Remember This

Part 2

"Dammit! Shit, Dean. Goodammit!" Sam cursed under his breath as he half-dragged, half-carried his brother into the room.

The older hunter let out a grunt, but other than that he remained silent. His shirt was sticky, soaked in sweat and blood from the gash across his abdomen. Although it had stopped bleeding profusely a few minutes ago, Dean had still lost a lot of blood.

Finally in the room, Sam helped Dean to the bed closest to the door and propped him against the headboard before rushing for the first-aid kit. Back with his brother, he cut off Dean's shirt and carefully peeled it away from the wound. Dean hissed, and Sam spared him a brief glance. The older man's eyes were closed, and his face was scrunched in pain. Sam's heart was pounding hard inside his chest, and he had to avert his eyes, because the hated to see Dean in pain; it made his stomach twist and churn, and his eyes sting.

Sam swallowed his emotions down, steeled himself against Dean's discomfort, and focused on the wound. After cleaning it the best he could, he could finally see that it wasn't too bad. It was definitely going to need stitches, but nothing vital had been affected and Dean wasn't bleeding to death anymore.

The rush of knee-weakening relief that washed over him with the realization elicited a short snort from the younger hunter. It had been too close. A few inches deeper or in a more delicate spot, and that would have been it.

Sam's hands started to shake. He felt the urge to laugh again, but his vision was tunnelling and his emotions bubbled so close to the surface it would take only the slightest push to have them exploding all over the place. He swallowed convulsively in his fight to get a grip, but when he felt his throat closing up, his breath hitched and he knew he was bordering on panic.

Luckily, in that moment he felt Dean's grounding hand brushing his, and he instinctively raised his eyes to meet his brother's gaze.

"It's okay," Dean said, as steadily as he could manage. "I'm okay."

Ashamed, Sam gave a curt nod and looked down, forcing some air into his lungs and trying to hide the fact that Dean's soft, reassuring tone had brought him even closer to tears.

"It's- " Sam cleared his throat, "It's gonna need stitches."

Dean nodded his agreement. His permission, so to speak. Sam pulled away from his brother's hand and stood up awkwardly.

"I'll bring you something for the pain," he mumbled as his gaze spotted their duffle bags.

"No."

Sam turned around to face Dean, surprise evident on his face.

"No?"

"I don't want painkillers," Dean clarified.

"B-But—" Sam stuttered, absolutely taken aback.

Sure, Dean had never been crazy about drugs, but he had a gash across his belly! Besides, it wasn't as if they kept a stash of morphine locked in the trunk. Tylenol or Advil wouldn't go beyond taking the edge off the pain. At most, it would make his brother sleepy...

"You've got to be kidding me," Sam growled, as soon as the reason behind Dean's refusal hit him.

Dean's eyes didn't waver from Sam's which were now sparkling with fury. His brother's calmness unnerved him and all the fear that had gripped him when he had seen his brother on the ground became mingled with rage in his tone.

"This is ridiculous, Dean! You have your damn stomach ripped open, for Christ's sake! And your main concern is that you might fall asleep?

Dean's eyes hardened defensively. Never good at dealing with his own vulnerability when it was out in the open, the older Winchester's retort was laced with venom.