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Dean grips the wheel harder as he feels the first tremors of exhaustion reach his hands. He refocuses his tired eyes, fights against the way the road grows blurry as it stretches out before him, and blinks rapidly to try to make the strange light that bounces off the road markings and signs stop from burning his retinas.He had promised the doctor at the clinic to not overextend himself when he had talked her into discharging both himself and Sam. He knew that Sam would want to recover from his gunshot wound in his own bed and he himself frankly couldn’t stand hospitals anyway, and the longer they stayed the more time the doctors had to ask him about the incident in the medical supply room and he really, really didn’t feel like opening up about that. He can feel the pamphlets in his pocket, the one with ‘There is always hope’ across the cover and the glossy one called ‘Suicide Attempt - a Guide for Friends and Family’ that the doctor insisted he give to Sam, to “help him carry this heavy burden”.That was two minutes after she’d also made him promise to not let Sam do any strenuous activity for the next three weeks so Dean figured he wouldn’t be carrying much of anything for a while.As his mind loses the battle against his exhaustion, the pain of his ribs break away at the wall of silent determination in his head. He still can’t quite seem to take in full breaths and the way his stomach flips and lurches dangerously when he swallows all comes creeping into his consciousness.For the short moment when Sam was awake, at the beginning of the drive, he had focused so much on monitoring any little sign of Sam’s levels of discomfort, the sound of his breathing or the colour of his skin and lips, that he had successfully almost completely pushed away any awareness of his own pain, but his strength was fading.Now Sam was sleeping, his forehead resting against the cool window of the passenger door and Dean shifted in his seat, grimacing in pain, trying to find a more comfortable position. The small movement alone caused a wave of nausea to hit him and he gagged on the bile that rose in his raw throat.The plan had been to drive all the way back home to the bunker. For a while there Dean thought adrenaline and the pure relief of having his brother alive and relatively well by his side would be enough to fuel him. As Sam gave in and allowed himself to sleep - Dean had watched him carefully, knew that his little brother had fought it for more miles than he needed to, the adrenaline gave way to guilt.The sun went down, darkness grew around them and Dean was overwhelmed with thoughts about how cruel and foolish he had been to leave Sam’s side at all in that cabin. He knew he would never forgive himself for that or what came after, and for a few additional hours of driving, that self loathing was what pushed him beyond his limits to keep the car going.Now, feeling his stomach twisting painfully with the need to vomit and his eyes swimming with tears of exhaustion he was ready to accept that the plan would need to change.Sam slept on, his fingers twitching on his lap, his mind caught in a dream that Dean hoped wasn’t a nightmare and the elder Winchester released a shaky breath of relief as he spotted a sign for a roadside motel. He debated with himself for a second if he should wake Sam or leave him sleeping in the car while he went in and got them the room, because the last thing he wanted really was to leave Sam alone but he also knew that his little brother needed all the rest he could get right now so in the end he parked the Impala as close to the office as he could so that he would be able to at least keep an eye on it while he went in.It took him a moment to pull himself out of the car, and he had to stop and rest between swinging his legs out, planting his feet on the pavement, and heaving himself up. He felt the world tilt slightly as he attempted his first step and he groaned with frustration at his own weak state. Sam needed him. Sam needed him to pull them through this, to get Sam back to health and the last thing his brother needed was his useless big brother, who had abandoned him on the floor of a strange cabin with a bullet wound, to burden and let him down further by passing out on the tarmac.He hated the way his breath hitched every time he tried to take a calming breath. He hated himself for what had happened to Sam.His brother wasn’t dead, but he very well could have been, and it was all Dean’s fault. He swore under his breath as he swayed slightly, having to lean against the car to not topple over. He placed a hand carefully over his ribcage, pulling rain