in that direction. Before Dean could get his arm around his brother's waist to help him walk, Sam was clumsily pulling away again.

"No. Stop it. Let go!" The injured man barked, repelling away from his brother and stumbling to his bed. The only thing that kept Sam from bonelessly face-planting onto the mattress, was Dean's unyielding grip.

Dean fought to control his brother's fall, tightening his finger's around Sam's arm to slow his decent.

The second the taller man was situated on the soft surface, he wrapped his arm around his wounded side, and his breathing sharpened as he curled himself protectively over his left hip.

Dean shook his head in complete frustration with his brother's behaviour, not understanding why the kid proceeded to refuse any help. The older hunter released an irritated huff before moving to gather supplies. He grabbed several towels from the bathroom, a water bottle from the fridge, and the med-kit off his bed.

When Dean returned to his brother, Sam was still panting harshly and arched over his torn side.

"Alright man, let's get that jacket off, and then we can get you lying down." Dean said, his frustration fading as he could now spot the pain lining his little brother's face.

Sam made no response, but flinched away violently at the feeling of Dean tugging at his jacket.

"No! Stop." He shouted, forcing himself to move painfully back towards the headboard and out of reach.

Dean's expression screwed up, his patience diminished.

"Stop it with this independent shit already. Just let me help you." He demanded, swiftly pulling the younger man's coat off and tossing it to the floor.

Without giving Sam a moment to protest, Dean swooped down and grabbed both of his giraffe legs, quickly, but gently, placing them up on the mattress.

However, Sam was fast at reacting when his older brother began moving up to his torso, he released his aching side and placed both his hands up in front of him, fending off the hunter's reach.

Dean fought with the kid for a moment, but Sam wasn't giving up and Dean didn't want to hurt his little brother, or cause him to hurt himself.

He angrily withdrew his reaching arms and crossed them over his chest, glaring down and the shaking, sweating, younger man on the bed who was panting in pain.

Sam looked sickly, his face pale with blood-loss as the red blotch on his shirt proceeded to expand.

The sight was causing his older brother to become desperate, and - as it often did with Dean- that desperation translated into anger.

"What the fuck is your deal, Sam?" He shouted. "I know that you are capable and independent and all that shit, but your side is split open and there is no way you would be able to stitch it up properly with your hands shaking from blood-loss. And even if they weren't, there is no way I would ever just sit around and watch you thread a needle through your skin if I have the ability to help you! Which I do! I may not be as great a hunter as you are now, but I'm not fucking useless, dude."

No sooner had the words left Dean's mouth that Sam's entire demeanour altered. His defensive pose and harsh expression dissipated instantly, as he fought to sit up a little more.

"Dean, it's not like that." He stated, his voice exhibiting his shock at the conclusions his brother had arrived at.

Dean's eyebrow rose.

"Really? You've got blood seeping out you slashed side, and you won't even let me touch you. You won't let me help you. What the hell is with that? Is it because of hell? Because of what I did?" Dean shocked himself by the question, never intending to have been so honest.

Sam's face paled impossibly more as his eyes shot wide open and he started aggressively shaking his head from one side to the other.

"Gawd no, Dean. What you did in hell, man, that's different. I don't blame you for any of that. Not for a second."

"But-

"And I don't think that you are useless, and I'm sure as hell not a better hunter than you. It's not that I don't want your help-

"But it is, Sam! You could barely walk and you wouldn't let me near you. You-

"I want you to help me, Dean. I need you to help me." Sam insisted, sincerity coating each word.

"Then what is with-

"I just need you to get fixed up first." The younger man stated.

Dean squinted in confusion and followed Sam's nod to his wrist. Dean hadn't noticed the blood sliding down his arm, and the cuts on his hands. He frowned, remembering when the wendigo had chucked him into the brush and he had felt thorns scratch his skin; but his injuries were nothing compared to Sam's.

"Dude, it's nothing. Just a few scratches. I'm barely bleeding."

Sam shook his head, already arguing the assessment.

"But you are bleeding and you need to patch yourself up before you work on me. I'm fine to wait." He said, but the pallor of the younger man's skin and the way his face crinkled in pain and his body shook with blood-loss, completely contradicted the statement.

