Okay, so since the first one went okay, I'm putting up another one. Please tell me if I've copied another person's story, as it was probably unintentional! I read a lot of really fantastic stories on this site, and I have no doubt that a lot of them influenced mine; however, if I'm basically copying someone's, by all means let me know. I don't want to have stolen someone's idea. Also tell me if my idea is unrealistic or in any way makes no sense at all. I'm sort of new to this.

The Way He Looks at Him

I like to think I'm fairly normal. A fairly normal person who seems to get herself caught in the most abnormal situations. I'm just a painter, really, and not even a painter who gets all that much credit. I'm a freelance painter, and I sell those nature-y paintings you see hanging in someone's house in the background, or in their bathroom. Just, you know, mostly mild paintings of lake scenery and all the lovely trees I have in my backyard- the woods. I mean, you can't paint what you don't have, right? Oh- I guess you can, but I don't want to, not when I have the world in my backyard. It's really a beautiful, mostly quiet place. So one lovely, crisp evening, I happened to plant my easel in what I presumed to be the very heart of the woods so that I could paint the pink-flushed orange sky, the waning sun dipping below eye level slowly. I could hear the sounds of the lake in the distance, and it all seemed peaceful and undisturbed.

Until a dripping, shadowy figure basically half-crawled, half-limped his way out from the trees in a very creepy and highly suspicious movement towards me.

Yeah, okay, so I screamed. Pretty loudly. Cause, you know, shadowy figures in the woods? That doesn't scream 'suspicious' to you? Well, then, you're a braver soul than I, that's for sure. In a panic, I snatched the canvas off of the easel, tossed it aside, and- I'm not proud of this -threw the easel at the figure as it neared me. Then I snatched up my supply bag, ignored the canvas (I could always buy one more if I survived this), and scrambled over my own feet like three times before scurrying on the beaten path back towards my house. Yep, no, not staying out here to paint where creepy figures came from the shadows and- And-

I halted.

Well, the figure hadn't actually done anything at all, had he?

Slowly, slowly, I gripped my bag of art supplies to my hip and turned on my heel to face the person on the ground. He was struggling and failing to get my easel off of himself, and, in all honesty, he was pretty tall and awful capable looking, so I got the impression that he had to be either tired, weak or (God) injured. This couldn't be my boring life. I sort of inched my way back towards him, crouching at a distance to scrutinize this new entity. And you know what? I was pleasantly surprised, because despite how much he had initially scared me, his face was soft and boyish, a soft yet obvious grimace was plastered all over it. I cringed at the wounded sounds he was making, cringed even more at the very obvious trail of blood he had brought in from the direction of the lake, and sheepishly went to disentangle the easel from his handicapped body. As I was bent over him, he suddenly lashed out and clamped a wet hand around my ankle, the sopping sleeve brushing against my skin.

Yeah, so maybe I screamed again. And this time I was about to hightail and not return, until this person lifted his head to actually look at me.

Good lord, those eyes. They were deadly. No, wait, that didn't do them justice, because they weren't a bad deadly. They were just about blown wide with injured confusion, ringed with thin eyelashes, and framed by dripping hair that looked almost black in the increasingly evening. I think something inside me melted a little bit, I mean- The kid (yes, a kid) looked like a kicked puppy, and I simply couldn't even resist. The eyes were so lost and pitiful, entrenched with a deep well of obvious pain before it leeched out and they returned to their slightly glossy state. And who cared if I was a thirty-something and he looked slightly like one of those troublesome, rakish college boys who liked to hang out at the diners and whistle at pretty girls? His expression was so innocent, and I got my heartstrings totally and unfairly manipulated like I was an older woman and he'd just asked to borrow my car keys for a joyride in his best church voice. Not that that was ever me. Pft.

I knelt beside his head, my hand sort of hovering for a moment before I reached out to lift the heavy easel from his back. He cringed for only a second before his head flopped back into the squishy leaves with a dull, squelching thud, and the hazel eyes slipped closed again. For a panicked second, I thought the boy might have been- well, dead -but his sort of massive frame rose and fell pretty shabbily, and my expression relaxed again. I shuffled to feel his pulse, and was a little nervous to find that it was also sort of shabby, kind of like a bird with broken wings.

"Pl-"

I was so startled by his sudden speech that I basically snapped a surprised "What?" back at him. Then I instantly regretted it, because, you know. Those eyes. I swear this boy could probably get away with murder with them if he wanted. But he didn't even flinch at my tone, didn't say anything as he peeled his wet fingers back from my ankle and lifted his head with a pitiable effort again. I almost wanted to tell him that he could just rest while I called 911.

"Pl's don' do that ag'n." he mumbled, and I was so relieved that sort of hysterical laughter fell from my lips. I hesitantly lay my hand on the back of his head, my fingers slipping easily through the soaking strands of warm-brown hair for one second before I started feeling nervous all over again and pulled back a little bit. Cute, yes, but still a stranger, and my alarm bells hadn't stopped ringing in the back of my mind. To be honest, though, I don't know if this kid could have taken advantage of me even if he wanted to; a kindergartner would have had the upper hand on this one. On a good day.

"D-Don't worry, I won't," I promised hastily, setting the stupid easel aside and pulling out my phone. I literally fumbled for several really long seconds before I managed to snap it open with a hasty click. For the life of me, I had to squint to see the buttons, but once I began to press, I cast my eyes back onto the dark-haired boy once more with a deep sigh. "Listen, I'm going to call 911. Don't worry, you're going to be okay, alright? Can you just tell me your name and where you got all those injuries from?"

Up until now, I hadn't gotten much of a response from him other than a few blurry words, but when I said that, his head just about shot up from the leaves. He didn't even bother hiding the hazy panic written all over his face as he lifted a feeble arm- as though he were going to physically stop me from dialing the number. But instead of feeling offended or even threatened, I just sort of felt bad for him. It seemed like such an effort too, poor thing, because he was still soaking wet, and his long jacket looked like it was rather heavy and only hindering his movement severely. But most of all, I was compelled to automatically put my cellphone away even though I didn't. This sparked eighteen questions, some of which included 'Are you a criminal? Have you done something questionable? What's all that blood from?' But I put those aside for the moment so that I could focus as the boy spoke once more. Each of his words were weighed down and involved a deep, labored breath prior.

