AN Hey guys! This story has been in the works for a while, and I finally got around to finishing it up. Hope you like it!

'Single quotations' for when Sam and Dean are signing, and italics for when Dean is reading lips.

Dean looks back every couple of feet, eyes roaming before facing forward again. Sam knows it's to make sure he's still behind him, but he meets his brother's eyes every time even so. Dean looks back ahead, looking at what's left of the Franklin Lot: a single, barely standing, wall looming in front of them.

They'd heard accounts of supernatural-like being showing up at the abandoned lot which was only down the road from the Bunker. Supposedly, local high school kids had seen dead relatives, and the newspaper had made a story of it. Sam and Dean had figured they owed it a look.

They were expecting a spirit–some old kook of the town that had recently passed and was now haunting the kids that made fun of him. Arming themselves with salt and iron, they went to check it out later that night. They weren't expecting it to necessarily be an easy hunt, but they weren't expecting this.

Sam flinches as he hears a shuffling to his right. Touching his brother's shoulder, he looks toward where he heard the sound. Seeing nothing, he meets his brother's eyes and lifts a finger to his lips.

'Hear something? Dean signs. Sam nods, but flinches again as he hears a squelching noise coming from behind the wall. Dean's eyes dart to the wall, and Sam creeps towards it, crowbar held ready.

Suddenly, something heavy slams into him, and he loses his balance. He falls hard backward, the blow knocking the wind out of him and the crowbar out of his hands. Sam hears Dean pull the safety from his gun, and whatever had been pinning Sam down retreats. Sam scrambles back, trying to catch his breath. He grasps for the crowbar and stands, turning in time to see Dean face to face with... Dean.

Sam's eyes flicker from one to the other, and it only takes him a second to realize that what they are hunting isn't a spirit at all. He drops the crowbar in favor of his gun, and tentatively raises it, taking a step back from both Deans.

"Woah, woah, Sam," the nearest Dean says, holding up his arms. Sam doesn't say anything, just watches as the two figures look at each other with the same expression: half disgust, half surprise. Initial surprise aside, Sam's mind finally connects the dots, and he realizes that one of the individuals in front of him is a shifter.

Whichever he is, the shifter looks exactly like Dean, from the beat up leather jacket to the shotgun in his hands. Sam has no idea how to tell which is which, and knows that the shifter no doubt took sign language from his brother's mind along with his appearance.

'Dean?' he signs hesitantly, just to be sure. He holds his gun in one hand, ready to shoot if needed. The Dean on the left holds a fist up to his hair and releases his thumb and pinky: their sign for 'Sammy'. It's weak, and Sam knows it isn't much to go off of, but he's running out of options, and can't think of another way to identify his brother. Then it occurs to him. The shifter could have very well taken sign language and the 'Sammy' name sign from Dean's head, but Sam is fairly certain that the shifter couldn't take or borrow Dean's deafness.

Before he can think through what he's about to do, he pulls the safety off of his gun and fires into the air. The Dean on the right is motionless while the Dean on the left flinches at the bang. Sam immediately knows where to point his gun, and he does so, firing off a first shot. The shifter quickly dodges Sam's shot, darting behind Dean and pulling him back. Sam can only watch as the shifter aims its gun at Dean's head from behind.

Sam freezes and they hold a stalemate. The shifter's eyes -Dean's eyes- glaring into Sam's. The real Dean's eyes dart left and right, trying to catch a glimpse of the shifter behind him that he can't hear.

The shifter makes the first move as he elbows Dean's chin up, and slams him headfirst into the wall. Dean's knees buckle and he falls to the ground. Sam, seeing his opening, takes another shot. But with the same squelching sound as before, the shifter sheds its skin and flees.

Sam almost takes off after it, but one glance at Dean shows him completely motionless on the ground. There is no way Sam would leave his brother helpless trying to shoot down something of which he doesn't even know the appearance.

"Dean," Sam collapses next to his brother, not caring that Dean can't hear him. He gently pats Dean's face, but gets no response. A cut on his forehead starts bleeding, and Sam immediately recalls the number of concussions Dean has already had: too many to be safe.

Frantically placing two fingers to the side of Dean's neck, Sam has to close his eyes and calm down before he can feel Dean's heartbeat. His head is bleeding heavily now, and Sam knows without doubt that his brother has a concussion.