heavy evening air into his sore lungs through his nose. He hissed quietly, grinding his teeth against the pain of his bruised chest and his complete failure to do the one thing that counted in this world: keep Sammy safe.The kid is sprawled out in the front seat of Baby still, and Dean carefully bends down to peer at him through the driver’s side window. He just has to check… just needs to make sure… Sam’s still leaning against the door, temple pressed awkwardly against the window and his brow furrowed in what Dean realises is discomfort or fear, plaguing him even in his sleep.Dean hates himself for that too.With another angry grunt and a small shake of the head to try to stop the world from spinning around him he makes it over to the office and when he’s told the only room that’s available is a king he doesn’t hesitate to take it. It’s very possible that he would have taken their standard two single beds and pushed them together anyway if that had been the situation tonight. That way he would be able to hear and feel Sam next to him.By the time he’s moved their duffel bags into the room and it’s time to wake Sam he’s covered in cold sweat and his hands are trembling. There is a strange rush of white noise in his ears and he holds one of his arms over his ribs in a feeble attempt to protect them against the piercing pain that’s shooting through his chest if he takes real breaths.It’s very possible that he’s overdone it a bit, but the pain is also a comfort. Familiar and real somehow, a punishment for not having done a better job, for letting Sam get hurt again… get dead and undead again too.“Hey…” he whispers, grabbing Sam’s shoulder with a trembling hand. “Sam? Sammy?”His voice is hoarse and Sam gasps slightly as he slowly wakes up in the passenger seat. He blinks, tired and confused, at his big brother, who’s staring at him with eyes glazed over with concern, and something else Sam can’t quite recognise.“Where-“ Sam groans as he goes to move but feels the numb pain of his newly stitched side flare up. His legs are stiff from sitting in the car for so many hours and his brain can’t quite take in anything apart from Dean’s pale face.“Not quite home,” Dean admits and Sam thinks he can hear some sort of fear in his tone, or apology. “I need a break, and you need a real bed to sleep on. Come on, let’s get you some real rest, buddy.”Sam nods, let's Dean guide him and support him as he lifts himself out of the car and takes a few unstable steps towards the open door of the motel room. He stumbles slightly, Dean braces the fall though and Sam frowns at the breathless sound his brother makes in the process.“You okay?” Sam asks carefully as Dean guides him through the door and towards the bed. Sam notices the sleeping arrangements - just the one bed, but doesn’t say anything.“‘m fine,” Dean mutters through lips that are starting to go a dangerous shade of purple Sam notices. Dean guides Sam to sit on the edge of the bed while he himself lowers himself to his knees at Sam’s feet, working to get his little brother’s shoes off.“I can just sleep in ‘em,” Sam suggests as he sleepily reaches out and runs his fingers over Dean’s temple. The touch is softer and more intimate than what they usually allow themselves and Dean’s hit with a new wave of guilt. He let Sam down, he left Sam when he should have stayed.“Nah, you need to be comfortable. You have a lot of healing to do.”“So do you,” Sam whispers and Dean doesn’t know what he himself looks like, but he can feel shivers tearing through his body, his shirt is sticking to his back where it’s soaked in cold sweat and his head is throbbing so he can imagine that there are at least a couple of signs of pain on his face and of course Sam would spot them even with a gun shot wound of his own.“You look like crap,” Sam states when Dean doesn’t say anything and Dean tugs Sam’s socks off his feet too before he reaches up, pushing Sam back onto the bed and moves on to remove his brother’s jeans. It’s been a while, Sam thinks, since Dean’s had to undress him for bed, but it’s a very familiar feeling still. Reminds him of being a small child, told that his big brother will read him a story - any one he wants, if he just lets Dean help him into his pyjamas and brush his teeth.Dean doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even try to argue with him and Sam frowns with worry.“D’en?” He mumbles, and he sounds so young that Dean has to bite the inside of his cheek to not cry or something equally embarrassing.“Go back to sleep, Sammy.”“Your ribs hurting?”