"No- No," he repeated the word twice, this time looking fuzzy and even more confused. His jaw hung open for a solid moment before he refocused the window-like eyes on my face once more. "Te' D'n 'm- 'm 'kay," he mumbled, and I couldn't help a worried snort. Yeah, totally okay. I didn't know what 'Te D'n' was, but- He looked the picture too, all wet and bruised and God, where was all that blood coming from? I just had to find out, because the more I prolonged checking, the more he was going to bleed out. I braced my stomach and placed one hand on his hip, the other on his upper arm, and carefully attempted to turn him over. At first, his unholy, barely restrained whimpers of pain made me halt the process altogether, but I took another deep breath and this time managed to get him onto his breath. He sucked in a clear, sharp breath, and I'm pretty sure I did too.

Holy God.

I didn't get it at first, but my stomach adjusted before my eyes did and did several flip flops as I took in the deep wounds raked deep into his jeans and beneath his skin. Whatever had gotten him had gotten him good, because the marks had slashed through the rough, thick denim and straight to the skin- And oh God, was that bone-? My lunch was resurfacing. He panted and emitted a pained grunt, sweat mingling with water and beading over his face, obviously severely taxed from just that simple movement, and I bit down on my lip hard, trying not to cry and scream some more when I really registered what a bloody mess the limbs were.

"Sweetie, you're really not okay," I explained to him, covering my mouth so that I didn't throw up the sandwich of earlier. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie, and I swear that I honestly could see more blood than the pale skin. Like I said, the jeans were just about slashed open, which sort of sickeningly relieved me- I mean, at least now I could believe that it was an animal that got to him. He craned his long neck, trying to see past the bangs plastered to his forehead at the damage, and I was even more stunned to see that he didn't look all that surprised at all. What was this for him, like a norm? If he really was a criminal, I guess it wouldn't be, but- Oh, I was getting distracted again! His mouth contorted before the confused, dazed look slipped back in, and he lay back on the ground and stared at the sky. So... Basically leaving his problem to me. Thanks a lot, kid, but I have no idea how to deal with wounds like this. I pursed my mouth, doing some quick thinking; so he was wet but bloody, which meant the blood came afterwards. So he was injured after getting wet, but by what? And I'll tell you, I was not hanging around to see what got to him.

Honestly, I had no idea what to do with the kid, because he was still doing some massive bleeding. At this rate, he would definitely die; I mean, he was looking so pale and sickeningly clammy as it were. And what if he had some sort of crazy internal injuries as well? A quick hand to the forehead indicated that he thankfully wasn't suffering from a fever, but he had just crawled out of what I believed to be the lake. I mean, where else could he have gotten wet? Anyway, he could end up with at least a cold and at worst, like, pneumonia, and I was not the person he wanted to entrust with his life. I was like the opposite of someone helpful- I mean, I didn't even remember how to properly disinfect a wound! I apologized to him mentally and punched in the three buttons, trying not to look right at his wide and confused nuclear eyes.

"It's okay, sweetie. Rest. You're going to get help." I tried to ease him as I talked to the operator on the other end. The boy didn't even protest this time and was obviously too fatigued to do so, as he collapsed right away; his eyelids fluttered closed, at least with some sort of ease, and I felt only a minute touch of relief. I think it was probably better that he put those weapons away; I might have even taken him home if he had persuaded me to. I kept my hand on the scruffy, waterlogged locks of hair as some sort of obligatory comfort while help came, and then, denying that I was his relative and denying a ride, I watched, worried but once again relieved, as the boy was carried on a stretcher out of the forest and as he disappeared into the back of the ambulance on a stretcher. I realized that I didn't even know that boy's name, but it wasn't like I would see him again, right? And I have to say, I figured that my duty was more or less over. Maybe after some questioning by the authorities in regards to his condition and all that horrible blood, but of course, I didn't know anything, and I didn't really want to know more.

How wrong I was.

It was about three days later, and I was sipping coffee at my favorite diner. And by favorite diner, I mean literally the only diner in our small Colorado town, because we more or less have only one of everything. That's all right, though, because we have everything we need. I had tried hard to get the event out of my mind, and since I didn't exactly have anyone to talk to about it, I didn't really share. I had some friends who worked here, but that was pretty much all; I had separated from my husband a year prior after a whole lot of bitter arguing about our passions, and I didn't have any children, either. Though I will say, I have always wanted to have a young boy or girl to take care of. Anyway, here I was, at the diner; it was more or less empty, only the occasional passerby stopping in and the waitresses milling around in a pack. I stirred my black coffee near the window, absently listening to them giggle and gossip.

"Callie," I called over one of my friends, a bubbly blonde who was snapping her gum like anyone would snap their fingers. She sashayed over with a dreamy smile, like she had just witnessed something whimsical, and a helplessly amused smile spread across my lips. This one was boy-crazy, and that look? That look meant Greek god. I cast a furtive look around to see who she might have had her bright blue eyes clapped on this time, but I didn't see anyone; it was sort of big news to have a really good-looking guy stop in, because like I said, we pretty much had one of everything, and our blink-and-you-miss-it town wasn't exactly Hollywood. The waitresses really had a field day on days like those.

"So, what's the hubbub?" I asked, jerking my thumb towards the group of giggly girls in the corner. Callie's look never dimmed as she pointed conspicuously towards the back of the diner, way opposite from where I was sitting. I followed the invisible line until my sights set on a fatigued looking stranger in the back with a-

Oh, my. That jawline couldn't be real.