"You're kidding, right? Have you seen how much blood is covering your shirt? I can put some bandaids on my cuts after I stitch you back together." Dean reasoned, grabbing the med kit and pulling a chair up next to his brother's bed.

Sam squirmed away, gasping as he jostled his injury while scrambling to the middle of the bed, further from Dean's reach.

"No, you need to make sure your bleeding has stopped and your cuts are bandaged before you touch me." He stuttered, his breath coming in strangled pants as he placed pressure onto his wounded side.

"Stop being a fucking moron, Sam." Dean bit out, patience lost as he climbed up onto the side of the bed and placed firm, stilling grip on his brother's torso.

Dean wouldn't have been shocked by his brother protesting further, or trying to get away, that was all he had done for the past while, but he was shocked by how erratic the younger hunter became.

"No! Don't, Dean! Don't touch me. Please, gawd, please don't touch me!" Sam wailed, his voice cracking in a desperate plea as watery eyes begged Dean to listen.

The older brother stilled, startled by this new behaviour. Sam had never been much for begging, and he sure as hell had never reacted in such fear and distress to Dean before.

Sam was gasping and muttering, his sentences nearly impossible to understand with his garbled language.

The few words that Dean caught in his brother's frantic rambling, were concerning to say the least; he heard 'blood', 'infection', and a constantly repeated 'please'.

"Sam! Calm down. I'm not touching you, just calm down!" Dean instructed, his hands twitching in need to help his brother, but he forced himself to resist or Sam would not doubt further injure himself in the fight to get away.

After a few moments, the frightened man began to calm, his inhalations slow and deep as his body relaxed a fraction, even as blood continued to run down his side and onto the bedspread beneath.

Once his brother was no longer in danger of hyperventilating, Dean leaned down closer to him, staring intently into his eyes.

"You want to tell me what the hell you are going on about?"

Because clearly this was more than just Sam being independent.

"We are both bleeding."

"Yeah, I got that." Dean said, needing a little more than the obvious.

Sam averted his gaze, acting the way he always did when he was anxious.

"And what? You think I'm going to infect you?"

The younger man's eyes went wide and returned to the green ones staring down at him.

"That's it isn't it? That's what I could get out of your ranting anyways."

Sam's mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words were able to escape before Dean proceeded.

"Well that's bullshit and you are way too injured to be going all germaphobe on me."

Dean declared briskly, giving his brother little warning before he put a hand on his chest and quickly tugged his shirt up and away from the still-oozing gash.

Sam grunted in protest, fighting the older man's restraining arm and shouting at him to stop.

Dean paid little mind to the struggles of his younger sibling, and focused instead on examining the marks marring the long torso.

Sam's movements were clumsy, which clearly displayed the toll that the blood-loss was taking on his body, so it was relatively easy for Dean to fight him off.

Until the injured man got desperate.

Sam brought one of his legs up, and shoved it against his brother's chest. Dean grunted as he was roughly forced back, and Sam gasped as he nearly pushed himself off the other end of the bed in the process of kicking his brother away.

Dean dove forward, and was just barely able to grab his brother's arm and knee, to keep him from rolling off the mattress. He pulled Sam swiftly back into the middle of the bed, and roughly grabbed his shoulders and leaned down closer to him.

"Stop it, Sam! Just fucking stop it already! You're going to bleed out if you keep pulling this shit!" He shouted, losing his temper.

"No! Dean, the blood-

"Dude, I'm not diseased! I'm not going to infect you. I swear I haven't been sharing any needles." Dean snapped back sarcastically, waving his arms around in aggravation.

"It's not your blood! It's mine!" Sam hollered, his voice breaking and chest heaving.

Dean froze at that.

"What?" He questioned, confusion clouding his anger.

The desperation faded from Sam's expression, revealing the shame and brokenness underneath.

"Dean, I have demon blood in me. If you touch me with open cuts on your hands, you could get it in you. It could infect you." The young man explained, his hazel eyes filling as he stared beseechingly up at his big brother.