“Nah,” Dean does his best to dismiss the idea. “I’ll live.” He pulls the duvet over his tall brother, tucking him in like he did when he was little and Sam remembers the frayed, heavy blanket they kept in the Impala, and how Dean would bring it in from the car for him when Sam couldn’t sleep… there was something magical about that damn ratty blanket. Always helped him settle. He supposes it smelled like their version of home.“Do you need some painkillers? You should have some of mine-“ Sam moves to sit up and look for the paper bag from the pharmacy with all the good prescription stuff he’d been sent off with.“No, I can’t—“ Dean hurries before stopping himself awkwardly. He smiles but Sam looks back at him with big confused eyes as Dean’s own eyes are glazed over with pain. “I mean I can’t take those, they’re for you, for a reason. You need them.”“I’m comfortable enough right now,” Sam pushes but Dean shakes his head and gently guides him back onto the bed.“They gave me loads of them-“.“Sleep, Sammy. I just need some sleep myself and I’ll be back to my awesome self in the morning.”“You promise you’ll raid my stash of pain medication if you need to though?” Sam begs, his voice starting to slur.“Yeah,” Dean lies, giving Sam’s chest a small pat. “Night Sammy. See you in the morning.”“You’ll be here?” Sam mumbles after a short moment of silence, his hand reaching out to the empty side of the bed, his eyes closed now and Dean nods.“Yes, I’m going to be right here, right next to you all night and if you kick me in your sleep I’ll send you out to sleep in the car,” he warns playfully, making his heart ache with even more guilt.“Good,” Sam mumbles under his breath and Dean hates himself even more. How could he ever have left him in that damn cabin?!The room is completely dark when Sam drags a heavy hand over his eyes, slowly pulling his sleepy mind towards consciousness. He’s not sure what’s woken him up at first, but just then he hears it.The whimper. The very unlike Dean whimper, that Sam still instantly knows is his brother.He allows his head to fall to the side and instinctively reaches for Dean in the bed. His sleepy mind brushes against the memory of motel nights just like this one, when they were kids and still shared a bed and he would sleep with his fingers wrapped around Dean’s wrist or his hand fisted in Dean’s soft t-shirt.Now his fumbling hand lands on Dean’s back and despite his sleepy state and his wound feeling tight and sore his brain snaps back to the present and immediately zeros in on the fact that his brother is trembling. His long fingers curl into the fabric of Dean’s washed thin t-shirt and he tugs carefully, wanting Dean to move onto his back. It doesn’t work, and Sam shakily heaves himself up on one elbow, peering over Dean’s shoulder, trying to make out his face in the dark.His larger than life big brother is curled up tightly on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest and he’s still shaking, his teeth chattering between low, broken whimpers. Sam frowns with worry and tugs at Dean again.“Hey,” he whispers hoarsely, his voice thick with sleep and exhaustion. “Dean.”He gets no response and if it weren’t for the fact that Dean’s breath hitched painfully with each breath he took in his sleep, Sam would have been worried that he wasn’t asleep but passed out. He pushes himself up, holds a hand to his side to protect the stitches and scoots closer to his brother on the bed. He throws a quick glance at the bedside table behind Dean and spots the neon numbers on the digital alarm clock. 04.07.He doesn’t even know what time they had arrived or when they had fallen asleep but judging by how he still felt like he had been hit by a car (or shot) he figured it can’t have been too long ago. They both need more sleep.“Dean…” he tries again, a little louder now and he nearly jumps when his brother suddenly heaves himself over the edge of the bed, bile and sick spilling through his lips.“Woah, hey, hey… easy,” Sam soothes, while scrambling forward on the bed to try to reach over Dean to find something for him to throw up into. It’s too late and too dark and he winces at the sharp pain that pierces his own side as he struggles to steady his half conscious brother as he continues to puke loudly over the side of the bed and onto the dirty motel carpet.“S-sorry,” Dean stutters through chattering teeth, wiping at his mouth, eyes still closed against the darkness of the room and the embarrassment of what has just happened. Sam stares at him, eyes full of confusion which shifts to determination the second he realises that Dean is now attempting to get up.“No, hey…” Sam insists, “stay right there. I’ll get you some water and a towel. We’ll get you all cleaned up and you can go back to sleep. Are you in pain? How’s your head? Ribs?”