Summary: Watching his brother go through the trials to close the gates of hell was hard for Dean, when he wished he could take them on himself. It’s what he should have done, as the big brother, right? Season 8 ficlet; Sam hurt/comfort, Dean’s POV.
A/N: Written for jessm78, because she needs some Sam love. (I'm not putting this under a cut because it's short.)
The trials to close the gates of hell had wreaked, well, hell on Sam, and it was tearing Dean apart having to watch his brother go through it. As much as he wished he could take it all from Sam’s shoulders and do it all himself, Dean trusted Sammy to see it through. He also wished Sam would let him go into full-on caretaking mode, but that, too, was out of his hands.
A lifetime’s worth of taking care of his baby brother, looking out for him and making sure all the bad things in this world the two of them hunted left Sammy in one piece, wasn’t always easy but it was a burden Dean happily took on.
Whether or not Sam wanted him to. It was his raison d’etre and there wasn’t a damn thing he’d do to change it. It was what it was, and it went down to the very fiber of his being.
It was part of what made him Dean Winchester, Sam’s big brother and protector for life.
Just because Sam didn’t want to be taken care of didn’t mean Dean didn’t try it every chance he found. Little things like fixing Sam’s favorite foods, or making sure Sam wasn’t disturbed when he was actually able to grab some much-needed sleep. Whatever it took, Dean took care of it.
That didn’t mean he gave up razzing Sam when the opportunity arose. Taking advantage of his bratty big brother status and snarky remarks was another way he showed his love for Sam. It was much easier to rag on Sam about needing a haircut, with a pair of clippers in hand, than it was to say the three words – one of which was the big L word – which the men of his family rarely spoke. He knew they didn’t have to. The feelings were there, were mutual, and that was good enough for him.
So it was that Dean stood in the doorway to Sam’s room, his shoulder leaning against the frame, and watched as his sleeping brother took long, deep breaths. Even in sleep, Sam’s eyes were bruised with the effects the trials were taking on him. Dean saw this, and hated the hell out of it. Shifting away from the doorway, Dean moved silently toward the bed, and leaning down, adjusted the light blanket covering Sam’s hips, raising it to cover his shoulders. Then, lightly, he rested a hand there and said softly, “I’m here, Sammy. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
Without another word, he turned and left the room, as silently as he entered it, hoping Sam’s sleep was restful and dreamless.