Dean felt like he had taken a sucker punch to the gut, all the oxygen stolen from his lungs.

His kid was sprawled on the bed, bleeding, pale, and sweaty, shaking with emotion and pain; staring up at Dean with huge watery, desperate eyes, because he was so fucking terrified of poisoning his big brother with his own blood.

It tore Dean's heart into pieces.

He had to make all this right, and based on the amount of blood Sammy was losing, he had to do it quickly.

"Hey, Sam. I get it man. But just think about this for a second. The chances of me actually getting any demon blood in my body is minuscule."

Dean wasn't even able to complete his argument before Sam was vehemently shaking his head.

"It's not worth the chance, Dean. It's not, trust me. Please, just patch yourself up first." He begged.

"No, Sam. We don't have time for that."

"But-

"Just listen. You seriously don't think that if it were possible for some of the demon blood in you to find its way in me, that it wouldn't have by now?"

"No! I've made sure. Made sure to be careful! To make sure your cuts aren't open when you patch me up, at least not ones near your hands." Sam insisted.

Something clicked in Dean's mind.

"Is that why you wouldn't let me stitch you up? After we jumped out of that window awhile back? You said it was because my shoulder was dislocated, you didn't want me to make it worse, but it was because you didn't want your blood getting into the small slices I had on my hands from the glass. That was it, wasn't it?"

Sam looked up, chewing on his bottom lip in a display of pure unadulterated guilt.

Dean bit his tongue to keep from giving the kid a lecture, he was losing too much blood for Dean to have the time to express how he felt about Sam's secretive ways.

Speaking of blood, Dean clenched his jaw at the dark red liquid staining his brother's shirt and now his jeans as well.

"Sam, you haven't even been conscious all the times I have patched you up, and I promise you more often than not, I have been injured myself while I stitched you back together. And what about before either of us even knew about the demon blood? What about all the times we got injured growing up? And we patched each other up? You seriously think that your blood never mixed with mine?"

A fact Dean had hoped would calm the young man, had the exact opposite effect.

Sam nearly went into panic mode at the new information.

"No! No, Dean, you can't. It can't be in you!" The injured man's face flooded with horror as he began struggling to leverage himself into a seated position, while he reached out for the very individual he had spent the night avoiding.

Dean leaned in, allowing Sam to grab hold of his shirt and pull him even closer.

"Dean, please tell me you don't have it in you! Please!" Sam rasped tears streaming down his face as his eyes searched the older hunter.

Dean swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat.

He had never seen Sam like this, and it was killing him.

"Sam, I don't, okay? Just calm down. I'm sure there's no demon blood running inside of this fine packaging." He declared with a familiar confidence and a forced smirk.

"But, but how do you know?" Sam questioned, not taking the bait, his hazel orbs alight with fear.

"I'm sure we would have found out by now, dude. One of the dickbag demons or asshole angels would have thrown it in our faces by this point." Dean pointed out, patting the heaving chest and attempting a reassuring smile.

Sam seemed to settle a little, releasing his white-knuckled grip of his brother's shirt, and relaxing back against the mattress.

"Now would you please just let me patch you up? Preferably before you bleed out."

The younger man seemed unsure, so Dean made one last effort before he would resort to just knocking the kid out, because he would do what he had to in order to help his brother.

"Please Sammy." He pleaded softly, his green eyes staring imploringly into the hazel ones.

The shaggy head finally gave a consenting nod.

Dean sighed in relief, taking a quick second to thumb the tears from his brother's face before quickly moving to grab the abandoned supplies.

He coaxed a couple pain meds and half the bottle of water into his little brother.

"No more, I'll puke." Sam declared, pushing the beverage away.

"That's what happens when you lose half your blood, stupid." Dean insulted half-heartedly, as he capped the waterbottle and set it on the night stand before taking the scissors to Sam's shirt.

"Liked this shirt." Sam grumbled, looking lazily down his the fabric being snipped.

Dean released a surprised chuckle before rolling his eyes.

"Dude, it's a blue v-neck, it's the same as the rest of your shirts."

"No s'not." Sam sulked.