"Isn't he just?" Callie gushed as she read my disbelief like a book, leaning over the table with a soft swoon. "But he only talks to Leah-" she jerked her thumb with a jealous pout towards the older, slightly more reticent waitress at the counter, "-And he only talks about his brother. But oh, he has the most amazing eyes and the most charming smile and the most amazing voice, all husky and rough and foreign-" And by foreign, I'm guessing she meant not Colorado.

Suddenly, I remembered the stranger from before, and my smile flickered at the edges. "Oh? Is that so?" I'd beg to differ, but, oh well. Maybe my type was different- oh, don't go judging me. Handsome boys are handsome boys no matter the age. And this one, no matter how tired and rugged he looked, was certainly no exception. I just have to say, I think I preferred the boy I'd called the ambulance for- this one seemed completely purposeless. He left his unfinished coffee on the table and ambled, not noticing the looks he was receiving, past the girls and out the door without another word. How strange. After draining my own scalding coffee with sacrificial gulps, I sidled up to the counter hastily and leaned forward to talk to Leah.

"Let me guess," she grouched with a dark, obvious look in Callie's direction that almost brought a hidden smile to my face, "you wanna know about that boy, too. Well, I'll tell ya to mind your own business, ya hear me? That boy don't need no pestering from any y'all-"

"No, no-" I shook it off with an earnest wave of my fingers. "That's not it, I was just wondering why he looked so beaten down, you know? Poor thing looks like he's taken a baseball bat of bad luck." And it was true. Not only did he look like he had recently had an awful run in Vegas, he also looked like he didn't really have much rhyme or reason. I was sort of hoping to get a little information from Leah on the second handsome stranger- I wasn't sure why, either. Maybe there was a connection? This one had looked so absent and lost, just like the other one I'd found in the forest. They also shared the good looks, but even I'll admit that that's not as important. Perhaps, if there was a connection, I might be able to help at least one of the two of them. Even though I did feel worse for the first boy, the second boy didn't look all that much better- in a very different way at that. One seemed to be suffering mentally, the other physically.

Leah's expression softened minutely; she had a soft spot for lost boys. "That he has," she said under her breath, her more accepting body language indicating that she was a little more willing to share some information, "Poor thing can't seem to find his little brother, see. He claims they came together, and he's been asking me for a few days if I've seen the kid around." She shook her head regretfully. "No one seems to match the description he keeps throwin' at me, but I tell ya- I hope he finds that kid, because that boy's as lost without him as they come."

"I'll bet," I murmured, and sue me; I didn't put two and two together when I should have. In my defense, I wasn't exactly the star pupil that caught on as quickly as the rest, but I'll admit that even I should have realized what had happened. But I didn't, and instead returned home that night still thinking it was all over. Like a bad dream. And who wouldn't want to put all that blood behind them? Besides, I thought that 'little brother' indicated a rather young boy, not the twenty-something I'd found the other day in the forest. I guess I hadn't realized that the bond was still something important and special no matter their ages.

Then on my way home... I had a bigger problem.

While I drove home from some grocery shopping that evening, I noticed someone on the side of the road. Someone very familiar, limping along at a pace slower than an iceberg. I didn't have any sort of intention to pull over at first (considering I'd had my fair share of strangers for the week), but I- I just recognized that hair and ended up shrieking mentally. Dear God, what was that boy thinking? I had realized how stubborn he was even when injured, but I didn't think that he would actually pull something like an escape from the hospital! Even though I was now even more doubtful about his honesty at this point, I still felt as though I had to take some sort of responsibility. Don't even ask me why, because I couldn't tell you. Darned strangers messing with my mind like this. Slowly, I maneuvered the car to the side of the road and grimaced as I watched that hare-brained pretty boy struggle.

"Get in." I didn't know why I wanted to aid him, but he just looked so confused and lost and in so much pain, and I wasn't really all that surprised when he shook his head almost politely. At least it was politely this time; he still looked confused and rather like he had no idea who I was, but he was still managing a rather neutral expression even if he was sort of inching away from me. I wondered if he had forgotten who I was- Or if he was just wary that I was going to call the ambulance again. Either way, I was losing him.

"No, 'm-"

"What, okay?" I asked sharply, pointing down at his heavily bandaged legs. It was a miracle that this kid had walked all the way from the hospital. "Somehow, sweetheart, I don't think that's true. Come on, get in. I have a family friend who might be able to help you." I hadn't talked to the good doctor in almost two years, but I doubt he minded. He could still help out. "I won't call 911 again, I promise." That got me wondering if this kid had anyone who missed him- anyone who was going to call for his sake. I made a mental note to ask if he had a cell phone, but later- The kid looked, at this point, like he couldn't even tell me what a cell phone was, let alone whether he had one or not. That, and if he had crawled out of a lake, his phone probably wasn't even in working condition to begin with.

The kid gave me a long, blank look, his lips pressing into a line like he was processing my words very slowly. With the amount of pain he seemed to be in, I didn't doubt it, and it seemed like the painkiller effect was wearing off. Finally, he trudged very slowly towards the back seat, and I helped him climb in there by gripping his arm and leading him in. He sat awkwardly splayed over the seat, so tall that it appeared that his rather crunched limbs didn't really have space. I gulped when I saw red peep through the bandages on his legs and tried not to think about how long he'd been limping around. I also tried not to think about what the minimal space was doing to his legs as he stretched them across the space beneath the seats. At least he was able to adjust- I had no idea what he was thinking. So I asked him. "What were you thinkin', kid? Why did you leave the hospital?"

At first, he didn't answer- just gazed outside emptily. But after a few moments...

"Don' need spi'l. Nee' D'n." he sort of forced the mumble out with some strenuous sounds in between the words. I actually hadn't been expecting a response, and my eyes flickered sharply to the rearview mirror and at him at the repeat mention of "D'n." I started to realize that that was probably a name, and this stranger needed whoever this was. Sounded awful like "Dean," if you ask me. I wondered if Dean had called this kid, if he was worried about him. Whatever, baby steps. At least I had a name now, right? Someone I could wrangle a phone number for later out of the kid if I really needed to.

