Sam’s first thought was yelling out loud ‘son of a bitch’ (wouldn’t Dean be proud?) and he would to, if he hadn’t just had the wind knocked out of him. His second thought, as his body was slammed against the wall and his face connected, not so kindly, to the purple- based wallpaper, was that the black and white thing printed continuously throughout the entire wallpaper was a flying cow! It had been nagging at the back of his mind for two days now, what that thing could be (the wallpaper was faded and stained something yellow and Sam could battle a three headed serpent any time but volunteering to come in close contact with questionable stains? No thank you) and now, now he could sleep at night knowing it was a friggin flying cow.

The third thing that came to his mind and the one that he actually voiced out loud was this: “What the FUCK Dean!”

Because they had just returned from a hunt (Sam killed his first three headed gigantic serpent and saved Dean from being choked and big brother was still pissed about that, but still, this was uncalled for!) and Sam was tired and was looking forward to passing out on his bed in this weirdly decorated motel room and wasn’t expecting Dean to grab his wrist from behind and slammed him against this stained wall, knocked the air out of his body and locked him in place.

“You know I could’ve not stop and snap your neck instead and that’d be the end of you?” Dean said instead.

“Are you expecting me to thank you for not killing me?” Sam said and then, not waiting for his brother’s reply, stomped his left foot down hard on Dean’s foot, surprised big brother a little and with no mercy whatsoever, nudged his elbow back, where it hit Dean squarely against his ribs.

Dean staggered back a little, muttered a soft ‘son of a bitch’ and Sam couldn’t help but smirk and turned to face his brother in one smooth motion and grabbed Dean’s wrist.

He found his brother’s gaze and said, “Because I won’t.” And then proceeded to swipe his leg under Dean’s, a move which dropped Dean smacked on his butt.

A small gasp of frustration made Sam winced. That was going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow and almost felt sorry for his brother until he felt a force pulling him forward and before he knew it, he was falling right on top of Dean.

Mid air, he felt a palm smacked right on his sternum (and wasn’t that just friggin brilliant?) and a push on his shoulder made him tumbled a little and before he knew it, his head had smacked against the floor and his body pinned down by a pissed off looking Dean.

“Christo!”

“I’m not possessed you moron!”

“So you’re just killing me for fun?”

“You just don’t get it, you idiot!”

Sam wasn’t really listening, he reached out for any part of Dean, found the front of his shirt, yanked him roughly towards him, using Dean’s weight as leverage to pull himself up and within the next few seconds, their positions had reversed.

“You could explain instead of giving me a concussion, you jerk!”

“What if that wasn’t me Sam? What if something was in this room huh? It could get to you as simple as that.”

Sam loosened his grab on Dean’s shoulder when he felt his brother relaxed under him. He moved to sit next to Dean on the floor but his brother remained lying on his back, staring at the water stained ceiling, catching his breath.

“First of all, the room is littered with salts and we’ve left protection sigils all over so nothing can come in.” Sam pointed out. “And if something as powerful as the yellow eyed demon is waiting for me in here, I’d have sensed it.”

Dean offered nothing in return and Sam wondered if his ADD of a brother was making out a shape out of the water stained ceiling. It was a favourite past time of theirs back when they were kids.

Dad would be in one of his extra protective mode and wouldn’t allow them out of some random motel room they’d been holed in and Sam was a step closer to a cabin fever and one day, Dean had just dropped the comic book he was reading, got out of his bed and laid next to Sam on his bed and pointed to the ceiling and said, “Look.”

“See that thing there?”

“It’s called a water stain.”

“Says you.” Dean had snorted. “I see a dragon.”

“Dean, don’t be stupid.”

“Would you just look for a second?”

“I’m still seeing yellow, brownish stains and now I wanna puke, thanks!”

Dean didn’t seem to hear Sam and kept pointing. “There, those bumps in the middle? That’s the body right? And that curve at the back is its tail and that huge round thing to your left? That’s the eye.”

Sam studied it for a while, eyes training on the things that Dean pointed out and suddenly, it was like an epiphany had dropped on him and he just, see.

“Oh! Those two tiny circles is its snout!” Sam exclaimed.

“Yes, that’s it. Can you see the fire?”

Sam had frowned then and turned his head sideways to look at Dean. “Is the dragon burning on the ceiling too?”

“What? No!” Dean shook his head and avoided Sam’s eyes. His hand reached up and pointed to a cloud of stain to their left. “See that? Those are the fire that comes out of its mouth. Dragons breathe fire, remember?”

“Besides, you’re here with me. You’d sense it if something’s wrong.” Sam continued when the memory faded away and the silence had stretched for too long.