"Hey, come on, Dean," Sam mutters to himself while whipping off first his jacket, then his flannel and pressing it to Dean's head. Dean groans and squeezes his eyes shut. Sam says a silent thank you that Dean is now at least conscious, and coaxes his brother to open his eyes.

"Come on, man" he says, and gently pats Dean's cheek again. Dean's eyes flutter open– glazed and unfocused. It's only a few seconds before he closes them again. Sam grimaces at their lack of communication and changes tactics, quickly finding Dean's hand.

"Ss-amm,"

Sam isn't even sure what he'd heard was his name considering how slurred it was, but he considers it a win. He opens up Dean's palm and begins spelling into it. "D-E-A-N" over and over until Dean's hand closes over his.

"Sam–" Dean mumbles, "W'happnd? Dizzy..." Dean slowly opens his eyes, searching and finally finding Sam's. Sam takes his hand away from Dean's head and, slowly –so that Dean can understand– signs: 'Concussion'. Dean says nothing and stares blankly up at him. He thankfully seems to be holding Sam's gaze though, and is somewhat lucid.

A stray noise causes Sam to look up anxiously, afraid the shifter has come back. They need to get back to the Impala before it does.

'Can you stand?'

Seeming to barely catch the end of Sam's signing, Dean's eyes slide shut, and he swallows.

"Think so," he says. Sam pauses, taking in Dean's still form, then repositions himself so that he can pull Dean up and still support his head. He's only gotten Dean sitting before he hears him groan something unintelligible . From Dean's suddenly slightly green face though, Sam can infer what he's said. He quickly wraps an arm around Dean's chest as Dean leans to the side and begins retching.

Sam waits and tries not to worry. Of the multiple concussions they've each had over the years, they've always made it out on the other side. Then again, Sam can't remember a time when one of them had gotten this bad. His mind goes back and forth, debating whether or not to bring his brother to the nearest hospital.

Once Dean has ceased, he leans back against Sam breathing heavily. Sam slowly counts to five, takes a breath himself, and finds Dean's hand. 'O-K-?"

"Yeah," Dean rasps. His voice sounds wrecked and tired. Sam gives him another minute to catch his breath, then he slowly drapes Dean's arm across his shoulders and grips his hand. He grunts as he works to lift Dean's somewhat dead weight. Dean's head lolls onto Sam's shoulder, and once they are upright, he tips wildly to the side, his free hand gripping the front of Sam's shirt. Sam can only guess that with his eyes closed, the dizziness, and deafness combined, Dean's balance is completely shot. He steadies his feet to keep their balance, and begins walking toward the Impala.

Dean seems to lose strength with each step, and by the time Sam has set him down against the car, he is mumbling under his breath. The fact that Dean has stayed conscious hasn't ebbed his panic though, and Sam quickly grabs a small flashlight from the glove compartment.

Sam kneels down in front of Dean and gently taps his cheek. When Dean's eyes lazily focus on Sam, Sam rubs his fist in a circle on his chest sorry, then reaches out and coaxes Dean's eyelid open. Then he shines the flashlight into Dean's eye.

Dean immediately gasps and tenses under his hand. But while Dean's physical reaction is immediate, his pupils don't dilate as fast as Sam would have hoped. When he's done, Dean squeezes his eyes shut, and Sam rests his hand on Dean's shoulder, letting him know he's there.

Sam wishes he could communicate more easily with Dean, and really find out how bad the concussion is. He knows the cut at least requires stitches, but deduces that since Dean is conscious, and neither of his pupils have blown, it won't require a nervous trip to the hospital. He waits impatiently for Dean to open his eyes again.

'List months?' he signs. Dean's eyes slowly shift from Sam's hands to his face, and he opens his mouth, but it's a second before he says anything.

"January... February..."

Whether or not Dean notices, his hands are weakly signing the months along with his voice, and Sam watches, intrigue replacing some of his agitation.

"March..." Dean's voice pauses, but his hands continue, 'April,' he signs. Dean stares perplexed at Sam and doesn't continue.

'April,' Sam signs.

"April?" Dean speaks.

Sam holds Dean's gaze for a second, trying to process what has just happened, until Dean's eyes begin sliding shut, and Sam knows they need to get moving. He gets Dean into the car and drives.