"Alright, sweetie. What's your name?" I asked this time, more gently so that I didn't spook him into silence. There was a long pause, which, to be honest, really scared me. Amongst all other things, did he also lose his memory? Gulping again, I waited during the stretch of emptiness for him to give some indication. His blurred eyes hazily slid from his hands, which were interlaced in his lap, to the mirror to meet mine, but it wasn't really encouraging. He still looked like a lost puppy, and his eyes just wouldn't stay focused on mine. They kept sliding to the side.

"S-" he began, and then lapsed. I frowned at the glass and pulled over again, determined to get a name before I resumed driving. Besides, the driving looked like it was making him sick, and I really didn't need him to be sick in the back seat. I'd just vacuumed it clean of all that dog hair, and that was a whole darned year ag- oh, God, I sound so self-centered, don't I? I guess I can't forget my own trivial problems amidst this gaping one. Either way, the charming boy gave me yet another long, highly dazed look before sliding forward to rest his head against the back of my seat as though he would be able to feel better doing so. Then the head popped back up again so he could meet my eyes fully. "S'm," he breathed out with a bewildered look as though trying it out for size, and my lips slowly relaxed into an encouraging smile as I started driving again.

"Sam," I said amiably. It really did fit him, considering that's what one of the dogs in our dog's litter had been named. And, well, this kid really resembled a puppy. "That's a nice name, Sam. Now, can you tell me who Dean is?"

He straightened again, this time more alert, and his forehead's creases smoothed out a little bit. Whoever this Dean was, he was doing a darn good job keeping this kid safe. Most of the time. It had been a long time since I've seen someone relax at the sound of a name like that. Unfortunately, the kid clammed up before he said anything else, and I decided that he had reached his quota. With a sigh, I pulled into my garage and slid out, going to help him as well. He wobbled and very nearly flopped on top of me, and I swear the breath flooded out of me. This kid- he was way tall and sheer muscle. It thought some of his weight might have just been baby weight, but I guess that was only his face; he was a bit on the thinner side, but still a lot of raw power in this one. I suppose if he really wanted to, he could have taken me out and run for it with my car, but somehow, he didn't really strike me as the type. The pain was so evident, but there was also a childish innocence that made me want to take care of him- it was strange, to be honest.

With a heaving sigh, I sort of hobbled for the abandoned guest room and- no nice way of sayin' this -sort of threw him on the bed. Yeah, he was skinny and tall and cute, but he was also a lot of weight on my shoulder. I froze as he made a quiet, injured sound that shot my heartstrings right through, but then he was silent. Guiltily now, I gripped his underarms and yanked him towards the head of the bed, and even still his legs hung way over. I cringed as I stepped back from all six-feet-something of him, unsure whether I should have called the hospital again or not- but something told me that this kid would rather have ripped open his bandages than gone back there. The thought honestly made me pale. I smoothed back the bangs consciously to check for a fever, thankful that he at least was free of one, and bit my lip as I examined the bandages. Without the painkillers, this kid was in for one hell of a night. Already he was starting to groan quietly, his teeth grinding together harshly as his eyebrows drew into slants. He seemed perpetually panicked, some times more obviously than others, but I didn't know what to do about that.

He refocused on my face with effort, and I was once again bowled over- this time because the flicker of a sweet smile crossed his face. I mean, I could tell that this kid had a really nice smile even if he hadn't fully formed it; I caught a glimpse of sheer white teeth for just a second before they vanished behind his once again solemn lips. I swear that all my walls just fell. Crumbled.

"Th'n you," he tried to say in a mumble, and I smiled like a hopeless idiot. If he had asked for my house, I probably would have given it to him. I shook my head dismissively, backing away from him after another furtive glance at his previously mangled legs.

"Sweetie, is there someone I can contact for you?" This caused him to frown with effort again- and my, what an effort it was. He struggled to lift his head from the comforters, his mouth parting like he was actually going to attempt an answer. But after a moment of soundless gaping, he more or less gave up on the notion and slid back into the covers with another restless "D'n." Well, thanks, hon, but I had no idea who that was or how to reach him. I sighed for about the thirteenth time, flicking the lights off as I knew that was all I would be getting from the boy; I guess I hoped he would just sleep. Then I made my way back to the diner for the strongest coffee I could order so that I could figure out my action plan. You may be wondering why I was leaving that guy in my house, but I guess I couldn't help but trust him. I mean, even if he did steal something, I don't think I would have been too angry; somehow, I felt like the only reason he would steal would be just in utter desperation. I didn't have all that much of value anyway.

The other handsome mystery was at the diner as well, now sitting at the counter and making what appeared to be small talk wearily with Leah. She gave him a tiny smile, nodded at something he said, and went to the back to grab probably whiskey. It was quite empty this late, so I also made my way up to the counter to wait for Leah. The boy didn't even look in my direction; he looked as awful and empty as a young child when told that Christmas was canceled and probably never coming back at that.

"I heard about your brother," I said to break the ice, and his eyes flitted to me when he heard the word. I tried for a lopsided, comforting smile, and received only a blank stare before he nodded. I guess he wasn't really with the mood, but if I'd just lost someone, I don't think I would have been particularly talkative either. "I'm sorry," I said, making an effort to be polite. "What did you say your name was?"

The look he gave me was deeply pensive for just a brief second before he turned 180 to actually face me. "Dean," he said. "I'm Dean."

It felt like a slap in the face.

Suddenly, pieces were falling together, and God, I felt like such a ditz. His brother was missing, his brother was Sam. No wonder they both looked so lost and confused and empty, considering how much they'd been searching for each other. Dean looked slightly alarmed at my probably ashen expression and probably said something like Are you okay, but I just made a couple incomprehensible, strangled sounds before I could actually speak again. He cringed when I sort of lurched forward and appeared to back away. But just as he was near the door, I managed to choke out a word through all my confounded babbling. I mean, God, I was singlehandedly holding a possible reunion in my hand. How could I have been so stupid? This was a new low, even for me!