“That’s exactly the problem.” Dean replied as he pushed himself up, avoiding any kinds of eye contact and walked towards the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

Dean didn’t have to say it but it was loud and clear for Sam to hear. Unless he figured something out, Dean has less than a year, and then, there’d be no one Sam can depend on and Dean just wanted to make sure Sam was ready for that.

~SN~

Sam had just stepped out of the bathroom after his shower, (clean shirt on his back and a new pair of jeans that doesn’t reek of mud and blood and lingering smell of some cheap motel bar soap on his body) when he found Dean seated at the study table, shirtless and attempting to clean a cut on his lower back and not quite reaching it. It would be kind of funny if it hadn’t been for a fact that his entire back was a little flushed than normal and Sam could identify the tell tale signs of bruises that would appear by morning.

That three-headed serpent wasn’t a gig Sam would want to get reacquainted with any time soon. Dean had said it was the best gig they’d had in a while. Beats the same old salt and burn crap, Sammy.

Sam had done his own self-check while in the shower and was mentally preparing for some black and blue bruises come morning and from the red ants bite pains he had felt littering all over his body, knew there were tons of small cuts that needed to be cleaned before infections of any kind had the chance to settle in.

Looking at Dean now, he knew the same could be said about his brother.

Most brothers bonded over their favourite baseball team winning, or getting drunk watching Wrestle Mania on TV, but the Winchester brothers? They bond over cuts and bruises, of pills and alcohol and small talks to chase the pain away.

“You’re doing great Sammy.”

“Shut up Dean!” Sam hissed, his concentration solely on the mission at hand, willing his fingers not to tremble too much.

“Hey, I’m here for moral support.”

“You’re bleeding to death, that’s what you’re doing right now, so shut up!” Sam panicked.

“I’m not bleeding to death,” Dean muttered. “You’re such a girl.”

“Dean I’m fourteen okay? I know nothing about stitching people up!” Sam argued. “We should wait for Dad, he’d know what to do.”

“Can’t wait for dad,” Dean said. “’Sides, there’s a first to everything. Once you’re ready to hunt-”

“I’d like my first time to be sewing the skin of a piece of pork, just like Dad made you practice on. Not like this!”

“Just one more…and then you need to tie it nice and tight…clean it with alcohol and…and…”

“Don’t you dare pass out on me!” Sam cried. “Dean!”

He walked over to his brother, dragged the empty chair and placed it right behind Dean and grabbed for the cotton, knowing it’d get a reaction out of his brother.

“Dude!”

There.

“Let me do that,” Sam said and then realising that that alone wouldn’t cut it, added, “then you can do mine.”

Dean grumbled but muttered ‘fine’.

There weren’t that many cuts on Dean’s back and most of them were superficial and that was okay because the thing that was worrying Sam the most was how tender his back was, which could only confirmed Sam’s suspicions that those black and blues were on their way.

Dean had remained silent throughout the entire process that Sam was beginning to think that his brother had managed to sleep sitting up.

“Hey Dean?”

“Hmmm?”

“Turn around for me, I need to check if-”

“I’ve got those covered,” Dean replied without turning back. “You know I can reach my front and clean after myself. You’re such a pervert.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“You did not just roll your eyes.”

Sam rolled his eyes again, just on principles.

“Any other injuries you’re planning on hiding from me which I should know about?”

Dean turned around then and smirked. “Now why would I tell you if I want to hide them?”

Sam pressed his lips together and gave Dean his patented ‘I’m being serious you asshole’ look.

“My back ached from the under the leg swipe stunt you gave me asshole.”

“You sure that’s not just a sign of old age?”

Dean glared and grabbed the bottle of disinfectant solution from him and started dabbing some on the cotton. “Leave the smartass comments to the Winchester who is actually funny and stick to your geek boy routine okay Sammy?”

“Dean, you have a problem if you think you’re funny.”

“Dude, just turn around so we can get this over and done with okay?”

“You’re not passing out on me.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Don’t be such a girl, it’s almost done.”

“Ow! Dean, are you trying to kill me?”

“You’re as good as dead if I don’t do this.”

“Shit…” Sam stole another glance at the gash on his arm. Tiny my ass! “Dad’s gonna be pissed as hell.”

“Yeah well, he’s always pissed kiddo.”

“How can you stand this man? It fucking hurts!”

“You’ll get used to it,” Dean muttered. “Think of it this way Sammy; chicks dig scars, so from today onwards, you’re officially a step closer to being as cool as me.”

“Dean, less talk and more stitching okay? I don’t want you to disfigure me.”

Dean actually ppft at him. “Dude, you totally underestimate my stitching skills. I’ve patched Dad up so many times and the old man still look like a hot dilf, according to that waitress from this morning.”

“You did not just say dilf.”

“I totally did, dude.”

Sam smiled but it turned into a wince when he felt the piercing pain of the needle poking into his skin again.