“I…” Dean trails off, his jaw clenched suddenly and he shakes his head no. Sam wants to cry, and shake his stubborn brother too.“Dean.”“’m fine,” Dean whispers and Sam can’t bring himself to believe him. He gets out of the bed and switches the bedside light on, flooding the room in a dull orange glow that reveals that his big brother is not only shaking but also deathly pale against the cheap motel sheets. Sam shuffles towards the small bathroom in the search for something to clean Dean up with.The sour smell of sick lingers in the stuffy room even after Sam’s attempted to clean the carpet the best he could, with the limited supplies he had at hand. Dean had protested, tried multiple times to get out of bed himself to do it, but Sam had been able to push him back onto the bed without much effort. With no effort at all really, and that was the last straw for the younger Winchester, who now sat on the edge of the bed watching as his brother loses his battle against sleep.He listens to Dean’s shallow, but even breathing for a moment longer before he feels sure that Dean is fully asleep again. He staggers across the room, his legs feeling stiff with exhaustion and his side throbbing again after the effort of cleaning both his brother and the floor.He digs through his duffel that Dean must have carried inside for him and fishes out his laptop. With another quick glance towards the bed to make sure Dean is still fast asleep he sets the computer up on the small desk, absentmindedly running his finger over old water rings on the worn wooden top of the table. He hesitates for a moment, letting his sleepy mind come to terms with what he is about to do. The violation of privacy would normally have bothered Sam more, but something else was nagging at him now, something that had felt off ever since Dean had checked them out of the clinic, claiming that he’d known all along that Sam wasn’t dead.It took him a moment, and he had to hack his way into the medical records of a few of Dean’s most used aliases before he found the right ones but his stomach turns dangerously and he feels his own nausea rise within him, his heart beating loudly in his ears, drumming all the way out into his fingers as his eyes dart across the page when he finds the last updated ones.The dates aligns, and he knew Dean had a couple of broken ribs - had nursed him back to health from that himself more than enough times to recognise the way he carried himself, the shallow breaths and the stiff arm coming up to protect his middle when he accidentally moved or breathed in a way that strained his lungs so that confirmed it too. He was looking in the right place, but kept scanning the notes for more detail. Something was going on, something Dean wasn’t telling him.Sam’s brow knits in confusion as his eyes finally spot words like ‘overdose’, ‘cardiac arrest’, ‘activated charcoal’… He stares at the page before him, eyes jumping to ‘adrenaline injection’ and ‘chest compressions'… He swallows hard past his own panicked panting now - his breath hitching in his chest as pure horror grips him tight. His stupid, stubborn, over protective brother had attempted suicide it said.It was right there, spelled out in black letters. Sam blinks at the sickening information noted in just enough detail to be able to inform a future medical contact of what to expect and what to do, but to the young Winchester it paints a picture he will see in his nightmares, for months to come.Injection site over his heart, Naloxone… Sam reads on, gripping the desk so tightly with fear that his knuckles turns white. Suddenly he knew exactly why Dean had said no to taking his painkillers. It was written right there, that his stomach lining was so damaged from the overdose that he was specifically instructed to not take anything, not even children’s aspirin, for at least seven days and Sam felt tears burn behind his eyes.“What the hell did you do…” Sam whispers into the dark room, his voice thick with fear, relief and exhaustion. He’s angry too - mad that Dean would do anything so stupid, so incredibly dangerous and furious that his brother had meant to keep it from him. He rubs a hand over his face, releasing a shaky breath trying to come to terms with the fact that he could just as well have fought his way back from his own injury only to have to bury Dean, his stomach full of pills and his veins full of poison.Before he can stop himself Sam finds himself getting up, crossing the small room back to the bed and he sinks down to his knees next to Dean’s side, ignoring the painful pull on his stitched up side.He slowly pushes the duvet down Dean’s sleeping body, leaving it bunched low over his hips and he lifts the thin material of Dean’s t-shirt up over his chest where he lies on his back. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s aware of the fact that his brother subconsciously knows it’s him that’s touching him, and that anyone else so much as breathing in his direction while he’s asleep would have found themselves pushed against the wall by now, knife or gun at their throat. Even in his sleep Dean knows Sam’s presence from the presence of anyone else and that thought alone makes Sam choke on tears again.Dean’s chest is covered in bruises, and Sam swears he can make out handprints over his chest where the hospital staff had forcefully coaxed his heart to start beating again. Sam touches Dean’s chest, right over his heart, spots the faint injection point where a needle had pierced him and winces at the dark purple and blue bruise that’s formed around it, like an angry splash of ink.Sam doesn’t know when exactly Dean had woken up, but when he lets his eyes travel from Dean’s exposed stomach and chest up to his pale face he finds tired, green eyes open and looking up at him.“Don’t you ever do that again,” Sam growls, his voice deep and rough with emotion and Dean closes his eyes against the pain of seeing Sam so upset. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”“It worked out-“ Dean starts but Sam lowers his warm forehead where he still sits, kneeling on the floor next to the bed, to come to rest on Dean’s shoulder and for a moment they’re both silent. Sam breathes in deeply, his breath hitching a couple of times, his throat tight with emotion. He feels the warmth of Dean’s body seep into his own skin and he forces away the images in his head, the ones where Dean lies cold and pale, foam spilling out of his mouth, organs failing. Alone, surrounded by strangers. His heart still and broken over the baby brother he thought he had failed.Dean can feel his little brother’s shudder as it runs through his body, and he whispers against Sam’s hair.“I’m okay. I’m still here. We both are.”“You can’t leave me,” Sam whines against Dean’s shoulder and he sounds so young. Dean presses his mouth against the top of Sam’s head where it’s pressed against him. He’s too tired to move, nausea still settled deep in his stomach and the way his little brother is trembling against him makes his chest ache with more than just bruised ribs.“I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m here now.”“You can’t leave me here on my own,” Sam repeats, as if he’s not heard Dean at all.“I won’t. I will never leave you,” Dean promises into the darkness of the motel room and he finds himself wishing that he’d just managed to drive all the way back to the bunker after all. Something within him is desperate for them to be home for this. Safe and locked away from the rest of the world.Sam breathes heavily against him, Dean can tell that he’s just about keeping sobs at bay and he closes his eyes against the wave of guilt that hits him again. Sam has every right to beg him to not leave his side, after all, that was exactly what he had done in that cabin. Him walking away from Sam when he needed him was what started this chain reaction of desperation and momentary death in the first place.“Come back to bed, Sammy,” Dean pleads drowsily, and Sam digs his long fingers into Dean’s arm, clinging to him. He’s still crouched on the floor next to the bed and Dean reaches for him.“Hey, Sam? You need to get off the floor. You’re going to pull your stitches.”“No I need… I-I need,” Sam whispers against Dean’s warm skin, panic tearing at him from deep within, “I need to read up more on, on how I can help you. I need- I need to call the doc-““‘m fine, Sammy,” Dean tries to assure him but Sam’s trembling against him, and Dean’s instantly afraid that his brother is going to fall head first into triage and research mode out of desperation, slipping away from him. “Hey, will you look at me? Please?”Sam finally does, hazel eyes brimming with tears, his face ghostly pale apart from rosy cheeks. Dean’s stomach twists painfully with the knowledge that Sam needs rest and is most likely fighting off a low grade infection. The last thing he needs, Dean thinks bitterly, is to be stuck caring for his stupid big brother.“Why?” Sam grinds out, gaze locked with Dean’s, tired eyes suddenly flashing with anger, like he’s just read Dean’s self critical mind. “Why would you harm yourself in this way- hurt the person I love so damn much?!”“I…” Dean sighs, rubbing a trembling hand over his face. “You know why,” he whispers and Sam groans.“Dean!”