"Sam-!"

God, that made him stop like I was a puppetmaster and had just jerked his strings. He turned slowly, so very slowly, and I gulped at the sight of his suddenly almost-black eyes. He neared me with all the grace of a meaningful serial killer, and I froze in place like a block of ice, forgetting what else I was about to say. In a silly way, though, I didn't feel worried about Sam's safety. It just felt like he had a really protective brother who, by the way, was probably going to kill me if I didn't speak up.

"I never mentioned his name to anyone."

"He's at my house," I blurted out, between raising my hands in surrender. "I mean, he's resting- I, something happened and, uh-" I cursed my stutters and tried to get out a real sentence, but Dean's expression stopped my struggles.

He halted a few feet away from me, his face running a whole gamut of emotions: relief, worry, blazing panic for a brief second, grave thoughtfulness. This kid was a mess. Finally, he managed to open his mouth and speak. "Just-" he pinched the bridge of his nose as though he was trying so hard not to yell at me. "Just please take me to him- please," he repeated the word as though I was going to say no to him the first time. I nodded slowly, then more quickly as another helpless smile crossed my face. He gave me another look, this one deeply suspicious, and I rushed to explain before he thought I was a crazed old cat lady or something.

"He sort of escaped the hospital and said you were all he needed."

His stricken look caused my smile to vanish and my heart to plunge to my stomach. The pain that twisted his visage caused a pang of heartfelt concern flutter through mine. "Oh, God, you have to get me to him," he pleaded, but I tell you, my heart was already set on it. No way was I keeping these two boys apart any longer; I'm sure this one could be a real beauty when he was with his other shoe and vice versa.

"Don't worry honey, just hop in." By the time we got to my house, the person beside me was literally on the edge of his seat. He was just about vibrating with nervous energy, jittering and twitching and basically panicking beside me. It must have been maddening, poor thing, to know how close he was yet not close enough to see. I didn't say much to him. It wasn't like I knew what exactly to say to him- I hadn't seen any of my siblings in years, and even though it was shameful to admit, I wasn't even sure if two of them were alive. One had always been extremely reckless, always streaking haphazardly down the road like a maniac. My stomach panged again at the thought. Dean didn't even once ask about what had happened, how I'd found him- nothing. I think he just wanted proof that his brother was alive and kicking before he interrogated.

Dean all but took off once the car stopped, throwing open the garage door like his rear end was smoking. I pondered the unlocked door for only a second before I followed hastily behind, moving in front of him so that I could present...

... An empty bed. For a second, I didn't quite comprehend the lack of Sam. The bed covers were rumpled, the pillow still slightly sunk in from the weight of the head, and oh, God, was that blood where his legs had been? I went solidly numb, only able to feel Dean craning over my shoulder and peering at the bed. I could feel him becoming a statue when he caught a glimpse at the blood.

"Please tell me he isn't supposed to be there." He said flatly, his mouth twisting into a hollow line. I could only nod, and Dean vanished from behind me; I could hear the expletives despite how soft he tried to be. I turned, only to see him narrowly miss the leg of my coffee table when he lashed out. "Damn it, Sam!" He gripped his mouth before swinging back to me, and I blinked helplessly at the empty, ruffled sheets.

Then there was a 'thunk.' The dull sound of a body hitting the ground. I swiveled, crossing into the bathroom that conjoined to the bedroom. I was somehow not surprised by what I found- rather, who.

"Dean, he's here!" I called, my voice catching as Dean sidled beside me. It was gut-wrenching how quickly the color drained from his face as he took in the sight of Sam, who was sprawled facedown in the bathroom with his legs inside and his head outside on the carpet. But just as the pained look flashed across his face, it vanished, and he was soon all-business. He was on the ground beside his brother in seconds, cradling the other's head to first examine his half-open eyes before he so very gently let it back down into the carpet.

"I don't know your name," he said heavily as he knelt to examine Sam's legs. The stoic mask he was going for all but shattered for a really long five seconds when he saw how thick the bandages for, and then he was moving again, checking for a pulse. Sometimes, his fingers fluttered against the other's hair reassuringly. Sam hadn't moved throughout all of this, but I guess that it was good he was still breathing.

"It's Rae-wyn," I said softly, noting that he wanted to be the one to lift Sam's legs, torn up as they were. And he did it so fondly that I nearly melted into a goopy puddle right there. I decided to go for the head and shoulders, scooping his upper half up and supporting it with my entire body. Goodness, he wasn't easy to lift, but Dean did it like he had been doing it his whole life. If anything, it almost felt like me carrying Sam's upper half was only hindering his work. When we finally got back onto the bed, Dean analyzed his brother from right beside him, smoothing down the dark, shaggy curls with a slightly trembling hand.

"He's heavy, in't he." He tried to joke, and because I felt really awful for not putting the puzzle together earlier, I decided to go along with it with an amused smile and jerky nod. Dean's brummagem smile dipped back into oblivion, and he sort of dug his fingers into Sam's hair in the manner of someone in a state of deep, age-old grief. "God, Sammy, the things you do to yourself." Sam didn't even move.

I barked a laugh at that, prompting him to look at me. "What, does this happen often?" I guess it was also sort of a joke, but the serious, grave look Dean gave me really wiped the smile from my face. He fingered the bandages with a deep, calculating frown, almost as if he thought he could have done better. Soon enough, he looked back up at me. "Who wrapped his legs up like this?"