“Oops.”

“Oops?” Sam’s eyes widened. “Dean!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean exclaimed and made a grab for the small orange bottle next to the first aids kit, bloodied fingers and all. Sam tried not to think about sterile environment and infections. “Here, pop one of these, you’ll be fine.”

“Wassit?” Sam asked, staring at the tiny tablet in the palm of his hand.

“Ibuprofen. Good stuff.”

Sam snorted. “You know what’s good stuff Dean?”

“What?”

“Not getting sliced by a flying knife thrown by a poltergeist, that’s what.”

“I take it back, I hope you pass out and stop annoying me.”

Sam felt the first burn somewhere on his lower back as the alcohol solution made contact with one of the cuts. Dean had dabbed too hard than necessary and Sam figured maybe, just this once, he deserved it.

Hey, at least there were no needles involved; that was always a good thing in Sam’s book.

~SN~

“Okay, you’re all done.” Dean said as he threw the last of the cotton balls into the wastebasket by his feet. Sam studied his chest, where the last of the cuts had been taken care of and let out a soft sigh. Of course Dean had to take care of that too, because you know, apparently Sam couldn’t reach his front, like Dean could. Typical.

“Thanks.” Sam muttered as he reached for his shirt and put them back on.

“Yeah,” Dean said as he stood up and walked to his bed (which was nearest to the door by the way, because if something or someone was going to come barging in and get to little brother, they had to face big brother first), reaching for his duffle bag. “Whatever.”

Dean, Sam thought; always dismissing the good things he does.

“Uh, I think it’s time to do the laundry Samantha,” Dean said while Sam was busy flattening down the creases on his shirt. He doesn’t know why he bothered, because who would scrutinise his wrinkled shirts other than Dean? And Dean had no place to talk about Sam’s shirts because Dean’s shirt was twice as bad. Some habits are hard to kick, he guessed. Besides, it was one he picked up from Jess.

“It’s close to ten man,” Sam pointed out. “And I’m tired. We both are. We should do that tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah well, turns out, I have no clean shirts left and I’m not sleeping in this jeans.”

“Use one of my shirts,” Sam suggested. “And just sleep in your boxers, it’s not like you’re not used to that.”

Dean glared but didn’t retort. He said instead, “Do you even have clean shirts left?”

“Yeah.” Sam rose from his seat and went to his bed (the one that faces the wall because it’s safer for Sammy) and made a grab for his bag. He came up with a clean shirt. “My last clean one too.”

Dean made a face. “Sam, I’m not wearing a shirt with a huge dog across my chest. And why haven’t you salt and burn that crap already?”

“It’s a shirt Dean, and you’re wearing it to sleep, no one’s gonna see you wearing it except for me.”

Dean was already shaking his head. “Nope. We’re doing laundry right now. Get your ass up.”

“Dude, seriously.”

Dean sighed, rubbed his face with the palm of his hand as if that very action could erase the stress and burden he was carrying on his shoulders.

“Sam, we’re gonna be too sore tomorrow morning. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m planning to sleep most of the pain away and wake up at noon. So we’re doing the laundry tonight, okay?”

And Sam wanted to tell him that he couldn’t afford to wake up at noon, that every second that ticks by that they weren’t out on a hunt should be spent trying to find a way to get Dean out of the deal, but Sam figured that wasn’t something Dean wanted to hear right then and to be honest, Sam was too tired (he just killed his first three-headed serpent okay) to have that talk.

So he nodded once and looked up to his big brother and said instead, “Okay, Dean. Okay.”

It didn’t surprise Sam one bit when Dean had walked out of the door only in his jeans. Never mind being topless, Dean had up the stakes a little and had decided to walk around bare feet too.

Looking down at his own pair of boots caked with dried mud, Sam decided to follow Dean’s footsteps.

Of course that night also happened to be a night where a group of women decided a sorry excuse for a motel was the way to go for a night’s accommodation and said group of women were walking pass Dean.

Sam had heard one of them questioning the group’s decision to stop driving for the night and that it would be safer on the road than staying in a motel that was most likely haunted (Sam was trained early to be in constant vigilance, for all he knew, these women could be witches in disguise). That thought went right out the window when they eyed Dean.

In true Dean fashion, he turned, nodded, and said in greeting ‘ladies’ and walked on.

Sam rolled his eyes, because what else could he do?

It was going well for the women and he guessed, for Dean too, until big brother decided to turn around and yelled for him. “Sammy come on, we don’t have all day!”

Now Sam figured it was fair, as seeing two bare footed guys, one topless, mind, making their way to the Laundromat, so he decided to just shrug it off when he heard one of girls whined about how unfair the world is because all the hot men are gays.

“Sammy you’re being irritating again.” Dean scowled.