"I'll get you a new one." The older man promised as he shook his head; his amused smile fading as he used a towel to absorb the dark liquid seeping out of his brother's shredded skin.

Dean cleansed the wound before assessing how best to repair it.

"Shit, Sammy. This is going to hurt like a bitch." He warned, observing the damaged abdomen, right above his brother's bony hip. Stitching skin that was so torn up was always difficult, and painful.

Sam nodded in understanding, releasing a tired sigh and pressing his head back against the pillow.

"Don't pass out on me." Dean instructed sternly.

Sam peaked down at his brother, one dimple showing.

"I won't. I promise." He assured softly.

Dean grunted his satisfaction, and got to work.

Sam did little more than flinch for the first six stitches, but the seventh had him hissing as the abraded skin was threaded together.

Dean reached over, and patted Sam's leg in apology, as he swiftly proceeded to put his kid back together again.

Sam's torso flinched in pain, causing the needle to pierce the skin deeper than intended. The injured man gasped, fists clenching as Dean readjusted the needle.

"Sorry, buddy." He apologized.

Sam shook his head, forcing his body to relax and easing his hold on the bedsheets.

"It's fine. Hurts a lot less with you doing it. Whenever I've had to stitch myself up...when you were gone...well it was a lot worse." Sam admitted.

Dean nodded, his jaw clenching. He hated that he hadn't been there. That at any point Sam was left to find for himself, and to fix himself up when things went downhill, which probably happened a lot more often without him having any back-up.

There was more silence, Dean on the last few stitches, when Sam spoke up again.

"Sorry for not telling you about the demon blood sooner." His tone soft and sincere.

Dean huffed.

"Would have saved you some blood."

"No, not today. I mean before, when I found out. Sorry for not telling you right away."

Dean sighed, his eyes on his work as his mind wandered. Sam had found out about the demon blood a whole year before Dean went to hell. He had kept it from him that year, and hadn't told Dean when he returned either. But it wasn't like the kid had much of a chance. The year before Dean went downstairs, Sam was completely focused on getting his brother out of the deal. When Dean popped back up on earth, well there was a lot of other shit going on. Sam's mind had been more than occupied since discovering he had been fed demon blood as an infant.

"It's not like you didn't have other stuff on your mind, dude." Dean relented, completing the final stitch and pulling out the anti-septic cream and medical gauze.

"That's an excuse, Dean. I should have warned you."

The older hunter's head shot up at that, his full attention on Sam as he gawked at his little brother.

"You think that's why I wanted to know? So I could be warned? Are you kidding me?"

At Sam's apparent confusion, Dean continued.

"I was pissed that you didn't tell me because I wanted to know so that I could help you dude. Some asshat demon dropped blood in your mouth when you were a baby. That is a huge fucking deal, and you should not have had to shoulder that on your own. You should not have had to deal with something that heavy for so long. And I might have not been able to fix it, but I could have taken some of the weight. I could have helped, Sam."

The last sentence was stated softly, as Dean met his brother's eyes to portray his honest emotion, before turning back to continue his doctoring.

It was a moment before Sam's cracking voice broke the silence.

"I know, Dean. I'm sorry."

The older brother glanced up at the youngest one, smiling softly as he nodded.

"Don't worry about it kiddo, it's over now."

He squeezed Sam's knee in forgiveness and quickly finished bandaging the newly-stitched wound.

"Alright, that should do it." Dean announced, coaxing a little more water into his brother before packing up all the supplies, tossing the cut-up shirt and stained towels into the corner.

Dean shook his head fondly upon noticing Sam was already half-asleep, and he tugged the covers out form underneath him. The bedspread was also marked with red and added to the pile on the floor. Dean reached back and tugged the blanket off his own bed, about to spread it over the long frame, before catching sight of his brother's darkened jeans.

"I hope you didn't go commando today, dude." He muttered as he deftly removed the blood-stained denim.

"Never go commando, tha's gross." Sam slurred, tiredly nuzzling his head against the pillow.

Dean snorted as he tossed the pants onto the pile in the corner, and tugged the bedspread up to cover the sasquatch-sized man sprawled on the bed.