So I set my coffee down and explained to him what had happened. Dean's eyebrows lifted all the way up to his hairline and remained there while I delineated Sam's venture from the lake, the state of his legs (here, I could swear that Dean emitted a genuine growl, and a really terrifying darkness took restless form in his eyes), the way he kept saying he was okay and how he didn't need anything or anyone but Dean, (at this, Dean snorted, but I couldn't help but notice the way his fingers dug deeper into the dark head nestled into his side), how I called the ambulance anyway, because I couldn't do anything to fix his legs (he didn't indicate much to this other than a terse nod, but I got this feeling that he might have been judging me), how, a couple days after I first saw Dean, I found Sam wandering by the road, (Dean actually stopped me here so that he could flat-out insult my barely conscious guest's intelligence in a very exasperated way. Then, he apologized to Sam for everything he said, apologized for leaving him alone, rested his head against Sam's, and asked me to keep talking), and finally, how I figured out what was going on. While I took a long draught of coffee to ease my sore throat, Dean just kept brushing Sam's plentiful hair back from his face, kept murmuring what sounded like reassuring words to the young man.

"He really had to think when I asked him his name, but he reacted quickly to yours," I said softly, hoping it would sort of relax his nerves. Dean's tense posture didn't loosen, but his next words sounded so fond that I could tell he was probably a bit pleased at that.

"Yeah, that sounds like the idiot." This was accompanied by another swipe of the hair. "Is he on painkillers?"

"I think the effect wore off," I said with a deep sigh, "But he's been asleep since I brought him home, so I couldn't tell you."

I thought he was going to thank me again, but right on cue, Sam's hazel eyes snapped open. Even I could tell that they were drowning in pain, and if I could tell, Dean was a hundred times more aware. He gripped Sam's arms, leaning towards his brother with a stream of "I'm here, Sammy"s. Sam made this awful gurgling sound as he tried to claw the bandages from his legs. Dean immediately lunged to stop him, his actions literally only milliseconds behind Sam's. He was very nearly working in tandem with Sam as the younger managed to get his nails beneath the bandages.

"D'n," he tried, "D'n, m' legs hur'- Ge' i' off-"

"God, Sammy, I know your legs hurt," Dean pulled away from his brother, panic seeping in despite how hard he was trying to keep it controlled; I watched it start to touch the corners of his eyes and swallowed. "I can't take those casts off, kid. They suck, and they're heavy, but they're also the only things keeping you functioning as much as you are right now. This's what you get for detaching the painkillers, you moron-" I had a sudden strike of inspiration and gripped Dean's shoulder, and he spun wildly around as though noticing for the first time that I existed. His hand was curled around Sam's wrist and gripping his palm almost aggressively.

"Listen, I have some strong painkillers from the time my husband had back surgery, do you want them? I don't know how well they'll work, but-" He gazed at Sam for a moment, gauging, making a decision, and finally nodded, probably out of sheer desperation. I crossed into the bathroom again to grab them, coming out to Dean all but pinning Sam to the bed as his brother writhed and thrashed. Tears had begun to bubble and percolate from the corners of Sam's eyes and were marking very faint trails in his paper-white skin as he moaned, and Dean looked simply crushed to see them. I thrust the painkillers into his hand and went to go hold Sam's arms down as Dean pounded them and dumped them into a glass of water. Good lord, Sam really fought us. "I don't get it, Dean, how can the wounds be so bad if they've been bandaged up and everything?" Dean had also been staring at Sam's legs, and now he looked even more solemn than ever.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy." He whispered to the dark-haired boy beneath him as he cupped his chin. "But you're gonna need to tell me what did this to you." He pressed lightly, urging Sam's jaw to wobble open and expose his open mouth, and then he poured the whitish water down. He quickly tipped the younger's head forward so Sam wouldn't suffocate or spit it up, and then returned to making soft, soothing noises. I, on the other hand, was even more confused, especially by his request.

"What does it matter what did this to him?" I cried, staring at him like he'd sprouted three heads and wings, "He's obviously in a load of pain and has to be taken back to the hospital immediately-" Dean didn't answer me, at least not at that moment. He instead poured more water before straightening to gaze at Sam and ignoring me overall. Sam was still quivering, still just about shaking with pain, but he at least seemed to have calmed down; his hazel eyes had lost that edge of wildness.

"D'n," he breathed, oh-so-weakly, and my heart faltered at the moaned name. Dean blinked several times in rapid succession. "D'n, I din't seee-" The slurred, extended vowel only worried me more besides the fact that Sam looked blearily panicked. "Din't see her-"

Her? My mouth compressed into a stunned nonexistence; not that I didn't think a woman was capable, but I guess I never figured a woman in this town was capable of doing such a gruesome thing to such a sweet-looking kid. "A woman did that to his legs?" Dean continued to ignore me, his only focus and priority the younger man on the bed. It was actually only this thought that stopped me from feeling stupidly miffed by the rejection; I knew Sam needed and deserved that attention far more than I did. And I guess I also knew that if it weren't for Sam, Dean probably wouldn't have spared me a second look.

"Gonna need more than that, dude," Dean was saying when I tuned back in, his hand still absently thumbing away the tears and pressing against Sam's face. "Y'got a name, Sammy? Hm? I don't blame you even for a second, I shoulda been there, backing you up, and I let you down." At this, Sam groaned something that sounded like a very weak and hapless "Shut up." Dean sort of spluttered a surprised laugh and charged on tenderly. "C'mon, Sammy, give me some kind of hint here. I'm running on empty." Something about all he'd just said made me think that these two were more than just brothers; they were partners. They had each other's backs through all hell. Dean's words were starting to sound more and more helpless and edged with desperation, but Sam finally managed to pull through and respond.

"N dyin'," it sounded like he said, and I swear my heart stopped. For one second, Dean's expression also froze.

"He's- He's dying?" I whispered, but Dean somehow didn't share my alarm. He just straightened, fixed his gaze on the wall, stared for a long moment, and then jerked his head back towards Sam with a look of staggering realization. I was all prepared to spin for another answer, but God, it seemed like Dean had finally understood what was happening.

"Undine," he corrected me, and I just blinked at him stupidly. "Not dying- Undine. And I bet she poisoned my brother, that bitch." His eyes glittered with barely contained rage, and I felt squeamish when he fixated them on me. I wouldn't want to be the soul that got between these two, let alone the one that- as he claimed -poisoned Sam.