Sam took off his pair of cargo pants and was already going for his shirt next. “No I’m not.”

“Then stop following me!”

“Am not!”

Dean actually tapped his foot. “Then why are you undressing yourself in the middle of the day?”

“It’s laundry time.”

“Put those back on, they’re clean.”

“How come you take off yours?”

“Because mine is not clean.”

There was a short stretch of silence as Dean dumped all the laundry into the washing machine and proceeded to unpack the small packet of detergent.

“What is that?” Sam asked next to him and Dean willed himself not to roll his eyes.

“It’s detergent.”

“Whatsit for?”

“To wash the clothes.”

“How many packets?”

This made Dean stopped to think for a little. Dad never really told him how much is enough. Dad had never made Dean do the laundry before, anyway. But last night was a bad one, Dad had gotten hurt really bad and for the first time, Dean had to put his sewing lessons into practise. And Sunday was laundry day and knowing Dad, they’d be leaving town early the next day and they were all out of clean shirts.

“I think one should be enough.” And quickly dumped the entire packet in before he had the chance to second-guess his choice. He placed the quarters into the slots and followed the 3 easy steps instruction by the side and let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding when the machine started to work.

“Dean, is dad going to be okay?”

Dean avoided Sam’s eyes and reached out for the only clean towel he could find and wrapped it around his waist. The Laundromat was empty, Dean figured only fools would wake up at seven and do laundry anyway, and shivered as a cold draft hit him. He couldn’t wait to be old enough to join Dad on his hunting trips, that way, he could look out for Dad and make sure nothing could hurt him when he wasn’t looking. Dean was afraid that he couldn’t grow up too fast and one day Dad just never comes back from a hunt and it’d all be too late.

“Of course he’s gonna be okay,” Dean said as he picked his little brother up and sat him down on the washing machine next to the one they were using. “Nothing can hurt Dad too bad.”

The Laundromat was empty, because no morons actually do their laundry this late in the night unless your last name is Winchester and hunting monsters and demons is your lifestyle.

Sam placed his bag on the bench, unzipped it and started separating his white tops from the colored ones. He then started laying down all his three pairs of jeans and socks by the side and make sure nothing got left behind in the bag.

Dean was shooting his shirts into the two awaiting washing machine. The whites went into the one on the right and the colored into the one on the left.

“Come on Francis, you move like a girl.” Dean said as he started jamming quarters into the slots.

“You need to stop calling me girls’ names.” Sam said as he poured a cup of detergent into each washing machine and followed the labelled instructions.

“You need to stop making girly moves first.” Dean retorted and started punching random buttons until the machine started to work.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam frowned, looking up (actually, it’s down, because Dean might be the older brother, not necessarily taller) at his brother.

Dean smirked and somehow that irritated Sam to no end. “Dude, you friggin stomped on my foot to get away from my grip back there. That’s so…girlish.”

“Well,” Sam started. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Dean nodded. “Still girly though.”

“I assume you have a much macho way to do it then?” Sam challenged.

“I sure do.” Dean replied in that cocky way of his. Sam’s lips were now a grim thin line on his annoyed face (otherwise known as the Bitchface, according to one Dean Winchester).

“Lets see it then.”

Dean’s eyebrow raised high. “Right now?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded vigorously. “There’s no one else here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean agreed. “I really think we should start sparring again on our spare time Sam.”

“Why, you getting slow old man?”

“Now you’re just cocky.” Dean pointed out. “Just cause we’re still young and able doesn’t mean we know all the moves.”

“I thought Dean Winchester has all the moves.”

Dean looked thoughtful and then nodded. “Well with ladies, yeah…but I’m talking combat here Sammy, can never be too safe right?”

Sam sighed. “Dean, if this is about you not being there for me-”

“It’s just sparring Sam,” Dean said tersely. “You think too much.”

Normally, Sam would put his foot down and argue his way (puppy dog eyes work too cause no matter what, he’ll always be Sammy, Dean’s little brother) until Dean relented and have the talk; but tonight, Sam didn’t want to fight (he just killed his first three headed gigantic serpent, kay?), he just wanted to hang out with his big brother.

Because if all else fail, if he couldn’t find a way out –

No. Just, no.

“Fine,” Sam said. “You know, it doesn’t really matter what moves I do in this one.”

“Oh really?” Dean said, a small smirk playing on his lips. Sam knew this stance, the one Dean always wear when he knew he was in for a good battle.

“Yeah,” Sam smirked, not to be outdone. “Either way, I’m kicking your ass like I did just now.”

“Oh Sammy, you’re all talk.” Dean chided.

But Sam knew better. It wouldn’t be just all talk. He will find a way to beat this. No crossroad demonic bitch is going to take the only family he has left away from him. No way.