“I’m doing this with my brother by my side, or not at all…”“And you think it’s any different for me?!”Dean closes his eyes to block out the deep, sharp hurt swirling in Sam’s hazel eyes. Yes, Dean thinks, of course it’s different - Sam’s supposed to have more, see more… After all this time, Dean is still just as terrified of being left behind as he is to be the reason Sam stays.“Dean.” Sam presses, voice thick with emotion and Dean sighs.“Can we- can we just agree that I fucked up and- and go back to sleep?”“No!” Sam bites back. “Dean I’m serious! You killed yourself-““Only a little bit,” Dean mutters and Sam stares at him.“Don’t do that!”“Do what?” Dean asks, energy clearly faltering, fingers trembling as he digs them into the cheap motel sheets.“Don’t pretend like it doesn’t matter,” Sam whispers into the dim room and Dean stills on the bed. “Like you don’t matter.”“I’m okay.““You’re not! Have you looked in a mirror? Do you have any idea what you look like?!”“Probably still hotter than you,” Dean tries to tease and Sam rolls his eyes and that makes Dean feel better than any painkillers. He shoots Sam a small, tired smile. “I think we both look like we’ve fought our way back from the dead tonight, okay… and we both need sleep. I’m sorry I tossed my cookies like that,” Dean adds, cheeks heating up with embarrassment and Sam finally moves to clumsily lie down next to his brother, staring at the ceiling.“You don’t understand…” Sam whispers after a moment of silence, his hand resting so close to Dean’s on the bed that he can feel the clammy heat coming off his big brother’s skin. “I wouldn’t have been able to hang on if I would have come back only to be told you were dead.”“No, Sam,” Dean whispers back, “I know. I understand. I— without you I’m just some reckless asshole with a very awesome car. I don’t know how to be me, without you. I’m sorry, for everything.”Silence hangs over them, shadows moving over the dusty ceiling, yellow light washing over the windows with each passing truck out on the main road.“Okay.”Dean glances carefully at Sam.“Okay?”“Okay, you and me… we will just have to stay alive and together then, won’t we?”“Yeah,” Dean agrees, nodding in the dark, lying next to Sam. “I need to check your stitches,” Dean adds after a moment and Sam places a protective hand over his bandaged side.“In the morning, if you promise to tell me next time you start feeling nauseous and let me call the clinic to ask the doctor how I best take care of you while you recover.”“Sam…” Dean protests gently in the dark.“It’s how we stay alive and together, man. You have to let me in, allow me to see the stuff that needs healing.”“I messed up,” Dean confesses with a sigh. “I can fix it, alright, I can take care of you, make sure you get better. That’s what I can do. That’s what I need to do.”“When will you get through your thick scull that I need the same things? That I need to make sure you’re okay too?”Dean doesn’t answer, just shifts so he’s pressed to Sam's side where they both lie on their backs on the bed. Dean can feel himself falling asleep when Sam’s voice brings him back to the surface.“Hey, Dean?”“Mm?”“You remember when we were little, you had pneumonia… we were in that cabin in Montana?”Dean smiles in the dark, though his memories of that particular cold February are a bit fuzzy for him he knows what Sam’s talking about.“Dad got so fed up with me crying about how I thought you would die,” Sam continues softly and Dean twists his head to the side, glancing at his brother in the dark room, so close his nose nearly grazes Sam’s temple. “He finally let me crawl into bed with you and he placed my hand…” Sam trails off, carefully shifting onto his side, and Dean silently curls his fingers around Sam’s wrist, lifting his brother’s hand up to place it over his chest the way he knows little five year old Sammy had slept every night for two weeks that winter all those years ago.“So you know I’m okay,” Dean fills in for Sam, feeling Sam’s fingertips dig into his skin just above his heart. Dean shifts over onto his side too, coming face to face with his brother who takes his other hand and pulls Dean’s hand to his own chest, mirroring their positions.“Sleep, Dean,” Sam whispers, eyes falling closed and his breath warm and familiar against Dean’s face where they share the pillow they’re resting on. He burrows his own fingers into Sam’s chest, feeling the life there, the heart beating steadily.They’d come too close today, Dean thinks as he finally allows himself to be lulled back to sleep, the safe beating of Sam’s heart under his palm keeping his own nausea at bay. Too close to being separated. Never again, Dean thinks as he rests his forehead against Sam’s, finally giving in to his exhaustion.Never again.