"Who's- Who's Undine?" I managed to stutter out. Okay, so Sam wasn't going to die. That was a step up.

"Not who," he corrected me again, but it seemed like he was only half paying attention, "What." He paced around the bed for a moment, agitated, before slamming his fist downwards. Sam's body jilted very slightly, the bounce not revealing of anything, and Dean seemed to regret doing it as soon as he did it. "Dammit, Sam, there's no seas or oceans around here- There's basically nothing." he ranted to his brother, but I stepped in with an indignant retort.

"Actually, there's a quite lovely lake out back," I began to say, and then his eyes clapped onto mine with a deep ferocity that cut me off completely and snatched my words away.

"Where," he demanded of me tersely, and I pointed in that direction with a faltering hand.

Then Dean looked conflicted. I could see the cogs in his dark blonde head working; go after the thing that he claimed tore up Sam's legs, or stay and keep an eye on the kid? He'd just gotten him back after all, was he really risking another separation? I decided for him as I laid my hand against his upper arm.

"Dean, I'll keep an eye on Sam. Make sure he doesn't wander again. You go do-" I faltered, not quite sure what it was that Dean was going to do but somehow knowing that it was going to help the kid on my bed, "-What- Whatever it is you need to." Dean's expression twisted; slight desperation crept in even more when Sam punctuated what I said with a suffering, sort of pitiful moan. I bet Dean was about to shake his head on me and plant himself at Sam's side like a really good-looking tree, but instead, he turned from his brother.

"I'll be back, Sammy," he promised, and I watched him head for th door. Before he actually left, he turned to face me. My stomach twisted at his expression. "Please watch him," he added, looking tortured to even have to leave Sam's side; I couldn't blame him, Sam was starting to look a little bit green, despite being pink as well. He was starting to look like a really terrible paintin Poor thing. I laid a wet towel across his broad forehead and sighed, sitting beside him and absently brushing locks of hair away.

"You've got one hell of a brother, Sam." I said; I almost wanted to call him Sammy, but it only felt right when Dean did it. Sam buckled into himself, looking as though he was trying to protect his internal organs, but other than looking physically sick, he also looked awfully bereaved. My lips pursed into a pitying frown as I dabbed dry some of the sweat rolling down his young face. Poison, who would have guessed? I didn't get the whole 'undine' thing at all, but- I guess it wasn't really my business to mind. I just concentrated on Sam, who, to my alarm, was looking worse and worse per minute that passed. Like heck I knew how to deal with poison- soon enough, as I had predicted would happen earlier -Sam's breathing started to indicate that he was going to throw up. I cringed, carrying a plastic basin over so that he could empty his guts. He kept pushing his hair away, and I wondered to myself if Dean usually did that for him. Either way, I sort of had a limit, and I hardly knew this boy.

At least that's what I thought, but then I caved and held the soft, sweaty strands of hair back away from his cheekbones while he retched. And yeah, okay, it was pretty disgusting, but it also made me feel like a mom, which wasn't honestly that bad a feeling.

Sam began to mutter about an hour after Dean left, something about "D'n," and "dine." It might have been cute if Sam didn't look just about flushed with panic, and if I didn't know that he had been poisoned. I bent over him, sighing with obvious and impatient worry, what with the fact that Dean was still sadly inapparent. Sam's face twisted, his back arching slightly as he continued to claw at his bandages. I gripped his hand to stop him, but things started to get ugly. Sam's eyes had lost part of their rationality, and he was starting to look more volatile; the hand that wasn't clawing swung towards me and might have clipped my jaw nicely if I hadn't ducked. He began to try to kick, grunting with agonized effort as he made to lift those stilt-like legs from the bed, and I struggled to keep him down. It was all starting to spiral wildly out of control as he tried to rip me off of him, and even in his pained and panicked hallucinations, he was still a good amount stronger- in fact, that strength was probably renewed with a surge of adrenaline.

And then Dean was there, and I tell you- it felt like everything was going to be better again. For me and for Sam.

Dean's hair was clinging to his face, and his clothes made a soggy mess out of my rug, but I didn't care. He looked a little less than completely tired out, and there was a nasty cut along his shoulder where I assumed the same creature caught him, but nevertheless, he was there for Sam. He plunked himself into a chair beside the bed and began to smooth Sam's hair away again, as naturally as though he had been doing it forever, chatting with him one-sidedly as though the younger were awake and listening. The effect it had on Sam was instantaneous; Sam all but melted beneath Dean's hand like his brother was the Sam-whisperer or something,

"You causing the nice lady trouble, Sammy? I always knew you had a female problem," he said cynically, his voice burdened with exhaustion as he slumped against his arms on the bed. "Anyway, took care of that undine for you- oh, this?" He pointed to his wound as though he knew Sam would complain about it, "yeah, don't laugh at me, but that's from a rock, not from the undine." Sam squinted at him like he didn't even recognize him, sweat still dripping from his jaw and beading along his collar. His face was flushed even pinker than the blossoms that flooded the woods in the spring, and his mouth parted to release a couple of heated, long breaths.

"D'n," the kid moaned softly, pawing at his older brother's shirt gracelessly, "'M hot."

"Well, Sammy, I hate to tell ya-" Dean sighed, but he was casually unbuttoning Sam's shirt as he spoke, "The fever is actually a good sign that you threw up all the poison from your system. It doesn't feel like good news, but it does. Just sweat it all out, alright?" He reached behind himself to grope around for the wet towel, and, smiling to myself, I nudged it towards his hand. He gripped it and lifted it to Sam's forehead without even turning back, his fingers dexterous and his movements graceful. "Man, Sammy, if you give me a fever, we're both stuck in bed."

It was like I wasn't even there. And I tell you, I didn't mind that at all. I definitely didn't want to intrude on the moment.

