For ISEL who wanted Sam taking care of his big brother :) Hope you enjoy this!

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A Supernatural Fanfic

Dean Winchester was a professional. Anything that went bump in the night, he was your man to get rid of it.

Of course, that didn't mean that he didn't trip up sometimes, and get into a tight spot. This is why hunting alone was never a good idea, especially when he was hunting something he hadn't even seen before, and, of course, he had to get bit by it too, in addition to already getting on the wrong side of its claws.

He hadn't really meant to go on a hunt alone, it was just that Sam was doing the Trials and Dean wanted him to have a little time off, rest up before the next one since he seemed to have taken killing the hellhound harder than they had both expected. Dean wanted to keep an eye on his little brother, but he was also going stir crazy in the bunker and couldn't ignore the headlines when they practically screamed the supernatural.

So, he'd done the dumb thing against Sam's wishes and gone out to hunt it alone.

Big mistake.

He made it back to the motel—just barely. He was bleeding like a stuck pig, and worse, he felt a little woozy. The bite wound just below his elbow was burning now and he was sure that was a bad thing. There was also the deep claw marks across his ribs to consider—and after the ones he'd gotten from the hellhound had just barely healed.

It didn't take long for him to soak most of the towels in the room, leaving a gory mess in the bathtub as he slumped on the toilet and did his best to clean and bandage the injuries himself. His hands were clumsy, and he found it hard to unwind the gauze to wrap around his side. He had to leave his arm uncovered. He hissed when he poured peroxide over it and watched it bubble, but it didn't make him feel much better. He felt sick from losing so much blood—or, maybe that was from the bite. He was pretty sure that thing had some sort of venom in it, otherwise, why else would he feel this bad?

He did what he could and hauled himself upright, hoping to get to his bed before he collapsed.

His phone rang and he dug it from his pocket, tapping at it clumsily to answer.

"Yeah?" he slurred.

"Dean? Hey, just checking in. How's the hunt going?"

Dean gripped the door frame of the bathroom and tried to stay upright long enough to get to his bed. "S'mmy," he murmured. "I, uh, don't feel so good. Think I messed up."

He heard his brother's concerned voice on the other end of the phone, but wasn't paying much attention. The phone slipped from his hand and he finally toppled.

Luckily the bed was there to catch him and he fell on it face-first, eyes sliding shut as unconsciousness overcame him.

Sam was on the road five minutes after he got Dean's call. Luckily his phone had stayed on, even if Dean couldn't talk, so he was able to track the gps. Worry gnawed at him, adding to the nausea that seemed more and more prevalent since he had done the first Trial. It wasn't like Dean to admit to messing up so whatever had happened must have been pretty bad. The only comfort Sam had was that the gps signal was coming from a motel so hopefully Dean had gotten to safety before he collapsed or whatever.

Still, it took way too long to get there, especially if his brother was hurt. Sam felt huge relief when he pulled up outside the motel and saw the Impala parked in front of one of the rooms. He swallowed hard when he saw a drop of blood on the threshold and some more on the doorknob. He tried it, found it was locked and took out his lockpicks.

"Dean?" he called as he entered the room, pushing the door open.

He saw his brother instantly, sprawled across the bottom half of the bed as if he had simply collapsed there. His breathing was ragged and labored and Sam could see bloody bandages wrapped around his torso.

"Dean!" he called, louder, but his brother didn't stir. Sam reached out and touched his shoulder, pulling away as he felt how hot Dean was. If he had a fever already, that was probably a bad sign.

Sam carefully rolled him onto his back and Dean groaned, eyes fluttering.

"Dean, hey, it's me," Sam said, leaning over him, pressing the back of his hand against Dean's forehead. "God, you're burning up."

"Mm, S'mmy," Dean murmured, eyes barely opening. "How'd you get here?"

"I tracked your phone because you sounded like you needed help," Sam said, wincing as he pulled back the bandages from around Dean's ribs to reveal deep scores in his flesh. "Looks like it's a good thing I did."

"Should be resting," Dean said, his tone slightly accusing.

Sam snorted "You're one to talk." He looked around. "You got the first aid kit somewhere?"

"Bathroom," Dean grunted, trying to sit up before Sam pushed him back. "S'm, it's th' bite."