Once he was content that every inch of the younger hunter was covered, Dean smoothed his unruly hair off his forehead, marvelling at how young Sam always looked when he was sleeping, or nearly sleeping.

Dean was just about to move away, when Sam's arm moved up toward him, long thing fingers latching onto his wrist as hazel eyes cracked open to look at him.

"Thanks Dean, for always looking out for me." He whispered, his voice full of that childish adoration and hero-worship that it used to contain when they were kids.

Dean tossed away the idea of his usual that's my job reply, and instead his face grew serious as he leaned down closer to his brother, so Sam could see him clearly.

"I'm always going to look out for you, buddy. I'm always going to take care of you, even if that means I get some demon blood in me. So don't ever try and stop me from doing my job again." He declared, his voice steady and stern, but soft and sincere as well.

Sam forced his eyelids open wider and shook his head.

"I don't want you to get infected. Dean, I can't let you." He insisted passionately.

Dean placed a palm on his brother's forehead, instinctively sliding his thumb back and forth over the kid's temple, a comforting thing he used to do years ago.

"I don't care, Sam. If it makes me more like you, than maybe it's not all that bad."

The younger man's eyebrows shot up at that.

"You're a good man, Sam. The best man I know. You've fucked up a few times lately, but so have I. All humans do. Apocalypse or not, addiction or not, demon blood or not, you are still a good person, Sammy. So whatever you have inside you that makes you who you are, well it can't be all that bad can it?"

Dean's heart clenched at the way his brother's eyes filled. As if the kid hadn't known everything he said to already be the truth. He let Sam search his expression and his eyes for honesty, because he knew his little brother would find it there. Dean believed everything he was saying with all his heart, and he was more than okay with Sam seeing that.

Both brothers stared at each other, a few tears escaping Sam's eyes as he found the truth he was searching for. Dean quickly thumbed the tears away, and blinked at his own to keep them from falling.

"Besides, we pretty much share everything else. Last names, DNA, shaving cream, clothes, why not blood?" Dean said with a smirk, desperate to lighten the moment.

Sam still looked as though he was drowning in emotion, but managed a response nonetheless.

"You wish you could fit in my clothes."

Sam's witty croak, evicted a bark of laughter from his older brother. He swiped the kid's hair off his face one more time before straightening from his hunched position.

"And you wish you could share in my good looks." Dean joked back, revelling in the dimply grin he received.

All the pain, emotion, and blood-loss had wiped Sam out, to the point where even brotherly banter was too much.

"Go too sleep, kiddo." Dean encourage softly, seeing the exhaustion written all over Sam's face and patting his chest encouragingly.

"Go wash your hands and take care of your cuts/" Sam ordered, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"Dude, we just went through this-

"Not because of the blood, Dean, because of the dirt. Drama queen." Sam chortled.

"Shut-up, bitch."

"Jerk"

With a smile Sam let his eyes fall shut, nuzzled further into the pillow, and -after a contented sigh- dropped off to sleep.

Dean stood watch over the youngest Winchester. His heart flooded with love and his protective streak surged as he saw that young look dawn his brother's sleeping face.

Sam had made some undoubtedly shitty decisions, but Dean had been reminded tonight of the fact that his brother, who Sam was deep down inside, really hadn't changed all that much.

Sam's desperate fear and concern for his big brother, his guilt complex, his sensitive nature, his need to be understood, his desire to make things right, his unabashed love for Dean; none of that had changed. It was all a part of Sam from as early on as Dean could remember.

His little brother's heart was still very much the same as it had always been.

It was just the kid's head that had gotten all messed up.

But that was over now, and Dean was getting Sam back, his Sam back, and that was all he had ever needed.

The older man smiled down at his kid, overjoyed with the knowledge that, despite the daunting future that the quite possible end to the planet, all he had ever needed had been returned to him.

His little brother.

Sammy.

The End.

Note: I loved writing this, loved doing something new. I am not so sure about the POV I chose to write it in...but oh well. I would love to know what you think if you have a second to comment/review, I would really appreciate it! Thanks for reading! - Sam