Dean's face was also slightly colored, but it was probably for a different reason; two of Sam's fingers had found themselves hooked over his belt and were tugging gently. I smirked, pretending not to take notice as Dean very obviously did nothing about it and instead continued to grumble good-naturedly to his semi-conscious and feverish brother. These two were planting urges in me to call and speak to my own siblings- I missed the sweet moments of my own childhood when I watched Sam and Dean interact.

It took a couple days for Sam's fever to break, but even before it did, Sam was itching to get out of the bed. I didn't blame him; the bed in the guest room was lumpy and rough and caused all sorts of back problems if you slept wrong. But every time Sam attempted, Dean patiently and almost laughingly forced him back in the bed, trying to use protective exasperation to hide his relief that Sam was up and moving. Watching the brothers interact taught me so much about humans that I swear I could have become a psychologist. Sam's restlessness over the days seemed to lighten Dean's load, and wasn't I right-? Dean was so lovely when he flashed me a mischievous grin (shortly before thwarting yet another one of Sam's poorly planned escapes).

As for Sam? I tell you, that boy's personality did a whole 360. To Dean, he was always slightly grouchy, especially considering how the older wouldn't let him go, but I could see soft adoration every time Dean turned his back. Here was a little brother who basically idolized the older- or that's what it seemed like to me. Sam reciprocated some of Dean's worry by fussing about the cut, turning down my offer to care for it. Dean sat like a statue, patient and still, as Sam (painstakingly slowly) disinfected and treated it. I just about swelled like a giddy schoolgirl when I saw them. To me, Sam was extremely well-mannered and full of shy, polite grins. At first, he was always a bit tense when I came in the room to switch his towels or to get something from the bathroom, but after I explained to him with a snort that I had held his hair back while he vomited and after his ears reddened significantly, he was a lot more relaxed. This one was a complete sweetie too, I say. The only time he slipped up was when he spilled orange juice all over himself and Dean laughed out loud at him. I stepped into the room just to receive an earful of rather wicked language that I guarantee cursed Dean and all his future generations for a couple eternities.

Even Sam's legs were healing rapidly, which mystified me- Dean sort of vaguely explained that once he had killed the creature, its effects disappeared over the week that followed its death.

Which had reminded me to do some research- and let me tell you, that was a whole other experience. I cornered Dean one evening after he had 'tucked Sam in,' to put it loosely, my laptop clutched in my arms like a baby. He blinked at me, his smile already spreading; I almost grinned, too, at how blissfully relaxed it looked now that his brother was just a few feet away, resting. But then I remembered the business at hand.

"I looked up an undine," I said casually, watching Dean's smile wane. I didn't really know what to think, so I just kept going. "They're," I shifted my weight, my voice flat so that I could be as unbiased as possible, "Elementals. Creatures like nereides, limnads, naiades, and..." My eyes flickered to the screen, "Mermaids."

Dean gauged me now, and I was surprised to see that he was the one that looked curious. "This one was a limnad, I'm almost positive," he said, his voice slow and measured as he continued to scrutinize me. Maybe he was waiting for me to scream, swear at him, call him crazy, I guess. Instead, my mouth pursed before I closed the laptop and pulled it back towards myself again.

"And you're not lying?" I asked him sharply, because that was the one thing I guess I wouldn't tolerate. That, and the whole thing was making me hyperventilate internally. Cause, you know. Mermaids. Stuff of dreams and fairy tales.

"No, Rae, I'm not." And he said this with such seriousness, with a deep look in his eyes like a doctor would speak about saving people, like an architect would talk about buildings, like I would talk about painting. But there was a dull edge to that passion, like it had brought him a deeper pain than it had brought him enjoyment. And somehow, I knew the only thing keeping Dean's edge.

Person, I should say, not thing.

"Alright," I said, my own voice now clear and soft, "And it's gone now?"

"A pile of ashes," he shot back, just as calmly and quietly as my voice had been. "You don't have to worry. Sammy mentioned that you were painting there, so you can go back and paint safely. Once Sam and I leave, this'll all have been just a bad dream that you can forget, I promise." I watched him as he ambled off, probably to get a drink before he crashed beside Sam as he had been doing, even though I warned him thirty times that fever was contagious.

But how could that have been possible? I couldn't forget this, not after all it had taught me. About siblings, family, partners-in-crime- I don't think anyone could have handled Sam as gently as Dean did. It taught me to value who I had, to retouch on what was really important in my life.

A couple more days later, Sam was fully healed and raring to go. He was basically twitchy from the house arrest- I honestly don't know who lit up more at the sunlight and fresh breeze: Sam, or Dean at Sam's expression. As Sam enfolded me into a meaningful, warm hug that was so fitting of him (and as I sort of vanished against his tall frame while he said "Thank you."), and as Dean blew me a kiss from the front seat of his car, (I do believe he was a bit sore at me; after he had retrieved his car from the diner, he had been pampering it and apologizing for leaving it, and I made the mistake of calling it 'just a car.' The wounded look he gave me still brings me to chuckles.) I felt a dull, wistful pang strike my chest. I would miss these two troublemakers, that was for sure. I wondered if I would see them again, but somehow I didn't think I would; after all, I hadn't seen them before this, and it seemed like they were flighty. I watched as the car rumbled down the road, Sam's brown head poking from the window as he waved at me, and as it disappeared into the scenery.

Two weeks later, I sat with my husband in the diner, somehow newly determined to compromise with him. I learned that he was lonely, and I realized that somewhere along the way, I'd become lonely too. He asked where all this newfound enthusiasm had come from, and I just shrugged and smiled. Maybe it didn't matter, maybe it did, but I didn't think I'd ever forget the reason.

Or reasons, plural.

But I did hope that someday someone would look at me the way Dean looked at Sam.

-Fin-

...So! This's my second submission to the world of Supernatural. I realized the other day that I share a birthday with both Dean and Jessica, how cool is that?

Yeah, yeah, I know. Dork alert. Haha.

Anyway, please review! If you want, I mean.