"The bite?" Sam asked with a frown, before he looked down at Dean's flopping arm and his eyes widened. He grabbed his brother's wrist and gently prodded the wound. Gross discharge was already coming out.

"What the hell did this?" he demanded.

"Some ghoul-like thing, I dunno." Dean shook his head weakly. "Never seen one."

Sam pressed his lips into a worried line and went to get the med kit. "Okay, I'll try draining it and hope that works."

He hurried into the bathroom to wash his hands and look for a towel, but it seemed like Dean had already used all the towels to staunch the flow of blood. Well, it wasn't like the bedspread hadn't already been ruined with Dean laying on it. Sam was more worried about how dirty it was. But it seemed they would just have to make do.

Sam set the first aid stuff on the bedside table and grabbed his brother under the arms, heaving him up until he was settled more comfortably onto the bed. Dean grunted a protest, wincing as the movement jostled his wounds, but his head lolled back on the pillows.

"Alright, this is gonna hurt," Sam said reluctantly, as he reached for a penknife they had in their kit. He pulled a lighter out and ran the blade under the flame long enough for it to sterilize. Then he reached into Dean's duffle bag, dropped on the floor by the bed and pulled out a flask. He poured some of the whisky over the knife as well and then reached out to slip his hand under Dean's head, raising him up.

"Drink," he said, pressing the flask to his lips.

Dean's eyes fluttered and he gulped a little. "No' gonna do an'thing," he slurred.

He was probably right, but still, it would be better than nothing. Sam braced himself, and cut along the infected wound, squeezing until blood flowed freely.

Dean groaned and jerked on the bed, trying to yank his arm away. Sam held his arm down and set his other hand on his brother's chest. "Sorry, I'm sorry. Just a little bit more."

He squeezed the wound and watched in disgust as nasty discharge eked out. He wiped it away with some gauze and took up the knife again, cutting across the other side of the marks to make sure he got all the infection out.

Dean keened in pain, and tensed. Sam hated seeing his brother in pain, even more so knowing he was the cause of it.

"Almost done," he said, and was relieved to see that the blood was flowing clean now, just bright red without any pus. He let the wound bleed a little more just in case, then dabbed it and poured some of the whisky over it.

Dean cried out, jerking again, and Sam patted his shoulder comfortingly. "It's okay, I'm done." He threw the knife to one side and taped some gauze over the wound.

Sam then turned to the claw marks in Dean's side. They were pretty deep, but he thought he would just butterfly them after cleaning them out well. Since the bite wound had gotten infected so quickly, he was wary of stitching any germs up inside.

He wet a cloth with the whisky and cleaned the wounds as well as he could. They didn't look infected, but he was going to be watching them closely just in case.

Dean was pretty much unconscious by the time he was done. He gently pulled the bloody coverlet from under him—that would have to be burned—and the sheet as well which he laid gently over top of his brother.

Sam then cleaned up the first aid stuff and, tired himself now, pulled a chair over to the side of the bed to sit and keep vigil. Dean's breathing was still a little shallow but he seemed to be doing a bit better. Sam reached out to put a hand to his forehead and decided after a moment that his fever was going down. It would have to be enough.

Dean woke groggily, feeling like he had gotten rolled through a meat grinder. He blinked, wetting his dry lips and glanced around.

"Dean?"

He blinked again to clear his vision and saw Sam leaning over him, tired, but smiling cautiously.

"S'm?" Dean murmured wondering how his brother was here and then he remembered Sam had come to find him, tended his wounds when he probably would have died on his own.

"Hey, how do you feel?" Sam asked him.

"Hm, like hammered crap," Dean groaned, reaching up to rub his eyes before he realized his arm hurt. A lot. He looked at the bandage and vaguely remembered Sam draining it. He swallowed hard and looked back up at his little brother instead. "Thanks."

Sam smiled. "You shouldn't have gone on the hunt alone in the first place."

"Yeah, I know, you told me so," Dean muttered, closing his eyes again. "Still, thanks for actually showing up."

Sam's hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed. "Any time, Dean. You know I'll always be there."

Dean murmured something but he was already drifting back off to sleep, feeling safe with his little brother watching over him. Even though that was usually his job, he was okay to reverse the roles this once.

And yeah, he probably wasn't going to be hunting solo again for a while.